Chapter 4: Something to Be

Friday, July 15, 2011, 5am

Jesse was mentally exhausted when he finally went to bed that night. His first day away from the hospital was so full of surprises and challenges that he began to believe that adapting to this world was impossible. Perhaps a good night’s sleep would restore him. What he experienced, however, was anything but a good night’s sleep.

For the first time that he could recall, he was visited by a nightmare. It was his father, mother, and sister, all trying to reach out for him, but each time they fell away, disappearing briefly before returning and trying again. He heard them calling to him, but he couldn’t answer and they couldn’t get close enough to hold him. He tossed and turned in anguish as the dream progressed, finally waking in a cold sweat, the sheets pushed to the bottom of the bed in a tangle of cotton. His pillow was soaked with perspiration.

He lay there, fully awake, the images now having vanished. There was no way he would be able to sleep after the disturbing visitation. He rose, pulled on his shorts and a t-shirt, and shuffled out into the living room. The curtain was partly open and he could see the lights of the city below. In the dark, a few items brought back familiar memories. The big, red “W” on top of what was once Woodward’s Department Store, and the lights on the roof of The Vancouver Hotel. The rest was unfamiliar or indistinguishable in the well lit city.

He was surprised at the amount of vehicular traffic that he saw. The clock on the wall said it was approaching 5am and he could see the vague beginnings of dawn behind the North Shore Mountains. He was exhausted once more, having felt no benefit from whatever hours of sleep he actually got. He sat forlornly in the swivel rocker, looking out at the city, his eyes unseeing. Then the tears came – tears for everything he had lost. He didn’t have a single tangible thing with which to remember his former life or family. No pictures, no clothing, no home ... nothing! Everything and everyone he once knew had vanished into ... where?

Across the hall, in 1404, Kirsten Gustafson rolled sleepily toward the incessant electronic beep of her clock radio. She didn’t need to look at the time, she knew it was 5am and time to get up and get dressed. Another day, another practice at the university rink. She wondered for the umpteenth time if it was what she really wanted. Women’s hockey was a dead end for most young women. Her only ambition was to make the UBC women’s hockey team no later than her second year. In September, she would begin her first year at the giant campus.

Her parents wouldn’t be up for another two hours and would have time to enjoy a breakfast and a coffee before heading off to open their store. Kirsten would have to settle for some juice, a banana, and a distasteful protein shake. If nothing else, the shake would suppress her appetite for the duration of the practice. She was mindful of her weight, trying to maintain a delicate balance between the strength and power needed to play a defensive position, and an appearance that didn’t exaggerate her size. At 180 centimetres (70 3/4”), and 77 kilograms (169lbs), she was a big girl.

Size ran in the family. Her father was 190 cm and 105 kg, almost exactly his playing weight when he retired with Vancouver’s NHL team. Her mother was within a centimetre of Kirsten’s height, but slimmer at 62 kg. Fitness was a way of life for the Gustafson family, and always had been. It was part of their Scandinavian heritage.

She groggily shuffled to the bathroom and began her morning ritual. She inspected her flawless, pale-hued body, checking to see if there were bruises from the previous practice. Pulling her light blonde hair back, she wrapped it in a knot with an elastic band, ensuring that it would be below the back of her helmet and not bother her when she played. When not playing hockey, she would braid the long, flaxen locks and allow them hang down her back just below her shoulder blades. The coach had tried to get her to cut her hair short, but Kirsten had stubbornly refused. It didn’t affect her play and she was proud of her hair, so it stayed.

A shower could wait until after the practice, but a wash and a thorough brushing of her teeth was mandatory. She was satisfied with her appearance. Her teeth were perfect and a bright white when she smiled ... and she smiled often. Her face was round, her only flaw she believed. Her nose was small with a slight curve to a little nub. It didn’t seem quite in keeping with the rest of her body, but it was not something that could be changed. She bore no facial scars from her hockey experience. A full face screen made sure of that. She looked again in the mirror. No make up, and yet, she was reasonably content with her appearance.

She quietly dressed, gathered up her hockey equipment, and headed for the elevator. She didn’t have long to wait and, with a soft ding, the doors opened to an empty cabin. Seconds later she was on her way to the garage and her mother’s car. She was careful to make as little noise as possible, not wanting to disturb the other residents.

Unknown to Kirsten, a restless Jesse Peterson had heard the door to the other apartment open and close with its distinctive solid “clack.” He’d also heard the footsteps passing his door and then, a few moments later, the ding of the elevator. By that time, he’d moved to the door and peeked out in curiosity. He caught just a glimpse of a strikingly tall, blonde, young woman, carrying a large blue bag into the elevator. He couldn’t see her face, but what he did see was quite a sight. This must be the mysterious Miss Gustafson. What did Eve call her? Impressive? She was right about that.

Kirsten drove carefully out of the underground garage, heading toward the university rink. In the back of her mind was the question of whether that guy who had been at each practice was going to be there. He seemed to be focussed on her. He gave her the creeps and she wondered if she should mention him to someone. She didn’t really have anything to report other than he was at almost every practice and she felt like he was watching her. As far as she knew, it began and ended at the rink. Nonetheless, she memorized his face and would be watching for him. She was convinced he thought he was being subtle, but he was one of only five or six people in the stands, and the only one tucked up in the top row out of the main lit area.

Practice was underway and Kirsten had little time to look for the guy. The coach had kept them busy with drills and skating exercises. The older woman was quick to notice any of her charges whose attention had wandered. Kirsten had worked hard to prove she was ready for the next step. She wasn’t a scholarship player. She was a “walk-on” who wanted to qualify for the team. The odds were long. UBC had recruited several young women from across the country to play and Kirsten was an afterthought. Only her father’s reputation gave her the opportunity.

Tomas Gustafson was a perpetual all-star in the NHL almost from the day he joined the Detroit Red Wings from the Swedish Elite League. He had won the Norris Trophy five times and had been nominated four other times. His fourteen year career was well documented and he was an almost sure-fire first round selection to the Hockey Hall of Fame. Now retired, he had come to Vancouver near the end of his career to act as a role model and teacher for a young defence. When he retired, it was widely acknowledged he was largely responsible for helping develop the Vancouver Canuck defence corps into one of the best in the league.

Kirsten felt an unspoken obligation to follow in her father’s footsteps. She was an only child, but not by choice. Her mother, Anika, was unable to have another child after two very distressing miscarriages. Tomas would never have the son who might have followed in his footsteps. Kirsten believed it was up to her to fill that role. The young girl was unaware that her father did not expect that of her, nor did he wish it on her. But, if she chose to play hockey, he would support her.

The ninety-minute practice took every ounce of energy Kirsten could summon. She was soaked to the skin from the effort of keeping up and being ready for the coach’s next instructions. She hated the two-on-one drills, fearing any success by the forwards might mean the end of her ambitions. Her father had coached her on how to handle odd-man rushes and so far it had paid off. Even the stern-faced woman who commanded her complete attention seemed to be satisfied with her performance.

Kirsten didn’t linger in the shower. She wasn’t shy about her nudity in the communal tiled shower room, but wasted little time getting in and out. She had no friends on the team yet, merely acquaintances. A couple of the girls were from Quebec and spoke French, probably thinking that no one could understand what they were saying. Kirsten understood French well enough to know what they were talking about despite their strange dialect. She wondered if any of the other girls could understand the way these two talked about them.

As she left the dressing room, she passed the two, still gossiping with each other.

“Passez une bonne journée, filles,” she said with a smile as she left the room. She didn’t stop to see the look on their faces, but if she had, she would have known she had accomplished her goal. The two were red-faced and silent.

Jesse had returned to the swivel rocker and sat, now curious about the big blonde woman who lived just a few feet from him. At least it distracted him from the melancholy of his lost family. Was he that shallow that a beautiful female could push his troubles to the back of his mind? “Be realistic, Jesse,” he said to himself. “She’s way out of your league.” It was the Don Pollard-Juliet Crouse scenario all over again. Except, this young woman put Juliet to shame. That simply pushed her that much further out of reach.

Perhaps it was the distraction of Miss Gustafson, or perhaps it was just plain fatigue, but Jesse fell asleep and didn’t awaken until the bright, warm light of the rising sun was fully on his face. He looked at the clock and saw it was nearing eight that morning. At least he got some sleep. He forced himself out of the chair and headed for the bathroom. He showered and brushed his teeth first, then examined his face to see if a shave was necessary. He decided it wasn’t and moved to his room to dress for the day.

He returned to the chair that was becoming familiar to him and sat gazing out at the awakening city. Already the traffic was heavy and the nearby market was alive with delivery trucks and merchants getting ready for the business day. It all seemed so normal, except to him it wasn’t normal at all. He willed himself not to fall into the dark place he visited last night. That was more than he could handle. He wanted to be optimistic. He wanted to be positive about his future. Could he? How?

Eve was up now. He could hear the water running in her bathroom. There was no sound coming from Mica’s room. It seemed unfair that the boy would have to go to school in July when most of the other kids were on holiday. However, Eve said this was the third year of the three semester experiment and he had become accustomed to the schedule. Nonetheless, that didn’t seem to get him out of bed any more easily.

Eve appeared dressed for the hospital, looking fresh and to Jesse’s eye, very attractive. She smiled as she greeted him.

“Good morning, Jesse. Did you sleep well?”

“Not really,” the boy sighed. “I had a nightmare that kept me awake. I don’t ever remember having one before.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. What was the nightmare about?”

“My parents and sister were trying to reach me ... but they couldn’t. It was very frustrating and disturbing.”

“I’m sure it was. Why don’t you have some breakfast? We’ll go to my office and talk. In the meantime, I’ve got to get Mica up and moving or he’ll be late for school.”

Jesse headed for his bedroom while Eve knocked and entered Mica’s room. He could hear her encouraging the boy to wake up and get moving. Jesse was smiling to himself. This sounded an awful lot like his mother and him some years ago.

Forty minutes later, Eve and Jesse were on their way to the hospital and his first session of hypnosis. He wasn’t looking forward to it, largely because he was ignorant of what hypnosis was about and what Eve hoped to learn that he hadn’t already told her.

“I saw the girl who lives across the hall this morning,” Jesse said as they drove along.

“Oh ... you mean Kirsten?”

“Yeah. You were right ... she is impressive. She was carrying a big bag. I wondered what she was doing up at that time of the morning. It wasn’t even six o’clock yet.”

“She plays ice hockey. Her mother told me she’s trying to qualify for the UBC women’s hockey team.”

Again, Jesse was surprised. “Women play hockey now?”

“Don’t be so shocked,” Eve grinned. “You’ll discover women do a lot of things now that they didn’t do before.”

“I guess,” Jesse sighed, wondering just what else women did that was different from “his time.”

Eve led him into her office, closing the door behind her. It was a simple room with a bookcase, three comfortable looking chairs around a coffee table, a desk, and an office chair. There was nothing fancy about this office.