Out of Play

“I told you to let me help. Are you okay?” She’s cocking her head to each side like she’s trying to look around my hand. There isn’t nearly enough concern in her voice considering I probably just broke my nose. Our publicist is going to freak if Don’s stunt ruins his promo photos for our next tour.

“I’m fine.” Then I feel something ru

“Tilt your head back and come inside. I’ll get you cleaned up.” Still no worry. Like this is no big deal and people break their noses in her garage all the time. But then she glances back and I think there might be a little concern in her eyes.

Part of me wants to tell her I’m not going anywhere with her, but it’s cold and my nose hurts so I follow her out of the garage, around the front of the house and through an unpainted metal door. When we walk inside, the only light comes from a small window lighting up racks of helmets and black duffel bags of who knows what. Snow gear hangs from a bar on the wall and almost every other surface. The floors and wall are wooden, and there are about five refrigerators down here. That’s strange as hell.

Maybe it’s where they keep the bodies.

Fucking Don and his need to get me up here—he’ll be sorry when I end up in pieces in someone’s freezer in a crazy house in Alaska.

I pause when my eye catches the back corner of this big open space. It looks like there’s an old trailer stuck inside the house. A trailer. Inside the house. Definitely crazy people.

She jogs up the open wooden stairs, and once again, I follow. The stairs stop in the kitchen, which is really just half the upstairs with a huge-ass picnic table in the middle of it and windows all along the front. I can see Gary is still outside, that same grin on his face. God, they talk more than teenage girls.

My eyes are still watering, but this is the craziest house I’ve ever been in. I blink a few times. The other half of this floor is full of old couches, an ancient TV, and has a few dead animals on the wall. It’s creepy. I need to get my ass back to California.

“Sit,” she tells me, and I find myself plopping onto the bench, resting my weight against the table. I drop my head back and she gives me a towel. “Pinch it.”

“I know what I’m doing.” The last bloody nose I got was when I got in a fight my freshman year. I pinch my nose like she says anyway, though, and look at the wood ceiling. Maybe I should tell these people it’s possible to make houses in something other than wood.

“I’ll be right back,” she says.

I wish I had stayed in the cabin and let the walls close in on me.

She stops close when she comes back, and something like vanilla mixed with oil and gasoline drifts around me.

“This might suck a bit at first.” She chuckles before cramming something up one of my nostrils.

“What the fuck?” I yell, pushing forward.

She doesn’t even flinch or apologize or anything. “I know it sounds crazy, but all the hockey players use tampons for bloody noses. They’re the most in-demand item in the first aid kit.”

“So you help with the team or something?” I’m trying to be nice here, but it’s a struggle.

She frowns and shoves something up my other nostril, harder than the first.

Wait. “Tampons?”

“Feel better?” She gives me a fake smile that tells me she knows damn well I don’t feel better and that I did something to piss her off.

“Yeah, incredible. You’ve got an awesome bedside ma

She looks like she wants to punch me, which is kind of fu

“Absolutely. Everyone likes doing stuff they’re good at, right?” She gives me a small smile like she’s having fun with me, not mocking me. Yeah right.

I don’t know how to react to this and, honestly, I’m done playing games with her. My feet are soaking wet and cold, I’m covered in blood, my nose aches. Oh, and I have feminine products shoved up my nostrils. “Listen, thanks for…” Breaking my nose? Actually, I’m not sure I have anything to thank her for.

I stand up. It feels like the bleeding is completely stopped, I might admit it could be the tampons, which are coming out the second I leave this place. Now all I want is something good to eat and the lumpy cabin mattress.

Not that I’ve been sleeping or anything. Long days and longer nights when my eyes won’t stay closed and my brain feels like it does on stage.

“I’m going to head back. Do you have the number for any delivery places?”

The smirk is back. “Delivery? Didn’t anyone tell you, you’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto?” Then she does it. She laughs and even though it might be kind of fu

“Nice. Thanks for the hospitality, Snow Queen.”

I still hear her giggling as I walk away and head down the stairs. I’m going back to my stupid cabin, and taking some ibuprofen because of my broken nose. Hopefully along the way, I’ll forget I ever saw this chick. I’m just about to close the door when I hear. “Catch ya later, Bishop Ripe.”

Did I mention I fucking hate Alaska?

…

“The fresh air is nice, isn’t it?” Gary nudges me with his arm.

“No. Not really. It’s cold. Why are we walking again?”

From the corner of my eye, I see him shake his head. “Do me a favor and take a deep breath.”

I huff.

“Humor me, Bishop.”

Since there’s no point in pissing him off, I do as he asks.

“What do you smell?”

We’re walking down a deserted Alaskan road in the winter. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to smell. “Nothing. Cold, I guess.”

“There you go! That’s good.” He nudges me again. “Did you know you could smell cold?”

Looking at him, I roll my eyes. “Honestly, it’s not something I’ve put a lot of thought into.” But you can smell the snow and frost in the air. It freezes the inside of my nose. “Why does this matter again?”

Gary doesn’t answer that. “Look around and tell me what you see.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I see this being a stupid fucking thing to do. “Trees, a road, more trees, painted lines on said road, more trees.”

“Troy used to climb these trees all summer when he was a kid. Not these in specific, but you know what I mean. His parents told me they could always find him climbing. He built his own tree house, too. I’ve seen it. Of course when he got older, he stopped. How many adults go around climbing trees for fun, right?”

“Right.” Shrugging, I hope that’s the right answer.

“When we came up here after rehab, you know what we did?” There’s a sentimental tone to Gary’s voice that I don’t understand.

“I give up. What did you do?”

“We climbed trees. We built another tree house. Sounds crazy, I know. But he enjoyed it. It took him back to a time when things were easier. When were things simple for you, Bishop Riley?”

Instead of replying, I cross my arms. This is fucking stupid. It’s not like I don’t get what he’s trying to do.

Suddenly, Gary’s foot shoots out, playfully. I don’t realize it in time, though, and I stumble with his mock attempt to trip me. “Come on. You’ve had enough for today. Let’s go get the car, drive to town, and buy you some boots.”

“Finally!” Without another prompt, I turn and we head back toward the cabins. The chanting in my head has been replaced by Gary’s voice.

When were things simple for you, Bishop Riley?