Merlin “Wizard” Webb parked the gleaming Harley Fat Boy as far back in The Ponds Hockey Center lot as he could. There were still a few empty slots there. The bike might stick out like a Popsicle tongue if he parked closer. His Club leathers were quite noticeable, too, with colorful pins and badges from major poker runs and rallies, Sturgis and Daytona. It’s just The Prejudged, for crissake. We’re not the Outlaws or Tribesmen.  The Prejudged didn’t even have fines for members spotted not wearing their colors in public.

He’d timed his arrival to avoid bumping into Melanie. Business at the place hadn’t slowed in the eight years that his son, Riley, had been playing here. At four years old, the kid put on his first skates. His grandfather bought them because it was a family tradition. Howard, himself, had played. Uncle Ted played. Uncle Terry played. Well, okay. Wizard was satisfied to sleep in and sleep it off on Saturday mornings while the toddler was kept busy.

 The old man must be increasingly serious about the boy’s future in the sport. He continued to pay for Riley’s travel league fees and summer camps. The rink itself was a full twelve-mile drive from Melanie’s place. But Howard could certainly afford it. The kid was fourteen and still playing for Hartland Hockey Club. It was a reliable topic of conversation during supervised visits hosted by the Friend of the Court. He was a captain and veteran leader, now, on the 12-14-year-old team. Showing off his one-year AA chip at their last meeting had earned him a high-five, and a more-than-perfunctory embrace at its conclusion. I’ve gotta look into some the AA scooter clubs.

Wizard hoped that his ex-father-in-law wouldn’t show up today. Luckily, the only thing the old man and all his sons loved more than hockey was the Detroit Lions. Today, the football game was at home and scheduled for this same timeslot. With any luck the whole gang of them are down at Ford Field. All I’d have to worry about then would be Melanie.

Wizard sighed and pocketed his keys. He dug into his clean, blue Lube Stop shirt and fished out a second Wellbutrin of the day.  Better give the Celexa an extra boost for the occasion. If Howard did show up, if Wizard was unfortunate enough to cross paths with him, he intended on silent passivity.

Not much about the culture had changed, apparently. Mini mites, little older than toddlers, then peewees, and bantams, Under 14s and 16s in the taxonomy of youth hockey, were still expected to carry their enormous equipment bags by themselves. Some slack was cut for fathers of the youngest who lifted the burdens from their children after they’d made a nominal effort. Bantam dads who still played bellboy were thought not to be serious about their sons’ future in the sport. Wizard moved around two of the small-fry gamely struggling toward the entrance. 

Inside The Ponds lobby, he immediately noticed the renovations made in the year since he’d last attended a game. Amenities had been upgraded and expanded to include more tables, bigger snack bar, a bigger skate shop, as brightly lighted as a Dick’s. He’d better not stand around sightseeing or he’d be seen. The restraining order encompassed a 500-foot radius. That and the supervised visitation would be in force for two more months. Probably can’t find 500 feet of distance between any point in this place. Maybe if I watched a different game.  Let me find where Melanie and the family are sitting. Just go way up in the bleachers at the opposite end. How are they gonna measure?

Before he could push through the doors into the largest of the three rinks, a possibly riskier strategy occurred to him+. Wizard hesitated then turned toward the stairs leading up to the glassed-in bar and pizza deck. He had gotten into a great deal of trouble up there before getting clean. That hairball with a couple of dads from an opposing team was probably the last straw in the bale of grievances that broke the back of his marriage. But couldn’t he, by now, trust his hard-won year of sobriety? Hell. If not now, when? Let’s see if they still have those heavy glass pitchers. Nearly tore my rotator cuff and missed the guy anyway. But wow, they were enticing, golden and streaming carbonation. A bargain, too. Especially if you weren’t sharing with someone.

This view, and the room had not been much altered. Tables were lined up along windows above the blue-line at one end, all the way to the red line at the other. There were tables and chairs at the far end not yet taken. No question but the vantage was excellent. Wizard recalled that Hartland Hockey Club, the host team here, would skate toward this goal for two of the three periods. Can I get some decent pictures through this glass? I know I must have tried at some point.

Riley wouldn’t be able to hear him cheering. But maybe that was a good thing, depending on whether his prescription brake fluid did its job. Wizard had honed a certain recognizable timbre to his braying encouragements. Pointless, boisterous shouting echoing off this same glass may have contributed to the ire of those two dads from Canton. An absence of biker wear probably kept them from being jailed. His visibility might still be a problem up here, though. The glass was not tinted.

The kitchen and menu were the same as his last, blurred recollection. The breadsticks with marinara on the side were thick, hot, and filling, he knew from experience. Wizard bought a pitcher of Diet Pepsi, ordered the breadsticks, then moved to the farthest empty table.

The pitchers were now made of plastic and seemed slightly smaller. The general economy and the profit motive might explain the reduced capacity. I wonder if I can take credit for the switch to plastic. Seems safer all around.

The soft drink in bulk was placed before him. His phone was set aside from an inside pocket of his leathers. Wizard turned his attention to the ice and the bleachers opposite the bar. The teams were just finishing their warm-ups, peppering their own goalies with wrist shots as they circled the net. Both groups of boys skated to their benches; some coasting into the open gates to take a seat. The five starters huddled, leaning in over the dasher boards for final instructions. Wizard studied closely, face by face, the rows of seating across the milky, scuffed ice until he spotted Melanie. Ahh, you’re alone. His sigh of relief made a spot of vapor on the cold glass.

Riley and his linemates skated to the center circle to take the opening shift. He moved in at a crouch to take the face-off. Wingers on his right and left did likewise. I just saw you. When did you have such a growth spurt? Skates and pads had always belied the true size and bearing pf the children wearing them. Wizard snapped a pic with the cell-phone, hoping to catch the very moment of clashing sticks.

The game progressed end-to-end with neither HHC nor the opponents from Plymouth seeming to dominate possession. Around the goal below, Riley passed up a couple of shots and appeared to work hardest at setting up his wingers. Wizard paused watching only to go collect his breadsticks.

Near the end of the first period, a scrum in front of the Plymouth net resulted in the first Hartland goal. Wizard clicked away with the phone camera. He couldn’t tell which of the celebrating mob of players had tipped in the puck. Riley did not look up during the elated group hug. Then all of the attacking players headed off the ice for a line change. It wasn’t Riley who skated in front of the bench, touching all the gloves of his teammates. He must had get an assist, though. Hard to tell with so many bodies flailing away and checking each other in the crease. See if the resolution of these Android picks shows anything.

The period ended with the score 1-0 in favor of HHC. The players gathered at their respective benches for hydration and strategy adjustments by the coaches. Again, Riley was focused on the men’s words, oblivious to faces peering from the glass above. Near center ice, he would have been looking up at tables back by the stairs anyway.

In the second period, Hartland Hodkey Club began to assert itself. Riley bagged two goals, one on a long slapper that Wizard could see where it came from. His whoop of pride was constrained and dignified, he felt. Others in the bar were louder. No one gave him a look. The second score came from a scramble in front of the Plymouth net. At his angle of view, Wizard once again had to rely on the glove slapping of his son along the outside of the bench.

The score at intermission stood at 4-0. Wizard made a trip to the Men’s Room. He returned to his seat just in time to see Melanie walking around the far end of the rink. Crap! Where are you headed? The pizza up here had always been a favorite of his ex and he didn’t think beer was sold downstairs. Think fast. If she’s gonna have a drink, she’s startin’ kinda late. And she’s gotta drive with my kid in the car. Probably just going for a pee. Or popcorn.

Wizard slid around to the chair on the other side of the table, miraculously still empty. He kept his eyes on the 3rd period face-off. Well, hell. It’d be her breakin’ into the safe zone. 

The game resumed with much of the activity just below him in what was now the Plymouth end. He saw Melanie return to her seat carrying a white bag. Yep. The popcorn. Now all he needed was for Riley to see him. Then he would linger up here and watch the next game until certain that they’d left the premises. The first glass of Pepsi was still half full. Maybe he’d put in for another order of bread sticks for supper back at his trailer. 

The next Hartford goal was scored by a different line. HHC was now up 5-0 so the kids, coaches, and parents could begin to breathe easy. With five minutes remaining, Riley flipped a rebound over the goalie’s shoulder, just as the kid was rising out of the splits after a pad save. Riley thrust his arms and stick in the air, wheeling behind the net into a mob of celebrating teammates. He couldn’t help but look up from the other players now as they hopped and hugged. A few caps dotted the ice for his three-goal hat trick. Their eye-contact was sustained for a few extra moments as the others skated back to the bench. Wizard took up the nearly full pitcher and held it against the glass. See? Dark. A soda. No foam! The boy smiled at Wizard then quickly skated back for his glove slaps along the bench.

With the hats all gathered and returned, three minutes remained with the score a comfortable 6-0, Wizard didn’t expect to see his son’s line on the ice again. But with 1:45 left to play, he and his mates came back out for a face-off in the Plymouth end. Coach wants the top kids out there to protect the shut-out.

Riley took the draw and sprinted toward center ice. A defenseman behind him won the puck then hit the right winger with a nice pass off the boards. A give-and-go resulting in a clear breakaway had been perfectly executed. Uncharacteristically, Riley did not hold up at the blue-line but skated into the offensive zone, way ahead of the pass snapped to him from behind. The puck carried all the way into the corner, untouched by Riley. The referee’s whistle shrilled and Wizard could faintly hear it. The assistant ref raised his hand unnecessarily to signal the offside then skated over to collect the puck. He delivered it to the ref so that play could be restarted at center ice. 

But Riley skated slowly in the opposite direction. He came to a stop beneath Wizard’s table. He began tapping the ice with the blade of his stick, a traditional hockey salute of respect. Riley stood and applauded the boy in return. Over in the bleachers, Melanie, too, was standing. She had spotted him and was glaring up at the bar, unconcerned that her son might have earned a penalty. But then she sat back down, did not stalk toward the exit to find and harangue him. Alright, now. Get back over there before they call delay of game. 

The kid went back to center ice to take the draw again. Before he could go into his ready position though, Wizard could see the ref lecturing or warning him. The boy nodded gravely but his smile returned before the puck dropped.