All We Need is Daylight

Frank wakes early, and he peaks over at the clock next to him to see that it’s so early that you can hardly even classify it as such. It’s late. But Frank never gets back to sleep once he’s woken up, so he decides it doesn’t matter. Four in the morning or not, he’s awake, and he’s likely going to stay that way. He still has at least one more day of settling in before classes are going to start for him, so he decides it doesn’t matter. He’s not going to try to torment himself with trying to get back to sleep.

Frank pulls himself out of bed and looks over at Ray. He contemplates for a moment, before deciding precisely what to do.

Frank pulls on some sweats, he doesn’t care too much about putting up appearances when he’s going out at this time of day. Hardly anyone will even see him. Frank hurries himself getting his stuff on, and then he grabs his gym bag, hastily making his way over to the skating rink.

It’s so early that the sun isn’t up yet, and it probably won’t be for another hour. Classes aren’t going to start up with any sort of frequency for another three or four, so Frank has a lot of time to be by himself. He can’t risk anyone catching him, especially not his teammates.

Frank had expected he’d have to wait ages just to get this chance, if he ever got a chance. He didn’t have a single chance at Boston, so he’s out of practice, but he craves the feeling of the ice in an entirely different way than hockey.

The key that Frank was presented with gives him a golden opportunity. Between the hours of about midnight to six in the morning, Frank has full reign of the rink. He’s got it all to himself. No one is likely to show up between those hours. This school may turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to him.

Frank enters the building, the key in his hand feeling like a million dollars as he opens the door easily, and then locks it again behind him. He’s thankful that there’s only windows at the entrance, and not all around the sides, so no one will be able to look in.

Frank hurries putting on his skates, shoves the rest of his stuff into his locker, and then it’s only a matter of moments before he’s on the ice. It’s not even been half a day since he was on the ice, but with these skates on, it’s like a completely different beast altogether. It’s been more like three months. It’s been far too long, and not just long because Frank feels out of place off the ice for ten minutes, it’s been centuries since he last got this chance.

Frank first makes a few laps around the rink, just to give his feet the chance to reacquaint themselves with the ice, but it feels so different with these skates. He comes to a clean, flawless stop that would be impossible in his other skates. He forgot just how much he loves having a toe pick, but honestly, the sheer weight and clunk of a hockey skate verges on impractical sometimes.

With these skates, it’s like he’s gliding, he moves with grace and balance. With hockey skates, it’s all about speed, and just about getting where you need to go, no consideration for actual practicality.

Frank makes his way to center ice, ready to feel the air on his skin the way he craves it. He spends another ten to fifteen minutes getting used to what is practically second nature to him, which still feels a little rusty. Finally, he feels confident enough and he gears up for his first jump in months.

It’s only a double axel, nothing to write home about, but he lands on the ice cleanly, with an arm raised even, so he’s not going to feel bad about it. He’d almost forgotten the sound of a skate hitting ice, it’s the most satisfying clack of all time, it’s honestly music to Frank’s ears. He’d say it’s his favorite sound in the entire world. The sound of a skate hitting ice after a perfect jump, there’s nothing comparable to it. It’s like smelling cookies baking, it’s universally satisfying.

Frank is too eager to go for another jump, he’s too eager to get back to his roots, so he makes another jump, another double which he overrates on, and it trips him up, almost sending him sprawling to the ground, but he catches himself, though a little dizzy.

He doesn’t let it get to him down though, and Frank just keeps going for jumps, going for spins, going for anything that his body decides it wants, because when he’s on the ice he doesn’t even need to think, his body just takes over. His brain doesn’t know what would look good, what would feel graceful, but his body knows it all.

Frank has never competed in any sort of figure skating competition, because for the past ten years or so, it’s been a secret. He hasn’t been able or allowed to tell anybody. There’s a cutoff age for when boys are allowed to do ‘girly’ things and that age is usually found at nine years old. Frank hasn’t been able to tell anyone since, not anyone. His mom would have to drive them out to the skating rink three towns over just for him to get a chance to practice, because he knew full well that he’d get eaten alive if kids knew.

Frank loves hockey, he really does, he loves it with all of his heart, and if he had to stop he’d be devastated, beyond devastated, he’d probably never be able to look himself in the mirror again. But at the same time, Frank loves figure skating. He loves it in an entirely different way. They’re two entirely different things that happen to be similar enough that you’re not allowed to do both. It’s just not okay for a hockey player to figure skate. It’s an unwritten rule, but one that’s also very clear.

Frank would give anything to be in the NHL, to compete among his idols. What he wouldn’t give to share the ice with Ovechkin. But he also wants the world to recognize that he’s a damn good fucking figure skater. He’s not the best, not even kind of, but he’s still good. Yet he doesn’t have the opportunity, nor will he ever have the opportunity, to show anyone that. The only people who know are the people who grew up around him, but apart from his own mother, nobody even knows that he still does. He pretended to give it up a long time ago.

Yet, through it all, for all the torment that this secret has put him through, he’d still give anything to just compete one time. Just once.

He knows it’s probably too late for him though, competitive skaters start competing at a far younger age than Frank, he’s well past the age where it’s acceptable to just jump into competition, when he’s never competed in anyway at all before. But if he could show people what he’s made of, people might be able to look past his inexperience, because Frank never half asses anything. If he’s not putting in one hundred and ten percent, then he won’t accept recognition or praise for anything. If he doesn’t deserve to even be recognized, then he certainly doesn’t deserve accolade. So, when he skates, he puts his all into it. He longs to show that to the world.

It’s a conundrum that keeps him awake at night, that haunts his every waking step. He has a whole secret identity just waiting to be unleashed but he can’t let it lose. He’ll never get to.

He still wants to compete. He doesn’t care if he’d win, he honestly doesn’t think he could care less about winning, or placing at all for that matter. But to just be recognized by more than one person as a figure skater. For people to know, and to actually get to look at the accomplishments he’s made, all of which by himself, with no one’s help or guidance. Just for people to know and experience what he spends a large portion of his life putting his every effort into, which no one ever gets to actually see.

Because, at the end of the day, everyone will get to see him play hockey, they’ll get to see him make a goal, get to see him make a difference on a team that needs him, but no one gets to see him land a jump. No one gets to see the routines he’s spent years and years and years building up, slaving over, putting his heart and soul into, because they always go unnoticed. He’ll spend over five years on a program that will ultimately never be seen. It’s like a poet not being able to share their poetry. He’s an artist who doesn’t get to show the world his art.

Because sadly, no one would understand.

When Frank was in seventh grade, there was a local boy who won his sectional figure skating competition, an enormously big deal, and for it to happen to someone who lived nearby was the talk of the town for weeks on end. This kid was gonna be huge, there were rumors bubbling up around him that he’d be the next big deal, that he’d compete on the US team during the next Olympics. He didn’t even really live that near to Frank, their only similarity was that they lived in the same state, but it was close enough that Frank idolized him. Frank wanted to be just like him.

That boy had been a junior in high school, and because of his figure skating, he was bullied, despite how far he prospered in the sport. It was proof that no matter how big of a deal you are, boys aren’t allowed to figure skate. Boys aren’t allowed to do feminine things, it doesn’t matter how good they are, it’s just not allowed.

That boy never went on to the US figure skating team. He killed himself two months after winning his gold title, before he ever even got to compete in nationals.

So, Frank refuses to let his secret get out. He can’t afford to. Frank’s hockey career is too promising, there’s so much that he has to give to this sport, and he cannot allow himself to blow that with what can only be considered a hobby at this point.

All figure skating can ever be is a hobby, a private one at that. Like scrapbooking, or building model cars, it’s something you only share with a few people, never the world.

Frank’s practice loses its flare not long after he remembers all the things that pull him down. He feels like a bird with a broken wing. He wants to spread his wings to fly, but he can’t. The suppression bleeds into his performance, and eventually, he can’t even land anymore jumps, and it’s not due to exhaustion. Frank just can’t stop beating himself up over how disastrous this secret could be to his life, and it effects his skating so much so that he can’t even rationalize practicing anymore.

Frank gets off the ice at about seven, and he knows that he is definitely pushing the limits on maintaining his privacy. Someone could easily come in here for an early morning practice, though it being a Wednesday definitely decreases that chance, but he definitely can’t risk skating any longer.

He feels kind of empty when he does get off the rink, a feeling that he has every now and again when he remembers what’s at risk. You’d think Frank was hiding a secret like he killed someone, or he’s addicted to cocaine, not something that an outsider would view as tiny, like figure skating. The truth is that it’s not tiny, not for a hockey player. It’s a big deal. It’s not just an empire state building sized issue, it’s a whole city of skyscrapers.

Frank changes into less grungy clothes, jeans and a t-shirt, putting his sweats and skates into his bag, and then frowning at the hockey skates he’d put in his locker yesterday. He can’t risk leaving these skates in his locker, because everyone would know the difference. His secret wouldn’t remain that way for more than a day.

Frank sits on a bench in the locker room, just sort of thinking, for what feels like a really long time but is actually just five minutes. He’s conflicted, because he would absolutely love to just give up figure skating and put everything into hockey, but he literally cannot do that. His own body won’t allow him, Frank physically craves the ice, it’s like air.

He hurries up when he hears the sound of someone moving about outside, probably getting ready for an early morning practice, just not as early morning as Frank had. He’s tempted to get on his hockey skates and get some actually useful training done, but his mood is kind of wonky right now, he feels like he just needs to lie down for a little while before he’ll be able to do anything, so he decides that he’ll come back later if he really needs to practice some more.

Frank makes his way out of the locker room, and he sees Gerard standing there, messing with the front door to unlock it. Gerard’s presence surprises Frank, making him stop right where he stands in the doorway from the locker room. He doesn’t know if he wants to have to engage in an actual conversation with the guy, because Frank generally likes to avoid one-on-ones with people, but he supposes that he is trying this new thing where he’s actually social, and running past Gerard probably won’t be an effective technique to achieve this goal.

Frank makes his way slowly over to the exit, as Gerard unlocks the doors. The skating rink officially opens at about eight, so there’s still about an hour or so before the doors need to be unlocked, but Frank chooses not to question it.

Gerard turns to him when he hears Frank walking down the hall, and he looks unsurprised to see him there.

“Well I guess giving you that key is going to come in handy, huh?” Gerard says when he unlocks the last door, of which there’s a total of four.

“Yeah,” Frank says sheepishly.

“Hope you’re not too tired out for practice tonight?” Gerard asks, and Frank shakes his head. He’s never too tired, really, not for skating anyway. Their training schedule is rather intensive, with a practice every day except Sunday, three hours each, except for Saturday which is five hours. Frank expects he’s going to be dead on his feet by week two, but it’ll be worth it.

“Never,” Frank says, shaking his head.

“Well good,” Gerard says, smiling. “Oh, actually, while I’m thinking about it, I should get you that copy of our game plan.”

Frank nods, and then Gerard gestures for him to follow behind him. Frank does so, and he walks in pace behind Gerard, down the hallway that leads to the locker room, and a little further past which leads to some offices. There’s an office that says ‘Coach’ on the door which Gerard unlocks and then leads him into.

Once inside, Frank sees another door which leads into the locker room, but Gerard goes to the desk and starts looking through a stack of papers, searching for what he’s looking for, which is likely to take a few minutes considering the mess on the desk.

The office itself is rather barren, no trophies to speak of, but there are dozens of photos all over the walls with highlights from games over the years. Coach has been at this school for what appears to be about ten years, going by the team photos that date back to 2004. There’s two desks in the office, one smaller than the other and shoved into the corner. It’s Gerard’s desk surely, and the other slightly larger one with the team photos behind it is Coach’s. Gerard’s desk has newspaper articles behind it, and Frank, unable to help himself, looks at them to read the headlines of what Gerard has deemed worthy of saving.

The articles are extremely old, dated almost forty years ago, with headlines that say things such as ‘Way Becomes Unlikely MVP,’ ‘Is There a Championship Game in Armstrong’s Future?’ ‘From Rags to Riches, a History of the Green Knights,’ and the highlight of the collection which says ‘Armstrong University Dominates D-I With First Championship Win.’ Frank studies the articles more closely, and he realizes that they chronicle a four-year period, the very first and last time this school ever won a major tournament.

“You’re a legacy,” Frank says, as a fact rather than as a question.

“What?” Gerard asks, and then seems to understand what Frank’s saying. “Oh, right, yeah.”

“Your dad was on the team that won the championship?” Frank asks, turning to look at him, suddenly understanding why it is that Gerard and for that matter, Mikey, are both at this school. It’s not a very good school for hockey, though their other sports teams tell a different story, but it doesn’t make sense as a school for a hockey family. Why would a family of hockey players go here when there are better schools to play for? But when you factor this revelation in, it starts to make a lot of sense.

“He was,” Gerard nods, “hell, he was the reason they won it.”

“So, that’s why you and Mikey went here,” Frank says.

Gerard nods, “the dream was to do our father proud by winning another championship for this place.”

“So, why’d you quit?” Frank asks, remembering what Ray had said.

Gerard shrugs, “because I realized that I was fighting a losing battle.”

Frank shakes his head, “bullshit.”

“What?”

“That’s crap,” Frank replies, “you wouldn’t give up on a team like that if you were raised on your own father’s accomplishments. And why would you return to coach this team if it was a lost cause?”

Gerard sighs, and then has what can almost be construed as a smile on his face when he replies, “alright, fair enough. Mostly, I lost faith in myself, and I started to push myself so much that the sport was close to killing me. I gave it up for my own good. Hockey stopped being about the love of the sport, and it became about proving a point, which isn’t what it should be about. I retuned as a coach because I still love this team, and this school, with all my heart, I just couldn’t play for it anymore and retain my own sanity.”

Frank looks at Gerard, walking over to him, Gerard still looking through the mess of papers on Coach’s desk. He’s starting to warm up to this boy pretty fast, which is unusual for Frank, as usually he’s as cold as the ice he skates on when it comes to new people. Something about Gerard though reminds him so very much of himself. Gerard has something to prove to the world which Frank identifies with. Frank is nothing if not trying to prove his worth.

“Ah, here we are,” Gerard says, finding the papers he’s looking for, stapled together into what looks like one War and Peace sized booklet.

“Oh, uh thanks,” Frank says, taking the papers from him, and skimming through the pages quickly.

“Study it like the bible,” Gerard says, and Frank nods. He hadn’t noticed before, but Gerard is cleaner than he had been yesterday, like he’s trying to impress someone. His hair looks like it actually got washed, which must be a rarity for this man, and his clothes, while still too big for him, look a little less worn and faded. He also must have shaved because he doesn’t have that awful looking neckbeard encroaching on his pale skin.

Frank wonders who he’s trying to impress, or if he’s just reading too much into it. Maybe Frank just caught him on a bad day yesterday. That’s probably it, he supposes, Gerard just decided to prim himself up for no ulterior motive other than because he felt like it.

“Do you have a class you need to get to?” Gerard asks, looking down at his watch as if he’d only just realized the time.

“No,” Frank shakes his head, “I don’t have a schedule yet, it’s still being finalized.”

“Oh, right, okay,” Gerard nods, looking entirely too interested in this information. “Well in that case, do you, uh, do you want to go get breakfast with me? So, that we can talk more about the team, of course.”

Frank feels slightly winded at the offer, probably because no one has ever asked him anything of the sort in his entire life. He turns a ghostly pale, in contrast to the pink that overtakes Gerard’s cheeks.

“Um, sure, yeah,” Frank says, nodding, not knowing how to feel. If this were Frank’s imagination, then this would be a date, but since it is not his imagination, Frank’s sure he’s reading too much into it. Reality never aligns with Frank’s own dreams, so this is just two guys going out for breakfast to discuss hockey. Nothing more than that. Frank is just delusional because Gerard is pretty. Frank tells himself to be calm about it, because this is how he falls down a rabbit hole, by allowing himself to think things that are not only idiotic, but impossible. It’s just a casual breakfast, and Frank’s fucking delusional.

Gerard is hoping for something quite the opposite of casual.

Notes

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