Page 20 of Saving Forever
Slowly, I pull off my T-shirt and expose the rest of my ink.
My number, 77, is in the middle of the Russian flag, over my heart.
“This is for home and heart,” I say pointing to it. “Because love for my country is only outweighed by love for hockey.”
She listens attentively, eyes raking over my torso.
“This one—” I point to the line going down the right side, “—is a quote from Leo Tolstoy, written in Russian. It says, ‘There is no greatness where there is not simplicity, goodness, and truth.’ It is my favorite.”
I see a flicker of surprise in her reflection but I continue because I’m not sure what she’s thinking.
“These…” I point to the starburst and lightning bolts on my right bicep, “…were also done when I was young. No meaning, just nice to look at. And finally, this is the Slavic warriors, for all my people who died in wars.”
“They’re beautiful,” she says, sitting up. “Your heritage is very important to you.”
I nod. “It is. I am proud of who I am and where I come from. I understand the government is not…popular. But this government does not represent who we are as people. Our past, the lives we lead, and our hopes for the future. For better lives.” I get on the bed and lay back against the pillow. This isn’t something I talk about a lot but it feels important to share with my new wife. “Growing up, we were very poor. We live in terrible neighborhood. Fights every day. I had to walk miles to school, even more to hockey. My father worked two jobs, my mother did anything. Sewing, cooking, cleaning—so we can afford food.
“Now I send money. I buy them apartment in good Moscow neighborhood so they feel safe. I also have home in Moscow. My sister lives there now, to take care so no one arrives. Is difficult when I am not there. Even with money and security, sometimes the homeless, they see no one home and go in.”
“Like squatters?” Her eyes round. “Oh, wow. That’s terrible.”
“Yes. So, my sister is there with her boyfriend. I will buy them apartment as wedding present if they marry.”
“You plan to go back to Russia once you retire?”
I nod. “Yes. I like America very much but is so difficult sometimes. The language, the customs…I am more relax in Russia.”
“That makes sense.” She pauses. “Do you have to do military service?”
“Because I am athlete, and because I send much money to Russia, I am…” I hesitate, searching for the word.
“Exempt?” she asks.
“Yes! This.” I nod. “Not everyone gets this. But I am…high profile? Also, my NHL schedule and training make military impossible. Soon, I will be too old.”
“It’s complicated, huh?”
“Very.” I turn to look at her. “Tomorrow will be busy. We must rest.”
“I know. But I like talking to you, hearing about your life.”
“I talk too much. You listen. You must tell me something more about you.”
“Well, just like you want to retire to Russia, I want to retire to my grandmother’s house in the country. The one I almost risked my life to save.”
“Is beautiful?”
She smiles and this smile lights up her entire face. “It’s a little far, about forty minutes from here, but it’s beautiful. And the bird sanctuary is attached. She started it while my grandfather was still alive. I grew up helping her there, watching her tend to birds she rescued and birds no one else wanted. For me, it was a magical part of my upbringing because she was the only person I ever felt truly loved me. I think that’s why my father hated me going there, even though he said it was because it wasn’t ladylike.” She shrugs. “I kept going anyway. The birds make me happy.”
“You like birds?” I can’t wrap my head around it. Honestly, I never gave much thought to birds. Dogs and cats, sure, but birds are out of my purview.
“I do. Priscilla is my grandmother’s albino peacock. She’s beautiful and has so much personality.”
“Peacock?” I’m a little confused but everything about her changes when she starts talking about the birds. A falcon. Crows. Parrots. Something called a kookaburra? I don’t know what that is but I’m going to look it up as soon as I get a chance.
Her voice starts to sound tired and she yawns. Without warning, she seems to drop off to sleep. I watch her for a moment, taking in her soft features, the curve of her hip when she turns onto her side. I reach out, wanting to touch her, but then yank it back. She can’t consent and we’ve never talked about this.
I turn off the bedside lamp with a soft click and lay there in the darkness. Instead of feeling uncomfortable in a strange place, my body relaxes almost immediately, and I drift off to sleep.
