Page 38 of Hard to Get

“But what if they weren’t friends? What if something really bad was happening? Maybe it’s better to be a little embarrassed than to ignore it.”

Another speaks up. “Maybe the person getting hurt deserves it. Like, he just stole something.”

I nod again.

“It’s not my business,” another boy says.

I nod. “It happened to me. Back when I played in the WCHL, I saw a lot of things going on. There were hazing rituals for the rookies and a lot of them were abusive.” I tell them my story of witnessing abuse. It’s not the whole story, but it’s enough to get their attention.

Craig takes over again and tells them what they’re going to learn today: questions to ask themselves about a situation when they see it and then steps they can take to help. “And then we’ll finish with some practice.”

“Oh man, not role playing,” one boy says with a groan.

I grin. “I know, I hate it too, but it really is the best way to learn.”

We talk about questions to ask when you see something, specific things to do in different situations, and communication strategies for intervening. Then we get into specific scenarios, ones that I helped develop from my own experiences. Some are more urgent, like when someone is at risk of physical or emotional harm, others less so. “Like locker room talk,” I say. This usually stirs up a vigorous conversation.

“Locker room talk isn’t all bad,” one kid says. “If it stays in the locker room, it doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“You think?” I look around.

“It can hurt someone in the room,” one guy says quietly. “He might not know they’re talking about him, if they don’t know everything about him.”

“Yeah. Exactly.” We talk more about that, then I say, “Do you think it can normalize thoughts and behaviours that are toxic? Like objectifying women?”

We talk about things they can say if they feel uncomfortable about something a teammate is saying. Then we talk about more serious things: like seeing a teammate abusing alcohol or drugs, or abusing a girl. Or a teammate. And the specific strategies to use in those situations, like maybe distracting the abuser to buy time, or delegating to get someone else to help, too.

“How can we distract someone?” one kid asks about that strategy.

“There are a few strategies. One is, start a conversation about something else with the abuser,” I suggest. “Accidentally spill your drink or drop something. Create some kind of commotion.”

The guys get into all of this in hilarious ways during the role playing, but that’s good. They’re learning.

Helping these kids helps me as much as it does them. The guilt I’ve carried around for the last eight years or so feels a little less burdensome, a little less raw. I know nothing I do can change the past but I feel like helping others might make up for my spinelessness back then, in some small way. And I’m learning, too, if I face a situation like that again. I’d like to believe I’m a better person now, even though sometimes I worry… I’m not.

11

STELLA

I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about seeing Jayden today. All week when I was working, he’d pop into my thoughts. I had empty time on the flights to and from Toronto and I kept thinking about him. I’d ask myself if I’m crazy then push that aside to focus on business.

It’s reminding me a little of when I met Cole. And I don’t like it.

I have to end things with him.

When I walked Betty, I’d think of him in the park. Also, who’s looking after Frank? I take Betty to my mom’s place when I travel. Does he take Frank to his sister’s every time he goes away?

He kept texting me. And it was sweet. I kept reminding myself I should just tell him I can’t see him again. But I didn’t do it. I told myself it was better to tell him in person. But that’s bullshit. We went out once. I could have ended things with a text. Why am I so weak about this? I don’t usually have any problems telling a guy things aren’t working for us.

Apparently, we’re going for a bike ride today. He asked if I have a bike, which I do, and said he’d meet me at George Wainborn Park, only a few blocks from both of us.

“I guess you can’t come this time,” I say to Betty, gazing at her sad face. Her face is always sad but, today, it seems extra mournful with the wrinkles on her forehead and her downturned mouth. I love my dog and actually feel guilty for leaving her on a Saturday when I’d usually be taking her for a long walk down by the water. “I’m sorry, my sweet girl. I’m a selfish mom. We’ll go later, I promise.”

I’ve dressed in leggings, a long-sleeved shirt, and runners, with a small cross-body bag holding necessities. Phone. Money. Credit cards. Lip gloss. I fasten my helmet and walk my bike out the door, down the steps, and onto the sidewalk.

It’s a glorious autumn day: blue sky, leaves changing to red and gold and still bright flowers bursting out of pots and baskets. I cruise along the bike lane toward the park. Jayden is waiting right at the entrance between the two pillars. I recognize him even in his bike helmet and sunglasses.

I slow to a stop next to him. “Hi.”