Overtime is about to start. The Boston Bruins have cruised through three games against St. Louis, but tonight the Blues are fighting back. The score’s 3-3.
Only crumbs remain in the chip and pretzel bowls; a thin haze of cigarette smoke drifts past the TV screen, more hangs near the ceiling. Empty beer bottles lie on the floor beside chairs and cushions.
Donny’s under the coffee table beside Shelly, who picks at a bit of rug near his hand and shoots him furtive glances. Even though she knows Donny, this is as close as they’ve ever been. Donny grins at her when she turns toward him and Shelly laughs ha-ha-ha. Donny laughs right back.
“Can’t help it,” he tells Darlyn.
Darlyn’s sitting between Marvin and Kathy. She kicks Donny’s ribs when he laughs. But then she laughs too.
“Hey, man, why’d you kick me then?”
“I know, I know,” Darlyn says, and laughs some more.
“Stop kicking me.” Donny grabs her foot, pulls off the sock and flubs farts on to the soft flesh of her arch. Darlyn screeches and Barry starts to laugh.
“What’re you laughing at?” she says, turning to him.
“Fucked if I know,” Barry says. Then quickly, “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to say it.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Shelly says softly, but they can hear her. Then she flubs fart noises on her arm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she says again.
“Barry!” Al scolds. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged Barry. He looks over at Connie. Connie’s looking at the TV, ignoring them all. Donny, looking at Shelly, who is trying not to look at him, flubs farts on his arm.
“Don’t provoke her,” Al says.
Donny says, “Shush,” to Shelly. She looks right at him. She closes her eyes, puts her mouth on her arm, and makes more fart noises. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she says when she’s finished.
Donny grunts so as not to laugh. “Sh-sh-sh,” he whispers, but he can’t stop himself now.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Rausch,” Barry says.
“What on earth for?” she says to the air, because she still isn’t looking at anyone.
“Don’t worry,” Kathy says. She’s nearly shouting to be heard. “Shelly learned the f-word ages ago. She’ll get bored soon.”
“We want Bobby Orr. We want # 4,” Marvin shouts, surprising them all. Except for grunts and hoots when the play’s been close, or a goal’s been scored, he’s been silent the entire game.
“Bobby Orr, # 4,” Marvin shouts. Shelly stops making fart noises and looks up at him. She joins in. Soon they’re all chanting, facing the TV, watching the gate open and the players come on the ice. The puck is dropped.
“Shut up!" Connie yells. “It’s my day and I say shut up; I can’t hear a thing.”
They ignore her. She goes to the TV and turns up the volume. Sound booms.
“… Westfall rolled it in front. Sanderson… tried a shot that was wide. Kennan cleared it but not out. Bobby Orr… behind the net to centre. And Orr… Bobby Orr… scores! And the Boston Bruins… have won the Stanley Cup…”
They stand and scream. Al kisses Connie. Connie pushes him away. He steps on a beer bottle; his foot rolls forward, then back, and he loses his balance and thuds to his bum.
Donny tries to catch Al. The coffee table catches on his shoulder and tips sideways. Beer bottles, snack bowls, ashtrays and the Easter lily bounce around Shelly. Dirt flies across the carpet. Lily death-smell fills the room.
Shelly closes her eyes. She rubs her cheeks and screams louder than anyone. Marvin chants, Bobby Orr! Bobby Orr! Darlyn and Barry join in.
On TV, Bobby Orr is horizontal, flying through the air, mouth open, arms forward, legs out, launched into a dive.
“… Orr putting it in….”
“Bobby,” Kathy cries. She walks forward and touches the screen.
“… as Bobby Orr, the 22-year-old… sensation scores… after 40 seconds of overtime… and the… Boston Bruins win the Stanley Cup!”
.JPG)
