I had a request for another excerpt, and far be it from me to deny my best friend.
Here is a lengthy scene where Hammie has just returned from a team road trip, spending all night on the bus to get home.
Hammie grabbed his bag and trudged up the walk toward his house and bed, which called to him with a mighty voice.
His dad met him at the front door, leaving for the dental office. “Hamisch,” he said. “Welcome back. How was the road trip?”
“Fine, Dad. We won two, the third was canceled.”
“That’s marvelous, son, really. Listen, I was speaking to my friend Moishe down at UBC in Vancouver. He said he can swing you a decent scholarship for the Dentistry school there.”
“Dad, we talked about this.”
“I know we did, but I wanted you to think it over.”
Hammie started up the stairs. “I did think it over, Dad.”
“He can get you early enrollment for the Spring semester.”
“Dad, I just got back from Hazelton. Can we please have this discussion another time, like in the off-season?”
“All right, son, but give it another thought. You can’t play hockey forever. Sooner or later you’re going to need a real career. Your mother is happy to have you stay here—”
“Dad …”
“—And I don’t mind it so much because you’re not a bother, but when I was your age—”
“Dad …”
“—I’d already opened the practice and was putting braces on middle school kids. I met your mother when she was in the chair, you know.”
“Dad!”
Murray Hamlisch stopped in his pontificating. “Yes, son?”
“I’m really tired. I’m going to sleep now. I’ll talk to you later and let you try to convince me all over again. I promise.”
Murray turned to Nancy, who’d drifted out of the kitchen to listen in to the conversation. “I try to help him out, try to give him every opportunity, and what do I get from him?”
“Hush, Murray. You’ve seen that awful bus they travel on. Of course he’s cranky.” She turned to Hammie. “You go on to sleep, dear, unless you’d like me to fix you something.”
“No, Ma, I’m not hungry.”
“Something small, then. I could toast you a bagel, and I’ve got a half a melon—”
“Ma! I’m really not hungry. I just want to sleep, honest.”
Nancy shut her mouth with an audible snap.
“I’d better go, dear,” said Murray, and he made a quick exit.
“Maybe just a cookie? I made hamantashen.”
Hammie paused. “Purim isn’t for months, Ma.”
“I know, but your father loves them. I’ll just go make you a plate.”
Hammie sighed. “Yeah, okay, Ma. That sounds great.” She wouldn’t leave him alone unless he ate something.
A few minutes later, Nancy arrived at his bedroom door with a plate of triangular cookies, some sliced cantaloupe, and a glass of milk. The cookies were filled with raspberry or apricot, and were pretty good. He nibbled on one while she hovered. “Did you have a good road trip?”
“Yeah, Ma. We won both games.”
“You didn’t have time to pick up the phone and call?”
Hammie cringed. He didn’t want this to turn into another long, drawn-out conversation with him being on the defensive most of the time. “No, I really didn’t. When we weren’t on the ice, we were on the road, and you know there’s no signal coverage up there.”
Nancy sniffed disdainfully. “Well, it’s all for the best in the end, I suppose. Do you want something else to eat? I’ve got cold roast leftovers from last night.”
“No, Ma, I promise I’ll have some when I get up, but I need to catch up on my sleep right now.” He stretched and yawned. “I’ll get up around one or so, have a late lunch. No practice later.”
“Will you be home for dinner?”
“I think so. I’ll let you know, Ma.”
She stopped by the door. “You really ought to spend more time with your friends down at the Center, Hammie. You’re losing track of your roots.”
Hammie smiled. “Ma, I think that’s exactly what I’m going to be doing.”
“Good. Sleep tight. Don’t leave your plate in here.” She pulled his door shut.
Hammie flung himself backward on the bed and groaned quietly. “Peace, blessed peace,” he said. He yanked off his sweatshirt and threw it across the room. His last conscious thought before he drifted away was that he should have brushed his teeth after eating the cookie.
A persistent beeping noise dragged him from the depths of wherever depravities his subconscious had taken him. For a moment, Hammie thought he was smothering, but then he realized in his sleep he’d pulled a pillow over his head. Fine, it could stay there. What was that fucking noise?
It happened again. It was his cell phone, buzzing and beeping madly on the nightstand. He fumbled for it, knocking cookies onto the floor, and finally found the elusive plastic box. He dragged it under the pillow with him. “H’lo.”
“Hammie, it’s Mylie. We need to talk.”
“Mylie?”
“Listen, I’ve been thinking a lot about this relationship, and I just don’t think it’s working out the way I need or want it to. I think it would be best if we split up. You’re a sweet boy and all, but you’re killing my creative impulses. I can’t write when we’re spending time together, and have no inspiration when we’re not. There’s a cancer in my creativity, Hammie, and that cancer must be you.”
Hammie struggled to wrap his mind around this concept. “Wait, I’m a cancer?”
“Not an actual cancer, silly boy. It’s a metaphor. That’s something your hockey player mind will never grasp, I’m afraid. Have you ever read anything I’ve written?”
“Well, sure I have.”
“Like what?”
“Uh …” Hammie knew he was busted. He floundered as his mind tried to catch up to the conversation. “What’s the one with Blood in the title?”
“Blood Wine? Blood Rose Rising? Hammie, all of my books except for Sundown have Blood in the title. You haven’t read any of them, have you?”
“You read the good parts to me.”
“Those are paragraphs, Hammie. My books are longer than a paragraph. Blood Wine is two hundred thousand words, and you haven’t read a single one!”
Two hundred thousand words sounded like more than Hammie might have read in his entire life. He couldn’t think of a single response to that. “Uh …”
“All you care about is stupid hockey. You don’t care that I’m trying to be a famous author and you’re not helping in the least. And that’s why I’m breaking up with you.”
“Wait … you’re breaking up with me?” Everything finally clicked into place and Hammie sat up. “Really breaking up with me?”
“Yes, Hammie. We’re through. I’m sorry, but it’s better this way for me. I’m sure you’ll find some hockey floozy to fill the huge void my absence is going to leave in your life. After a suitable period of mourning, of course.”
“Oh.”
“And don’t you worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’ve been rejected by professionals. I’ll survive to write another day. Goodbye, Hammie. It’s a small town, so I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
“Ok. Um, ‘bye.” Mylie hung up and left Hammie staring at his phone. Like the sun penetrating through thick clouds, it slowly dawned on him that she had just broken up with him. He was free.
He was free!
