That pupils of all sizes, complexions of all colors and countenances of all textures turned to me at once unnerved me, a newcomer to Pacific Heights Elementary- my new school in Vancouver. Indifference, amusement, and perhaps a tinge of despise radiated from their curious eyes as Mrs. Darby introduced this slender kid from Prince Edward Island, the remotest and coldest province that lies on the outskirts of Canada and faces the boundless Atlantic. Daily debrief was ended by the clanking of the recess bell, and they swarmed out to the playground, chatting excitedly about Minecraft servers and boasting to each other about their new Pokémon cards. Soon enough, the slides were abound with vexed and jostling kids waiting for their turns, and soccer balls soared across acres of grass. Sunlight spilled over the playground, and a few sparrows chirped gaily on the oaks- a typical noon in White Rock.
Inside the classroom, few paged through comics, engrossed, while others binged quietly on best-sellers, enjoying the equanimity of noon. Estranged, I fiddled with my hands and cracked my knuckles, as if being neglected by the whole world, as if I evanesced into a torrent of non-existence; Other students can easily find company and hang around chatting, but this was obviously not the case for a new-comer like me.
A boy approached me. A bony countenance with cheekbones protruding. A familiar Asian face- narrow eyes in front of which is a pair of thick glasses. I found my counterpart in this exact classroom, which seemed to confirm my identity and existence.
He gave me a hand and hauled me up from the reading corner’s carpet. Together, we trotted to the sofa and couched there. He asked me, “So you’re from China, right?” I nodded, and he continued,“I’m from Shanghai and moved here since I was three. White Rock is a great place to play hockey, and I actually made the hockey team here in Semiahmoo! My coach played for Vancouver Canucks. Here, read this.” He stuffed a crumpled NHL guide to me, and pointed out the signature blue icon of Vancouver Canucks. That afternoon, I binged the fifty pages with my then poor English, enthralled by the draconian rules and the teams and players.
After that, I became a maniac of NHL. We often strolled around at the school book fair, trying to dig out some NHL guides for beginners. We went to Walmart on Saturdays, looking for Hockey-related games that we could play on my Xbox for whole afternoons. We occasionally went to the rink, where I would spectate Semiahmoo play against other communities and cheer fanatically when our players smashed the puck into the net. I tried to play against him solo and often won- as he often fixed the game. We could play for five hours in the rink, obsessed with the blurriness of everything and the sensation of cold air coating our skin as we shuttled back and forth on ice.
As I progressed in hockey, classmates began to invite me during recesses to play land hockey on the field near Mrs. Darby’s dwelling. It was a small plot of land, nevertheless it was large enough to run on.What was charismatic about hockey was watching the small puck soar and glide into the net with the slight maneuver of the wrist and hearing your teammates cheer for you. Soon enough, I secured a place due to my frequent goals during recess scrambles, and everyone wanted me to be on his team. I sometimes had self-aggrandizing feelings of being popular, feeling more egocentric and confident when talking to girls(which was pretty much common among all teenagers.) We also had more to talk about- Pokémon, Clash Royale, League of Legends. What once seemed so distant became natural components of my life. They just worked their way into my life as water dissolves in water.
One Autumn morning, while we were having our daily debrief, Mrs Darby said that Noah was leaving. I was bewildered to hear that, and as the recess bell rang I dashed to him to urge an explanation. A morose look on his face, he said, “My father is redeployed to Shanghai, so our whole family has to move back. But you have lots of friends here already, don’t you?” I watched as he walked slowly out of school, bereft.
Thenceforth, everything about hockey seemed to be reminiscent of him. I wondered whether he still watched NHL gameplays on YouTube, whether he still kept his Vancouver Canucks jersey, whether he had his hockey stick with him there in Shanghai.
These questions left me musing for a couple of months, but I finally accepted our ending as it was. Our friendship is the intersection where two teenage lives provisionally meet, but we couldn't expect our lives to coincide ever after. What was important, though, was that he gave me precious memories.