Searching for the Fountain of Youth Read online

  Winston moved on from Charlottetown Rural and enrolled at Dalhousie University in the big bustling city of Halifax, Nova Scotia. If he managed to make friends with everyone here, he would be at an astonishing 0.007%! He decided to major in neuroscience and he captained the Dalhousie Tigers hockey team to three straight AUS hockey titles and one national championship. Needless to say, he was also a hot ticket with the ladies.

  After his first year at the university, he was forced to move out of his third floor dorm room at Eliza Ritchie Residence due to far too many noise complaints from the tenants staying on the floors below. Dorothy Bradley, a 2nd year nursing student from Oregon, had registered the most severe complaint against him. During Winston’s frosh week, he had decided that he wanted to be known as the guy who threw the sexiest of sexy parties. He rented a hot-tub, a DJ (who was known only as “Jesus was a Blackman”), three strippers named Lucy, Juicy, and Honey, and a flock of birds that he claimed were “love birds”. The theme of the party was “Sex it Up”.

  Winston was fairly stupid for a smart man. He knew that he could get away with the noise of this party because it was frosh week; the whole city was on fire for the entire week and noise wasn’t the concern. Provided that no one got raped or died of alcohol poisoning during the week, and as long as the building didn’t get destroyed, everyone would be generally pleased. Let’s be realistic, 30 000 students in one city for a week long party. Noise shouldn’t be the foremost concern. Notice how Canada has never fought on its own soil. It’s because the entire Canadian military wouldn’t even be able to stop these kids for this week. Knowing this, Winston decided that he could push it even further.

  Half-way through the party, a.k.a. at two in the morning, Winston decided to “Sex it Up!” He drunkenly ran around the tiny dorm room wearing only his underpants while screaming, “let’s get naked!” Everyone who had the stamina to still be partying at this hour, including Dorothy, were all so incredibly hammered that the idea was accepted rather easily. You would think that a debate might result from such a wild request, but it didn’t. Everyone was that drunk, (or that slutty), that the proposal seemed more than reasonable. Braziers snapped off like firecrackers; underpants flew across the room like confetti at Mardis Gras; love birds squawked like love birds squawk; black DJ’s gave props like black DJ’s give props. The smell of sex filled the room as the over-crowded hot-tub’s water flowed across the floor. Jokes were made, footsies were played, and a lot of people got laid. Dorothy Bradley, however, slept alone that night. Sort of.

  The party died down as the sun rose and an underpants parade was conducted by drunken party-goers roaming the halls in search of their dorm rooms. Dorothy Bradley did not join the parade; she slept in Winston’s room. The only problem there, I suppose, was that Winston was spending the night (or morning), in the room of a pretty cheerleader whose name was far from familiar to him. He would joke with his buddies that he had ‘rode the horse with no name’ that night. “Barebacked!” As a result, Dorothy Bradley had had the entire room to herself to try to sleep the hangover away. There was, of course, one crucial glitch. How often do you get a sound night’s sleep when you pass out in a hot-tub that’s jets have turned off? I would assume it’s not the best.

  There she was, in an alcohol-induced coma, her body trembling from the cold while three stupid birds swam around the tub. Winston drove her to the hospital later that day.

  She was kept there overnight because the doctors wanted to monitor her while the nurses slowly warmed up her body. Dorothy would be alright, but a victim of hypothermia requires some attention in case their heart doesn’t respond well to the restoration of proper body temperature. Her body endured well, and the next day she felt better. Embarrassed and a bit angry, but otherwise fine. Fine that is, until she went to the washroom and noticed the rash. Apparently sleeping naked in a lukewarm hot-tub full of love bird feces is not terribly hygienic.

  She immediately went to see her gynecologist. I doubt she will ever forget the words she heard from her doctor: “What the hell is that?” She would eventually be okay, but her pride would take a little longer to recover. She registered a complaint with the residence life office and, at the end of the year, Winston was no longer permitted to step foot inside any residence building on Dalhousie campus. He was, however, permitted to keep his dorm room for the remainder of his first academic year. Athletes get all the breaks.

  CHAPTER 3 – All Jokes Aside

  “As lucky as a gay donkey...” - The Brad-Bird (A Friend)

  Winston loved being “Joe-hockey,” “Joe-school,” and, his personal favorite, “Joe-cool.” His friends used to call him “Joey-Joe-Joe” after they had realized how many nicknames he had. Yes, “Joey-Joe-Joe” was on cloud nine most of the time. Maintaining his popularity had become his whole purpose for being. Here’s a riddle for you: What do a nerd, a jock, and a smelly dirty hippie all have in common? They are all friends of Winston. But something happened that changed his agenda; something that would inspire him to make some very radical decisions.

  ***********************************************************************

  Saturday night, March 17th, Halifax Metro-center. The big game. Voices of excitement could be heard carried by the strong north-westerlies that funneled through the glowing city. At night, with the streets full of young unbridled anticipation, Halifax could be mistaken for the most bustling, lively port on the planet. It was certainly Hockey Night tonight, and Canadians love hockey. We love it almost as much as we love our beer. Canucks, being the smart bunch of hockey-loving, cigarette-smoking drunks that we are, were even wise enough to build the world class Metro-Center beside our legendary Moosehead brewery, which boasts such delightful ales as: Moose Green, Alpine, Clancy’s, and the always intoxicating Moose Dry (5.5% alcohol by volume). For a reasonable fee, one can explore the brewery quickly and then drink one’s face-off. This was the activity of choice for most young Tiger fans when they felt the need to get a pre-game buzz-on. For some, just a few pops to loosen themselves up enough to hoot and holler comfortably. For others, this activity was the perfect way to ensure that they would feel nothing if a brawl in the stands should arise. After all, the game was against their inner-city rival, the Saint Mary’s Huskies.

  Salted into the crowd of beer drinkers were two extremely special people to Winston: his current girlfriend Jenny, and Samuel. They were both sporting black and gold as they entered the brewery. At this time, I feel that it is crucial to note just how beautiful Jenny was. On the outside, she looked like your typical girlfriend of the captain of the hockey team. Tall, blonde, skinny yet curvy with a beautifully dimpled smile, and just an all-around knock-out beauty. Winston liked to tease her by calling her the “eye-dancer.” He had realized that Jenny was able to send his eyes into a dancing frenzy every time she stared at him sweetly. He found it truly incredible; Jenny would laugh at him constantly because his pupils would never remain the same size when she looked at him; sometimes his eyes were all blue and sometimes they were all black. His pupils were always in a state of transition, as if he were trying to absorb as much beauty as possible. Jenny perceived this as love and so did Winston. To them, it was proof that they shared what so many go on forever without ever finding.

  On the inside, Jenny was twice as beautiful. She was a radical intellectual, a bra-burner from the sixties. If she had have grown up in that generation, the music never would have died; she would have never allowed it to happen. She would have been best friends with her mom and dad if they had have grown up together, which is a truly rare phenomenon. How many of us would have been best friends with the younger versions of our parents? Since Jenny was the spawn of two radical hippies who were shaped by decades of spiritual revolutions, it was no coincidence that she was full of passion for change. She was the leader of Dalhousie’s animal rights group which, just a year prior, had drawn national attention to the manner in which Dalhousie scientists were treating their lab rats. She also spoke often to the pu
blic about a holistic environmental philosophy. If Winston hadn’t have been so preoccupied with finding cheap, superficial acceptance, he may have called her the “heart-dancer.” But Winston was who he was, and eye-candy and trophy Jenny would remain.

  “Beautiful night tonight, isn’t it Jenny?” Samuel said as they entered the brewery.

  “Yeah, it has that kind of electric feeling floating around tonight. I love it!”

  “I agree. There’s enough energy in this one room to fry a pack of wild huskies.” They both laughed. “Should we pretend to be interested in the beer-making process, or just sit at the bar and have a couple?” Jenny half-grinned.

  “I think you know the answer to that.”

  “Bar-keep, could we have a couple of Moose-Dry, please and thank you,” Samuel inquired as he pulled Jenny’s stool out for her. The beers were promptly placed in front of them and the two relaxed. “Well, would you prefer a tip, or would a joke satisfy for gratuity sir?”

  “Oh geeze. I guess I’ll have to try the jokes, you both look fairly dry tonight. How about two jokes for two beers? I like anything corny, and I do get guilty pleasure out of the odd dirty joke,” the bartender said as he leaned over the bar.

  “Alright, I’ll go first,” Samuel announced. “Why did the teddy bear stop eating?”

  “Beats me.”

  “ He was stuffed!” Samuel said while he slapped his knee.

  “I may have to cut you off already sir. Anyone who finds that joke funny must be liquored,” the bartender laughed.

  “Okay, okay. What if I promise to tell you the filthiest, most inappropriate joke you’ve ever heard? Would that square us away, or are you too much of a chicken to hear it?” Jenny asked.

  “Fair enough. If you can tell me a joke and I truly get offended, then we’ll be square for as long as you stay.”

  Jenny hesitated. Winston had told her this joke earlier that morning and she had almost broken up with him because of it. But now, realizing that a joke is inevitably just a joke, she made her peace and decided to throw it out there. She took a deep breath. “What is the best part about fucking twenty-three year olds?”

  “Oh my God,” the bartender exclaimed. “I don’t know that I’m prepared for this. Oh dear. I guess the best part would have to be their attention to details, ha, ha!”

  “The best part about fucking twenty-three year olds is that there are twenty of them!” Everyone fell silent. Jenny began to sweat as she waited for the bartender to apply logic. And then it happened. Smack went the bartender’s fist onto the counter.

  “Get the hell out, you sick, twisted perverts! Get out now, or I will have you removed!” If this had have been a scene from a cartoon, there would have been steam coming from his red ears. Samuel and Jenny hung their guilty heads in shame as they walked out. At the door, they turned around to flash him one last apologetic look. And there he was, laughing as he set two more beers down on the counter. “You win,” he said.

  ***********************************************************************

  “Waaaaaaaahhhhhhh!” went the siren.

  “Yeeeeaaaaahhh!” followed immediately from the stands. Winston had just netted his second goal of the game on a fancy little three-way passing play to give the Tigers a 3-2 lead over the Huskies with just minutes to go in the second period. He was having another outstanding game in front of his friends and admirers. He was dominating Saint Mary’s in the corners and was making the right decisions with the puck every time he touched it. 0.007% had been achieved and cloud nine was his home yet again. It seemed like he never left there. I wonder, is it possible to live an entire life without ever suffering tragedy or heart-break? Is it possible? Some people suffer these things more often than others, and some experience them earlier in life than others. But are there some people who actually go through their entire lives without ever truly experiencing it? They must be so lucky; they miss out on so much.

  The buzzer rang to end the period, and the Tigers glided off of the ice feeling like they had just left the massage parlor as they carried a one goal lead into the dressing room. Winston, being the hot-dog that he was, casually exited the ice surface, and prepared to partake in his mandatory intermission ritual. After every period he would leave the ice last, giving Jenny enough time to make her way down from the bleachers. He would then plant a giant, fat, sweaty, horny kiss right on her nose. He felt that it helped him remain calm in tense situations such as an important game. But something was different this time; something seemed wrong. His dad, his beloved wing-man, wasn’t with her. He was always with her, so that after the kiss, he could tell Winston to keep his head up. Samuel loved watching his son play well, but he loved watching his son not get hurt more. Winston looked into Jenny’s eyes. They were all black, and she was trembling.

  “What is it baby?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “Winston,” she trembled. “It’s your Dad.” Winston froze in his tracks and his knees began to buckle.

  “Winston,” boomed the voice of an older man. It was Jonny, the team’s trainer. He had left the bench earlier in the period to sharpen up a fresh pair of skates for Winston. “Winston,” he said. “Your Dad is in the hospital. He’s okay, but he’s in the hospital.”

  “What happened?”

  “He left because he was having chest pains. He said he was fine and he drove in with your friend Danny. He said he was in pain, but he didn’t want to take an ambulance. I don’t want you to worry, Winston. I just thought that you needed to know right away.” Winston had tears in his eyes, his cheeks bright red. He looked as though he was experiencing chest pains too.

  “I…I…Fuck,” was all he said as he began to emotionally unravel. He felt as if the sky were falling and panic began to flood into his mind, his cerebral spinal fluid being exchanged for pure, uncut, liquid terror. I wonder, if fear and excitement are both the result of adrenaline, then why do they feel so drastically different? “What do I do?” Winston asked Jonny and Jenny simultaneously. “What the hell do I do? Do I stay or do I go?” Conflict raped his face. “Does Dad need me, or does the team need me?” He didn’t really know if he could help anyone right now.

  “You should play Winston,” Jenny stated with a quivering bottom lip and a clenched right fist. “Your Dad will be okay and he loves you. He wants you to play.”

  “My God!” he said. “It’s just not supposed to feel like this.” What he meant by this was that life wasn’t supposed to be so complicated. It had never been complicated before; it had always been straight ahead, dive straight in. “I’m not going into the locker room. I don’t want to distract the boys.” He stood silently with Jenny, replaying his decision over and over again in his head, his mind in a contest with the Zamboni to see who could travel in more circles before the third period began.

  The third period began with Winston on the bench. The Tigers eventually won the game by the same score as they ended the second period with. The team celebrated; Winston skated away. Jenny would ask him months later how he had felt while he played that period. He would reply, “I felt numb all over, and I could only see in black and white.”

  Jonny drove him to the hospital. Jenny went too. They sat in the waiting room and Winston told Jonny that he should go home. “You’ve gone far and beyond your duties as a trainer, and I greatly appreciate it.” Jonny refused and said he was staying because he was a friend. A tall, muscular, lab-coat wearing messenger of death approached.

  “Hello, my name is Dr. Ross. Samuel has a collapsed lung. I had to insert a tube in to build it back up. He’s going to be okay, but he will have to stay for a few days to be monitored.” Winston immediately dropped a weight class. All that mattered to him were the words, “he’s going to be okay.” He had just spent the last two hours preparing himself for the words, “he’s going to be dead.”

  “Can I go see him?” Winston asked as he looked up at the halo-less angel.

  “Follow me.” The three followed Dr. Ross through the quie
t, microbe-coated off-white walls of the ER until they reached a gray door marked “trauma”. Dr. Ross opened the door, and time stopped. Jenny looked to Winston’s face for an expression, but only saw a tin man; his soul had been ripped from his body and, like a cloud of smoke, it had left the room through the vent in the ceiling.

  “Ahhhhhh!” yelled Samuel, one hand gripping the bed, the other gripping the robe across his chest. His face looked like that of an eighty year old man, so clenched in agony that his face looked as though it had been stung by a thousand killer bees. “Ah, ah, ahhh!”

  “Dad! Dad!” Winston yelled. “Dad, are you okay?” He had seen people in pain before, but never in so much. Not even close. He had never felt so small, so helpless. No matter how inept he felt, he couldn’t help his Dad feel less pain. The helplessness absolutely devoured him, and Winston’s pain broke Jenny. She wept uncontrollably. “I love you Dad,” he protested, but still his father moaned in agony. Why couldn’t a clean conscience, a strong moral heart, alleviate his father’s suffering? Why couldn’t Winston, the center of his own universe, give some of the goodness he possessed to his father? Why couldn’t he help?

  Helplessness is a terrifying emotion for the blessed; we perceive it to be exotic and demoralizing. To hold so many abilities within the external borders of your being and to not be able to give them to someone else is absolutely crippling. This emotion was new to Winston. As he left the hospital with Jenny, he felt like his whole life had been a waste. How could he look at himself in the mirror anymore? He couldn’t even help the person whom he loved most in the whole world; he only knew how to help himself. He was great at that (helping himself), but now he felt like that would never satisfy him again. He felt like food would never have a taste again, flowers no smell, and personal successes would be reduced to painful reminders of how he had spent his first twenty-two years on this planet living for himself. Living for himself. That life plan just didn’t make sense anymore. Life had given him so much. Didn’t he owe that same amount to others in the world? Winston decided then and there that he never wanted to feel helpless ever again. He decided that the true measure of one’s life, one’s greatness, wasn’t how many friends and admirers one had. A man was measured by his moral balance sheet: a record of moral favors given and received. A life well used was one that gave more to the world than it took; a life that ended with no outstanding moral debt. He was a changed man.