The one thing they don’t tell you about transitioning is the more you taste of femininity, the more it hurts to be closeted and perform activities perceived as a man.

  As an athlete, I’ve moved past this by mentally thinking of myself as a girl every time I train and compete. That’s right I’m the trans athlete you’re afraid of dominating men’s sports. One day I probably will dominate women’s sports too, but that’s just because I am absolutely fantastic at my job. Not because of my transition.

  As a girl going out with her friends to a fancy dinner, I absolutely have not moved past this every time I have to wear an outfit that will not get people to use she/her pronouns when addressing me. I certainly no longer understand how I was able to repress these feelings so much in college. Numbness is a curse, and liberating yourself from it is necessary. However, the pain it can bring, while perversely affirming, makes any 4x50 leg press session seem like a walk in the fucking park.

  As I put on my “nice” pair of jeans, and crew neck sweater that I could go to a fancy restaurant and then a posh nightclub on, I made sure to text Jenna “girls night this week. non negotiable” to blunt the pit forming in my chest about this whole thing. Thankfully, due to my shutout I would not have to pay Michelin Star prices for our dim sum, but unfortunately due to our complete inability to put a puck in the fucking net except for our frustrating, but sexy defensemen I will have to be paying for drinks.

  Somehow, I was able to find a slim enough wallet that would not make my jeans bulge out when I had both cash and my cards in it. I did not need any sort of reminder that there was in fact a bulge in my pants, no matter what style of jeans I wore. I did not need the world to think I had a partially primed roll of quarters ready to go. One day I would rid my body of this cursed beast, and I did not need Victoria, British Columbia thinking about it. It has one target and one target only and unless all of a sudden he clocks I am a woman, he will be unavaible. Part of me really wants to tell him, but I can’t have probably the most important member of our team off his game or turning into a bigoted asshole right as we are pushing for the pyoffs. Let alone during a potential championship run. Brock will just never have to know that his dream girl is right in front of him nearly every day, for the good of my safety and for the good of our team. This is just how it is.

  Now, back to thinking of how slim and invisible this wallet is because that’s the kind of mindset I need to survive in this world.

  “ohmygosh ohkay fucking finally I knew this was going to come. cum? ;) I kno just the pce too. let me loop in Sam. she knows of your little girl posse right? your little harem of women in the know that you’ve somehow collected? no, duh. we’ve literally talked about this at work. I’m going to tell her tonight. you are WEARING that dress I got you.”

  Calm down, Jenna. I casually sent back “duh” and got back to getting ready. Had to break out the single silver chain that every douchebag 23 year old athlete wears on top of a sweater to announce to the world “oh yeah I am a hockey MAN and you should desire me.” This outfit makes me want to puke, but this is the burden I must bear to gorge myself in some of the best Chinese food in all of Canada. I think I can live for a Michelin Star experience just one night.

  “Sam is in.”

  “How are you two so fast?”

  “We’re going Saturday. She’s moving our shifts around. I know you py Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Then, your free to get yr freak on.”

  “You’re.”

  “You’re a dork.”

  “That’s you. And yeah, this weekend is gonna suck I hate these back to back to back’s.”

  “I don’t work Sunday. We can sleep all day. zzz”

  I sent back a saluting emoji. That should get her to shut up for a little bit. It was time to disassociate into the idea of stuffing my face with more dumplings than humanly possible. The only rule of dim sum is to make the waiters feel like you are enacting economic sanctions on their restaurant with the amount of food you have consumed. Everyone else is a mark that they can fleece price wise, except me. When I walk out I want their begrudging respect that their margins that night were just a bit thinner because of the damage I left in my path. Now multiply that by five and you had what I assume our table will do to the nice people who run this establishment. It did not matter what I looked like at that table, I would conquer their menu. And it would be fucking delicious.

  “Who’s fuckin’ ready to ride boys?” Of course Brady would be wearing the gaudiest outfit imaginable to this restaurant.

  “I really can’t wait, I had no idea you were reted to the people who ran ‘Dim Sum Bistro,’ that pce has been ranked in the best restaurant’s in the country for years.” Huh, I never pegged Cude as a foodie. The man drinks maple syrup whiskey.

  “Yeah, my cousin’s wedding was held there a while back. It was one of the greatest meals of my life. Come on, they’re expecting us! And Marksy, don’t worry you’re getting your meal comped for that shutout, but also I think all of us are eating for free because my family are huge hockey heads even the side that is from abroad. They are rooting for us to go apeshit in the pyoffs. So don’t hold back boys!”

  Our whole meal? Comped? Dang, that was going to be a four digit check that we’d have to split, and they’re just giving it to us? Being family in such an establishment must have its real perks. I was going to have to open up two notches in my built, because I’m getting my money’s worth for sure.

  “Never pegged you as a foodie Cude,” I said.

  “Yeah, well you haven’t pegged me ever, Marksy,” he shot back. I was confused for a second before scowling at him, while everyone but Brock was silent. He conspicuously snorted.

  “Alright, boys calm down. Big win today, but let’s get our eat on. Then we go dancing. Which I cannot wait because Marksy has my drinks tonight!”

  “How did you swing that new guy?” It seemed Brady was genuinely wanting to get in on that.

  “We talked after our little tête-à-tête. I said if I got the winning goal he’d be paying for me, and well guess I just always make do on my promises.” God, the charisma oozing off him was just not fair.

  “You got lucky that coach called on you in the shootout,” I snapped back. I really wasn’t mad about paying for his drinks, but as I learned with Jenna it is kind of fun to put someone in their pce.

  “That’s fair Marksy, but I still buried it. And looked fabulous doing it.”

  “Whatever pretty boy.”

  “You really love calling me that don’t you?”

  “You’re the one acting like a pretty boy.”

  Conversation died at that one. I looked over and saw Brock smiling at me, but I for the life of me could not tell if it was a genuine smile or a smile you make when pying along for the bit and hoping to be a little bit of an asshole to your friends. My mind immediately started racing, knowing it was the tter, but a deep part of me really hoped it was the former. God, my friends were right, this crush was getting deep way too fast. One of the things they don’t need to tell you in hockey culture is being gay is seen as being weak. Being trans? That’s not even on someone’s radar because how could you even want to ever be a woman. Obviously that’s not how it works, I’ve been a woman all my life, but I had no idea that was a real thing until I was in college. It took well over a decade of shame for that feeling to come bubbling up to the surface that I could even attempt to broach it to someone, and who knows what would have happened if I did not find Jenna of all people? Imagine if someone unsupportive was the one I uttered those words to? That thought keeps me up at night some days. Thankfully I have the beginnings of a support system, but even now I have to hide that part of me away from the world.

  It probably is self harming doing that, but also, I want this. I want to win, so badly. Genuinely. There’s a real shot I’ll make the NHL, and I have plenty of time to transition medically after. Then I’ll come out publicly make it a whole thing and boom, kids like me won’t ever have to sit in the morass of shame that consumed my entire adolescence. They’ll realize that they can be the girls that they are and still py hockey, no matter how they choose to express themselves. We can sort through whatever minefield people want to make about people medically transitioning while competing as professional athletes ter, just knowing that someone like me existed? And was successful? I would be out publicly by now. I’m sure of it.

  So I’ll be that trailbzer. Even if it means I have to keep this part of me from my teammates and my little crush. The shelf life of a professional athlete is short. There’s no way Brock is, like, my soulmate or anything. He’s an infatuation. And I have no idea if he even likes trans girls or even girls for that matter. Maybe he is one of the many closeted gay hockey pyers that we all know are in every locker room and scared into coming out. I just hope Brock gets his story on his terms and gets the career that he deserves, a wildly successful one. On his terms. That’s all I want. I know deep down Jenna gets that, too. She’s right to push me and to prod me and make sure that I set up boundaries with the self-destructive behaviors. But ultimately, it comes down to what I want. That means chasing this championship with one of the best group of guys I’ve ever had the pleasure of cing up with. And the best fucking dim sum in Canada.

  So, it turns out the review of this pce? Not exaggerating in the slightest.

  It was most certainly the best meal I’ve ever had in my entire life. I died and went to dim sum heaven, and I did not want to descend back down to earth. I reached a higher pne of existence. I saw the Buddha on the road, killed him, then had the culinary staff here prepare his body in a dumpling and reached nirvana upon eating it.

  I don’t think I thanked Scott’s cousin and his wife enough during the meal. Even if after ever bite I took I said thank you like eight different times. We were ushered to the back of the restaurant and put in a banquet room. About seven different people joined us in a single table, with the biggest zy Susan in the center I’ve ever seen. It seemed we did not even need to order anything because they just brought out the entire menu. With the amount of Chinese being spoken I’m sure we were given plenty of off menu specials.

  I pn on telling my kids about this meal it was that good. I can’t even tell you what my favorite dish was because each new one passed around was better than before.

  Plus, the beer was flowing all night. There were more toasts than I could count, and gsses were conspicuously always refilled.

  I was happy to drink my fill, even if I was not going as hard as Brady, Cude or Scott. Conspicuously, Brock seemed to be drinking even less than I was. Perhaps he wasn’t pnning on breaking my bank tonight?

  After our meal we took a lovely group photo with the restaurant owners and were told if any of us make the NHL we would be going on their celebrity wall. It seemed that every famous athlete from Victoria that had made it big had in fact stopped by here, so get excited Jamie Benn our little group would be joining you hopefully in the next calendar year.

  Then Scott’s cousin turned to us and and said the magic words, “So now we are really here to start the party, yeah? Bottle Service. Baiju. Babes?”

  That fired Brady, Cude or Scott more than anything ever could have, though Brock seemed to be smirking at me while that was going on. I felt my cheeks go flush as I thought about the implications of that. He really knew how to make a girl blush, huh? I could never, ever let him know that. He would get way too many ideas and who knows who he would tell. I may be tipsy, but I have more than enough experience to not let this cat out of the bag. However, I was ready to get my dance on and wanted to see what this nightclub, which could be heard towards the back of the main restaurant was all about.

  We were led to an elevator cordoned off with a rope and given bright blue wristbands before we were allowed into the elevator. Phones would be confiscated and put into lock boxes, as one of the most exclusive nightclub’s in the country can’t have pictures of its interior leaking out I guess. It’s weird to consider being in the upper echelon of an entire country for a night, but that is Canada for you. Sometimes the pce does not feel real. Luckily, that’s the vibe I’m looking for. Logistics and travel back to the United States is such a Tuesday problem, and it’s Monday night.

  After a quick elevator ride, the music is pulsating through the club as we are brought back to the bottle service section. Our main bottle of baiju, the Chinese liquor called Kweitou Moutai I was told ter, is being comped since we are hockey pyers, but anything else we have we will have to pay for ourselves. Brock immediately eyes me hungrily asking for my card to open a tab, my lord what have I gotten myself into.

  Within minutes he’s back with two drinks, dark and stormy’s I’m told and we are cheers-ing to a wonderful win with new wonderful friends. Thankfully he assured me he did not get all of the guys a round on me, but someone had to stay back and “guard the ‘ju” which we are all reluctant to try. After a sip of the cocktail, which was surprisingly good I will have to remember that, we all pour ourselves a shot.

  “To the night of our lives,” Brady says.

  “To the night of our lives,” we all reply in unison, in one of the most bro-coded rituals I’ve ever performed in my fucking life.

  The liquor burned on the way down, and the next thing I knew I was dancing.

  Being a Monday night, the dance floor was not as crowded as it could have been thankfully. However, being a Monday night there were not that many options of pces to go out dancing, so the pce filled up moderately quickly by 10 p.m.

  It was 90s night and the DJ was pying a lot of west coast rap, a staple for frat parties at C of V, so I was able to fake mouthing along to much of the set fitting in easily on the dance floor. Even I know “welcome everybody to the wild Wild West,” as the opening to California Love. I may be a hockey pyer, but I’m still retively hip.

  Brady would go about telling every girl in the club he was a professional hockey pyer, and thankfully Victoria was known for having a major junior team, so most girls just ughed at him thinking he was an overage 19 year old in that league able to come out to a club he couldn’t afford for a one night splurge. AKA he was not taken seriously.

  Eventually, some of the girls in the club found their way back to our couch with our bottle service seeming impressive enough, even though we did everything in our power to not get docked with another 775 dolr marked up bottle of Baiju. That stuff was not for me, but I certainly was also not going to let it go to waste.

  By about midnight I had built up a solid buzz, overcoming the sweat from dancing as much as I could near the guys. Most were trying to find someone to go home with, knowing this was our st visit to Canada for the season, save a potential Conference Finals matchup. All of the teams in our division were on the west coast, with the Canadian teams lumped into the “Mountain” division with teams like Boise and the Texas trio.

  I managed to saunter back to the couches politely saying hi to one of the hanger on girls who was waiting for Cude to return with I’m sure some Maple Syrup Whiskey concoction, where I found Brock sipping from some of the Baiju on the rocks.

  “How can you stand that stuff man?”

  “Its not that bad! Plus, for what we’re paying for it, gotta make sure we finish it.”

  “That’s for sure, I’ve had like three shots. Thanks for not going too overboard with my card tonight.”

  “Oh, Marksy I would never. So what brings you back to our little abode in this club?”

  “Ah, I’m beat. Needed to sit for a minute.”

  “Not joining the hunt going on around us?”

  “Nah, definitely not my scene.”

  “I know I took your roommate out like twice, but I feel you on that. Some guys get so scuzzy when they’re out as a pro.”

  “Right? Like we have a job, even if its pying a game. I’m not here to sleep with like someone I meet any time I’m out.” I conspicuously kept gender vague here, but hopefully not implying that I was into men. Even if we all knew that’s the way I was exclusively swinging it seemed.

  “I’ve done it before, it gets tiring. You’ve got the right attitude Marksy. Though it seemed like you purposely tried to avoid all this.”

  “I mean, its just never been my scene. Even in college, I’d go to parties and somehow end up pying drinking games in someone’s room I knew. I just felt more comfortable there.”

  “Feel. I bet you were treated like a legend on campus though?”

  “Not really? Like Jenna said, I kind of just stayed in the background. I never even really expected to go pro until our goalie coach had me make a change before sophomore year. I obviously want to make the show, but this whole ‘hockey lifestyle’ thing isn’t for me.”

  Brock nodded. Clearly things were different at Descartes.

  “What about you? Pretty boy such as yourself not finding the tasting upstairs to be as fine as down?”

  “Never, ever say that again.”

  “What, pretty boy?”

  “No that’s hirious, I love that nickname. The upstairs downstairs comparison with eating. Please, Jamie, I want to stay your friend,” Brock said trying to stifle ughter.

  Neither of us could hold it in and soon we were both consumed by fits of hirity as the innuendo I accidentally dropped made itself known. Brock put his arm around my shoulder causing me to shudder for a second.

  “You’re great, man. Thanks for making me feel so included.”

  “Yeah, of course. Look we all know this is a squad that could actually win, so all we have is each other.”

  “It was not like that in Boise. I’m just gd I could find someone I could connect with. I may look like your cssically handsome hockey man, but like you said that scene really has never been me.”

  “Would never have guessed.”

  “No one does, which is why I’m telling you. I want you to meet my sister when she’s in town.”

  “I’ll let you know, but I have pns with Jenna after Saturday night’s game. She, uh, made me promise since we had this road trip and then the three games back to back.”

  “I gotcha. Don’t worry. She’s in town Friday to Sunday night though. So maybe brunch or something?”

  “Yeah that sounds really nice.”

  “Its a date then,” he said turning towards me.

  “Uh, yeah. That sounds fun.”

  “Its just an expression Jamie, don’t tense up.” God I wish he would not use that name. He noticed me get weird at the name for a second. “You good?”

  “Yeah, sorry most people just call me Marksy. Its what I’m used to. I never really loved my name.”

  Brock grunted. “All good Marksy. All good.” And then turned to smile at me. I could just melt.

  “Anything I should know about your sister?”

  “Just that she’s the best god damn person on the pnet.”

  “I swear to fucking god I should have expected that response.”

  Chuckling as he got up, Brock turned to me and said “Pretty boy here is going to top up one st time for the night, do you need anything Marksy?”

  I just shook my head, tortured wanting to say so many things that I craved in that moment.