29. “Come As You Are”
Chapter 29
“Come As You Are”
Sascha - Age 24, 1994
H ockey has been a distant memory for years, save for the occasional visit home and catching a local game with The Mavericks. Landry is still playing there, although more as a mentor and assistant coach than a player. But every time I walk into that arena, an overwhelming surge of emotions flood my senses. The atmosphere is still charged with the same energy, but now two shiny new banners proudly hang from the rafters, honoring their current NHL players—Corey Delacour and Michael Tazman. Everything appears familiar on the outside yet feels inexplicably altered.
When I venture into Donnelly Ice Center, I can’t help but recall the days when Ivy, Kerri, Sarah, and I would go to the games together. Memories of laughter and camaraderie flood my mind and warm my body to my soul. Despite not always being enthusiastic about going, I always had a good time.
These days, I sit amongst strangers, the seats beside me noticeably vacant. My friends’ absence is a gaping hole in the stands and my heart. I leave feeling deflated and sad instead of excited like I used to.
I tried to convince Ivy to come once, but it was a disaster. She couldn’t handle being back in that arena and burst into tears before taking her first bite of popcorn. It was a real bummer for both of us. She tried to stick it out, wiping her snot and tears on her old sweatshirt and trying to smile between heaving sobs, but in the end, I dragged her out of there early and took her to the mall instead for some shopping and ice cream therapy.
For a long time, I thought she’d never be able to be present at another hockey game. Her breakup with Corey Delacour hit them both harder than either was willing to admit.
Thankfully, the stars aligned, and their paths again crossed at Sarah’s wedding. Not to pat myself on the back too much, but I knew they were meant to be together. I never doubted it, even when they were apart.
Their backgrounds led to sharp sides and odd angles, and they would never fit together with anyone else, no matter how hard they forced it. What Corey lacks, Ivy possesses, and vice-versa. It’s been that way since the first day they met. I’m not sure I believe in love at first sight, but I was there the first time they laid eyes on one another, and I know what I saw: the feelings were undeniable.
It was clear she didn’t want to be noticed. It drew me in, wanting to know the lost little bird, and also caught the eye of the one person in our school who she couldn’t hide from.
Gradually, she shed her shy exterior and blossomed into her confident self. With each passing day, she grew alongside us, surpassing her own expectations and becoming truly remarkable.
And now my lost bird is all grown up. She recently chucked away her life in our small hometown and took a plane to Boston to throw herself on the altar of love. It was very John Hughes and very rock and roll. I’ve never been more proud of her.
Her plan worked, and Corey welcomed her with open arms. He had been waiting for her all along, his romantic soul never giving up hope. He recently proposed to her in an elaborate fashion that included a special park in our hometown, a shit-ton of flowers, and an Edmonton jersey with the name ‘Ivy Delacour’ embroidered on it. It was super cute if you like that sappy crap.
Speaking of rock and roll, Ivy is about to unveil her memoir chronicling the harrowing years spent with the cult known as “The Voice of the Sky,” which is the book’s title. I’ve read it, and it’s awesome, albeit a lot crazy. The pages are filled with tales of utter lunacy and unthinkable atrocities committed by the cult members. But amidst the madness, my best friend emerged as a fierce, resilient woman forged by fire.
I often wonder what I would have done in her shoes. The thought never fails to send shivers down my spine. Perhaps, knowing myself, I wouldn’t have lasted a week in her situation. My impulsive nature and sarcastic sense of humor would likely have pissed people off and led to my demise. But not Ivy. That woman is a true survivor, as tough as they come.
She and Corey are about to head to Edmonton, where he will no doubt make his name as one of the best rookies in the NHL this year. That reminds me. He called about something and told me it was important and to call him back. I make a mental note to check in with him after this week is over.
As the clock approaches 7 pm, I feel a surge of anxiety as I realize it’s time for the call I’ve been dreading all day. My relationship with a new guy I’ve been seeing has been shaky from the beginning, and this call may be the breaking point.
We first met at Sarah’s wedding. I remember his eyes meeting mine from across the room, but we didn’t have much chance to talk amidst the chaos of the event. I was too busy trying to calm down a jittery Sarah and ensuring Ivy didn’t have a nervous breakdown during the ceremony.
Then, in a moment of weakness, I found myself in Michael’s arms. It wasn’t my finest moment, but sometimes, we all need a way to release our emotions. After all, I never claimed to be flawless or immune to temptation, especially if it comes in the package of Michael Tazman.
Not long after that, Matt contacted me through a mutual acquaintance. He lives not too far from me, and while I was intrigued by him at first, I have doubts about our potential for a lasting relationship.
He harbors insecurities about my success and ambitious nature. He’s never said anything outright, but he’s said some things that make me believe he would like me to conform to his traditional expectations of what a woman should be: barefoot and pregnant. That is not me. Maybe someday, but certainly not right now. He’s going to learn that the hard way if that is, in fact, his expectation of this relationship.
I dial the phone on the conference room table, and after two rings, his deep voice rumbles through the receiver. “Hello?”
“Hi there,” I say.
“Hey,” he replies, his voice echoing through the receiver. “What time can I come over tonight?”
“Well, that’s the thing,” I say with a tinge of frustration. “I’m not in the same state right now.”
“What do you mean you’re not in the same state?” His tone is concerned, his worry evident.
“I’m actually in Colorado.” Silence. I can almost see him furrowing his brow in confusion on the other end of the line.
“Why are you in Colorado?”
“It turns out I’ve been selected to pitch an advertising campaign for the Mountaineers,” I reply, feeling a sense of accomplishment. More silence. Instead of filling it, I gaze at the breathtaking view from the large windows. The snow-capped peaks stretched toward the endless expanse of blue sky. This is a world away from my usual routine, but I’m beginning to feel exhilarated by this unexpected opportunity.
After a beat, he speaks.“And why would the Mountaineers want you?” his animosity toward me seeps through the phone line.
“Excuse me,” I retort sharply. “You might want to reconsider how you’re speaking to me right now.”
The tension between us is tangible as we both take a moment to collect ourselves before continuing the conversation.
“No, I just mean...you work for a small firm in another state. Why would the Mountaineers want you to pitch a campaign for them? It doesn’t make sense.”
My silence speaks volumes, and soon, he fills in the blanks on his own. “Michael Tazman,” he says bitterly. “Now it makes sense.”
Matt knows little about Michael besides that we disappeared from the wedding together for a while, and we’ve known one another for most of our lives. Matt has been visibly uncomfortable with our long-standing “friendship."
“Yes, he brought up my name,” I tell him calmly, trying not to let his doubts affect me. “But it won’t change anything. If I get this job, it will be because of my hard work.”
“When will you be back?” he asks, sounding defeated.
“I’m going to have to stay here for the next few days,” I reply, knowing my prolonged absence will only add to his insecurities. “I’m pitching for the job on Friday.”
“So, you won’t be coming home this week?” The disappointment in his voice hangs like a cloud over our conversation.
“Yep. I will be locked in this conference room or a hotel,” I reply, looking around the expansive space.
“I’m sure Tazman loves that,” Matt says sarcastically, unable to hide his true feelings.
“Look, Matt. The whole jealousy thing is getting old,” I snap, as frustration from our previous arguments resurfaces. “We’ve been together a matter of weeks, and you’ve brought it up more than once. It’s clear you don’t trust me or respect me.”
“Why don’t you just admit that you have feelings for the guy, Sascha.” he accuses, his voice heavy with insecurity.
“Okay. I’m not going to have this fight with you right now. I have a job to do, and I need to focus on it. I’m sorry I’m giving you such short notice, but this is the notice I got as well. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Whatever,” he scoffs.
“Goodbye.” My words are final as I take a deep breath and try to push aside my emotions for the sake of my upcoming pitch, but I can’t force myself to focus. The feelings of the day swirl and distract me like a raging storm, and I find myself pacing back and forth in the spacious conference room. With each step, the carpet fibers bend and wear under the weight of my black heels and troubled mind. I mutter, trying to rationalize my emotions like a madman pleading his case to an unseen jury.
Exhibit A—Matt doesn’t trust me. Exhibit B—my ambition threatens Matt. Exhibit C—Matt wants me to be someone I’m not. Exhibit D—Matt is boring in the bedroom. So I ask you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, what the fuck I’m doing with this man when we are so clearly not well-matched?
My mind races as I finish my summation argument, the jury of my subconscious already reaching a verdict. Matt needs to go . The thought of breaking up with him over the phone makes me cringe, but I refuse to prolong this. I can’t bear the idea of returning home and enduring days of difficult conversations like the one I just had.
With a heavy sigh, I slump into the plush chair and stare at the blank whiteboard. Our phone call has stifled my creativity. My thoughts are scattered, and I feel completely drained. Should I continue to sit here and grow more frustrated, or take Jerry’s suggestion to watch the game?
Strangely, the thought of watching the game excites me, offering a much-needed distraction for my restless mind and body. I use the bathroom in the hallway to freshen up a bit before venturing out into the expanse of this building.
As I make my way toward the ice, or the direction I think is the ice, I can’t help but take in the sheer size and grandeur of the building. Its towering walls stretch endlessly into the sky, while its sprawling layout covers a vast expanse of land.
On one side is the administrative wing, filled with multiple floors of sleek conference rooms, bustling office spaces, and rows of cubicles. I navigate through the maze-like hallways and ride elevators until I finally reach the heart of the building—the ice. As soon as the elevator door opens with a familiar ding, the sights and sounds of a hockey game hit me in the face in full effect, the nostalgia almost knocking me off my feet.
The music is loud, the beer is flowing, and from the looks of the lines, the food is being sold at record paces. It’s unmistakable that there’s about to be a hockey game. Although I’ve never been to a professional game, butterflies spark to life in my stomach. I’m unsure why, but I’ve always felt this way when I watched Michael play. He’s a force of nature off the ice; on the ice, he’s a God amongst men. Not that I would ever admit that to him. His ego can’t take any more stroking, and I’ve declared that I will never stroke any other part of him, either.
As I descend toward the ice, the game is already in full swing. Jerry had mentioned watching the game from the safety of a suite, but I need to be in the midst of the excitement with the crowd. The roar echoes off the walls, creating a deafening and exhilarating atmosphere.
Every seat is filled, and the energy in the arena is contagious. I sink into my seat, take a deep breath, and become fully immersed in the excitement surrounding me. The smell of popcorn and hot dogs wafts through the air, mixing with the sound of skates gliding across the ice. All worries melt away as I lose myself in the excitement.
I take a moment to observe those around me and notice the sea of oversized hockey jerseys engulfing almost everyone. The fabric hangs loosely off their bodies, creating a comical sight that makes me suppress a smile. Even the women’s and children’s sizes are too big, accentuating their small frames endearingly and humorously.
I jump up and head toward the concessions area, where merchandise is sold. As I browse the limited selection of jerseys, hats, and beanies, my eyes light up with inspiration. I rush back to my seat and excitedly pull out my sketch pad from my bag, eager to capture and develop some potential designs.
As I sit lost in thought, my ears are suddenly filled with a loud roar of cheers. The sound is followed by a loud synchronized “AHHH” and more cheering, drawing my attention to the ice in front of me.
I look up just in time to see Taz, his face contorted in determination, racing toward the goal after having stolen the puck in a pass. He’s not a defenseman, so his chances to get breakaways are always exciting.
His relentless drive is evident as he fires a shot at the net, and the puck sails just to the right of the goalie’s glove for a goal. Fast-paced and relentless. It’s a hockey strategy for him and a powerful metaphor for his life—never giving up despite any initial setbacks or failures.
The rink vibrates with energy as the crowd cheers, their excitement contagious and impossible to resist. I’m mesmerized as I watch him in his element. His skill and athleticism are undeniably attractive, though I hate to admit it, and when he skates by me and tosses the puck in my direction, I can’t help but smile about how some things never change.
With heavy exhaustion weighing down my limbs, I finally collapse onto the plush bed in the luxurious hotel room near the arena. The team has certainly spared no expense in putting me up here. As soon as I arrived, the first thing I did after a long, hot shower was send the outfit I wore today out to be laundered. It was in no shape to wear again - crumpled and stained with sweat after a long day of meetings, traveling, and a hockey game. When I packed earlier this morning, it was only for an overnight trip. But now, faced with potentially staying longer, I’ll have to make some creative wardrobe choices or go shopping while I’m here.
My mind is still buzzing with thoughts and ideas for my pitch on Friday. Despite feeling confident about its direction, there’s still a lot of work to do. It’s almost impossible to shut off my brain, especially in this strange place where Michael lives. Watching him play tonight was a surreal experience. He moves with such confident grace that some may mistake it for arrogance. But I know Taz, and I understand how his mind works.
Growing up, he never felt good enough. As a result, he carries a chip on his shoulder, always skating with something to prove—mostly to himself.
But he doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone. He’s always been good enough, even when I couldn’t make him believe it. That thought causes my chest to ache, so I push it out of my head, take a few breaths, and try to get some sleep.