Twenty-One and Invincible

My most terrifying moment wasn’t when Grandma slipped and fell on the ice, breaking her left arm and spraining her ankle. It wasn’t when I was fifteen and was asked by a boy to be “friends with benefits”. It wasn’t when I was with Grandpa in the car and he almost hit a seven year old at a red light.

Nope.

It was going to my first NHL hockey game.

Since I really didn’t want to be alone, I practically begged Patrick to get me a spare ticket. Once he agreed and pulled some strings to get us good seats, I then had to go and beg Gabie to go with me to the game. She was not a sports person by any means--she was a fashion reporter, a stylist, a cosmetician, all that. So basically, she sat on the opposite realm of the hockey spectrum, where I thought I sat as well.

“A hockey game?” she questioned once I had asked her. “For real, Carm?”

“I can’t just say no, he already got me the tickets for the game! And he gave me a spare so I could bring a friend.”

“Bring your grandpa,” Gabie shrugged. “He’s into hockey, isn’t he?”

I frowned at her. “You do realize that my grandpa and people don’t mix well?”

Gabie sighed. “Oh, yeah.”

“Please, Gabs?” I pouted, giving her my best puppy dog eyes. She glared at me for a good ten minutes, or at least what felt like it. I knew her weakness though. Her strong exterior slowly started to chip away.

“Fuck, fine,” she declared loudly, rolling her eyes. “Just as long as I don’t have to wear a jersey or anything huge.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Just something warm should be fine.”

She grinned. “Can I wear my cashmere sweater?”

I groaned inwardly. “I don’t see why not.”

And so there we were in the arena, with Gabie in her white cashmere sweater and dark skinny jeans with her long hair swept up in an edgy, modern bun. Her makeup was just right to match her outfit, too, framing them with a smoky-eyed effect. She wore brown leather boots with a slight heel and sat in her seat with her legs crossed. Basically, she looked like she didn’t fit in at all.

I didn’t have any makeup on since I didn’t have to be at work, my hair was up in a simple ponytail with a few stray pieces falling in front of my face, and I had on one of Patrick’s away jerseys that he had let me borrow matched with a pair of flat ankle boots and skinny jeans. I fit in a little bit more than Gabie did.

I was sitting in my seat nervously as the game started. I only knew a little about hockey from what Grandpa had told me and from what I’d picked up from him yelling at the television during games. My eyes tried to follow the puck as it slid from one side of the ice to another. It was an intense, fast-paced game.

“Who are they playing against?” Gabie asked in a hushed whisper. She knew better than to ask that question at a louder volume. People around us would carry is out to the parking lot, stomp on us until our bones were broken, and then light us on fire for being idiots. And I can guarantee that Gabie did not want people touching her cashmere sweater.

“Anaheim,” I replied in an equally quiet voice. Evidently Gabie and I weren’t paying attention because the goal siren went off and the entire arena started going crazy. I jumped a little and Gabie had a hand over her heart.

“I guess Chicago just scored?” she said into my ear over the deafening volume of the crowd.

I nodded, hoping someone didn’t hear her.

But of course, they did.

“Hey, you fucking puck bunnies, get your asses out of our arena and go to the strip clubs downtown!” a female voice called from behind us once the crowd settled down.

Gabie was confused. “Did she just call me a puck bunny?”

I nodded.

“What the fuck is a puck bunny?”

“Go home!” the girl called again. “We don’t want your kind here!”

Now, let me take the time to explain something. As delicate and pretty as Gabie looks on the outside, back when she was in high school, she was notorious for getting into fights, especially with other girls. She took kickboxing and self defense classes for about six years and she also had a very, very bad temper. And so, as this girl was screaming at us to leave, Gabie was slowly but surely reaching her tipping point.

She turned around swiftly and I groaned, sliding down into my seat.

“Gabs, don’t do this.”

She looked right at the girl wearing a Burish jersey a few rows back, who seemed to be our age, and gave her the death glare. “Really, bitch? You want to say that to my face? Why the fuck do you care why I’m here?”

“You’re wasting good seats. Someone who actually knows the game might have actually valued sitting where you are. Besides, what else could you possibly be here for dressed like that? Hoping to go down to the locker room to fuck all the players?”

I slapped my hands over my face. I didn’t want to see the bloodbath that was sure to ensue.

Gabie got up from her seat and moved to the aisle before walking up the few steps to where the girl was sitting. The girl was sitting a few seats in with who looked to be her boyfriend. Gabie grabbed her by the collar of her jersey and tugged her into the aisle. Before the girl could react or her boyfriend could grab her and pull her back, Gabie wound up her fist and punched her square in the jaw.

Everyone around us started screaming, cheering, and just making strange sounds. I looked up a the Jumbotron and saw Gabie’s face plastered on it as she continued to shove and hit the girl. The girl’s boyfriend had gotten up and pulled his girlfriend back and moved in front of her, as if challenging Gabie to hit him too. So she did. A lot. And I shot up out of my seat, grabbing both our purses and forcibly dragged Gabie away as security came over.

“I am so, so, so sorry!” I called out to them both. I heard applause as we left the rink and I think I even heard the sound of hockey sticks being slapped against the boards.

I was mortified.

“Gabie, why did you have to go and do that?” I groaned as police officers came over.

“You heard what she said to me,” she huffed. “I was defending my honor.”

A young police came over and told Gabie that she was going to have to go back to the station with them, that she was going to be arrested for assault. She just asked how much the charges would be and how much bail would be. The officer gave her a number, a large one, and she just shrugged. She went into her purse, wrote out a cheque and handed it to him.

He stared at the cheque and then back at her for a moment. “Uh...okay...wow. Um. I guess you’re free to go then? We’ll still have to file a police report.”

I saw Gabie giving this police officer the eye. I had to admit though, he was pretty good looking. And I knew Gabie liked men in uniforms. “How about this,” she offered, taking out one of her business cards. “I’m kind of busy today, but once you finish that report, give me a call and I’ll come by and sign everything?” She finished off with a wink. The officer swallowed.

“Sure thing.”

I grabbed Gabie by the arm and dragged her out of the arena. “I am so embarrassed,” I declared. “I have never been more embarrassed in my life. What the fuck was that?”

“A hot officer?” she shrugged. “Hey, it’s not like I haven’t already been through this process before. Remember about that fight I told you about in 1999?”

“Yes, yes, you were like...eleven years old and almost sent to juvie, I know,” I muttered. “Still, you would’ve thought you’d have learned by now.”

We got into Gabie’s car and drove off. She dropped me off at home and went back to her apartment downtown. I walked into the house and sat next to Grandpa on the couch. The game was in the second period.

“I thought you were going to be at the game with Gabie,” he commented. “Why are you home so early?”

I sighed. “It’s a long story. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Grandpa didn’t say anything. He was good about things like that. When I said I didn’t want to talk about something, he understood it meant that I wanted my privacy.

We watched the rest of the game together in silence. The Blackhawks won 4-2.