Endlessly

I sighed out loud, as my eyes swept over the almost empty space in front of me. Normally, I associated the team locker room with shouts and laughter, along with endless jabs at my self-esteem. Equipment, that usually lay scattered in front of stalls, was now neatly packed away into bags, our hockey sticks lined up with precision. The locker room normally smelled like a mixure of dead things and feet. All that was left was a faint sour smell.

A hand clappped on my shoulder, causing me to jump. "Hey, Staalsy," Max Talbot said from beside me. "Depressing, eh?"

I grunted what I knew to be an unintelligle response, shying away from an emotional conversation. I was not in the mood for a feelings circle.

"Aw, come on, mon ami. Do not worry, next season always comes sooner than you expect. Summer will fly by. So relax a little bit, spend some time on a golf course, find a nice lady friend." He shot me his trademark, shit-eating grin.

I rolled my head to side, giving him a long, solomn look. Regardless of individual players' wishes, next season's line-up was bound to be different. It was, and still is, just another depressing fact of life.

"Ladies."

Max and I glanced up as Coach Bylsma walked into the lonely room. "Coach," we practically soluted, cracking stimulationous smiles.

"A little sad, I suppose," he muttered. He cleared his throat loudly, like he was shaking off a bad thought. "Do you boys have everything cleaned out?". His eyes suddenly bore into my own, sending me a silent message. So, the equipment mangers finally mentioned the photo. "Jordan, an equipment manager mentioned a lingering object that you have failed to remove, and they felt uncomfortable removing it themselves."

Clearing his throat loudly, Max said, "I'll take this as my cue to leave. Until next time," he extended his hand, and when I took it, he pulled me into a rare hug. "This summer, it'll be the one. You'll find her. En toute bonne foi, mon ami. All in good faith. I believe that is the phrase. Take care." With his French thought lingering, he slipped from the room.

Coach followed Max's example, but not before shaking my hand, and saying, "Take as much time as you need."

I made my way over to my stall, and slouched into it. Letting my head fall back, I gazed up at the picture that had made its way from various locker rooms since I was seventeen. It was a memento, of sorts, reminding me of better times, and what I sacrificed to be here.

The moment the picture captured was relatively unimportant, but that didn't mean I didn't remember that day. A girl looked at the camera, her eyes, the color of the sky stretching out behind her, crinkled in the corners, mouth open, caught mid-laugh. A few blonde locks tickled her face, and a hand, which I knew to be my own, was reaching out to brush them away.

We had been out by the pond, that lay between our families' two properties, a lazy day spent sprawled on the dock, soaking up the Canadian summer sun. My mom had put Marc in charge of taking pictures, since we were all past posing for pictures for the scrapbooks our mothers still insisted on making. Eric had just told a really stupid joke, something about a chicken crossing the road, but... she... had still laughed, to make him feel better.

I sighed, shaking my head, not wishing to recall any more of that day then necessary. So, I reached up and carefully began peeling the picture away from the wood, and meticulously removed the tape, doing my best not to damage the picture. After today, it would spend the rest of the summer tucked away safely in the glove compartment of my truck, waitig to be put up in next season's stall.

"You've never told me who she is," a familiar voice commented, as it's owner sank into the stall next to my own.

"So, I've been graced with the presence of the king of hockey himself," I shot back sarcastically, acknowledging Sidney Crosby's company.

"Funny," he quipped, snapping right back. He paused briefly, like he was figuring out how to phrase a question. "I've seen you do this, this ritual, what, like five times now? And add to that the fact I'm your team captain, and I think I deserve to be graced with the knowledge of who she is."

My eyes remained glued to the picture, and I resist the urge to trace her familiar features, a total chick-flick move that would have Sidney sprinting for the hills. So, instead I settle for the less melodramatic option. "I don't know what to tell you, kid. I fucked up in a big way, and I've regretted it almost every second since then. Back in the day, when I still played just because I loved it, she was my world."

Sid looked at me thoughtfully, and said, "What happened to her?"

"I tried man, I tried so fucking hard, just to make it work. First time I left, it was bad, but I could deal with it. I thought it'd get easier, you know, but the second time I left, it was a thousand times worse. It got to the point where being away from her, as 'Notebook'ish as this sounds, it physically hurt. You know when I was having all those problems, and I had to see a private doctor? He actually diagnosed me with separation anxiety."

Sidney had hardly moved a muscle, so I looked up and was shocked to find a smirk playing on his lips. Anger boiled within me, the natural instinct to defend her honor still strong. "And what, exactly do you find so fucking funny?"

He actually snickered now, a faint blush on his cheeks. He cleared his throat before saying, "You've seen The Notebook?" He let loose another child-like giggle, and I reached over and socked him in the arm.

"That's all you got out of that? Really?" I spat, my barely contained rage now evident.

He raised his hands in surrender, and muttered, "Sorry, sorry. Do continue. I'll shut up."

I shut my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose, trying to put my emotions back in check. "I couldn't do it. I was a coward and convinced myself that I'd play better without her on my mind. The pull I felt towards her, it was wonderful, but it also destroyed me sometimes. Right before I left for my third season, I broke it off, told her it was over. I... I..."

I choked for a moment on my words, old scars feeling fresh again, before managing a whisper. "I told her she wasn't enough. That she was holding me back. Man, if you would have seen her face... it killed me. No, that's a lie. It still kills me. I still have nightmares."

"Why didn't you ever try to take it all back?" Sid asked, forever the voice of reason.

I shook my head, unable to bare the thought. "When I got back here, I realized my mistake, and called her and called her, and kept calling her. She never picked up. One time, her little brother picked up, and told me to never call her again. But I did. And eventually, her calls stopped going through. She got a new Goddamn cell phone."

"What about when you went home?"

"Gone. Got the hell outta dodge, I guess. Few people knew where they went, and those that did refused to tell me. They said something about her moving to the States for school though."

"Dude, you gave up that easily? Have you heard of this thing called Google? It's really good at finding what you're looking for."

I shot him a brief glare, before reminding myself he was right. "I'm a coward. Whenever I went to look her up, I got scared. What if I couldn't find her? Or what if what I found wasn't what I wanted to see?"

"If I died tomorrow, and when I got to the pearly gates God asked me what I took away from my time down here, I would say that you don't get anywhere with what-if's. Sometimes you just got to live with your balls to the walls, and hope someone doesn't crush 'em. If they do, you're basically fucked. But the risk is worth it." He clapped his hand on my shoulder, standing up, and pulling me with him.

"There will always be those few who we let slip through our grasp. But," he forced eye contact between us, dead serious. "If she really matters to you, and you really mattered to her, you can fix it. You just have to forget the what-if's."

I nodded, dropping my eyes from his, gathering my thoughts. I took a deep breath, and shook his waiting hand. "Thanks for your thoughts, Confucius. Until August then," I said, too superstitious to actually say goodbye.

"Anytime, man. Don't party too hard, Staalsy," and with that being said, he too excused himself from the room.

I was surprised to find myself smiling a little after he left. The guy, basically my age, was so childlike, yet such an old soul at the same it was comical. If the world was full of Sidney Crosby's we'd all be better off.

Shaking my head, I carefully tucked the picture away in my back pocket, and lifted my equipment bag onto my shoulder, and grabbing my remaining sticks in the other hand. When I walked through the doorway, I looked back one last time out of habit, knowing next season I could be looking into a whole 'nother room.

I also knew that, sadly, the room was a sort of haven for me. When I arrived back home, I would be forced to face memories that haunted the places I grew. And I would have to face the fact that she still didn't live there.

So, with the picture like a ten pound weight in my back pocket, I left the room that kept me sane, and left for my childhood, and an unwelcome walk down memory lane.