Last Kiss

I’m bored.

I can honestly say that very rarely am I bored. Sure, I’ll moan and complain sometimes, but I’m one of those few people who can revel in the sheer bliss of doing absolutely nothing. I can stare at walls and make up stories inside of my head endlessly. I lie awake for hours before falling asleep, lost inside the world of my thoughts. As a child, I loved going on long car rides because it gave me the opportunity to hide away, locked inside of the solitude of my own head, without question.

Even during lectures at The University of Pittsburgh, the college located in Pennsylvania that I chose to attend, I always manage to daydream through the entire thing, yet still absorb just enough information to manage an A. Yeah, I’m one of those people—the type who never studies and never does work, yet somehow manages to come out on top.

In addition to that, I love to find the beauty in doing the simplest of tasks. For example, cleaning, to me, is similar to painting. With a painting, you start out with a clean canvas, then add a bunch of messy paint to create a masterpiece. With cleaning, you do the exact opposite; you start out with a messy room and end up with everything looking sparkling and new.

That’s not to say I’m a neat freak. While I find joy in doing menial tasks such as cleaning, I am a horribly disorganized person. When I was in high school, my homeroom teacher actually refused to assign me a locker partner during my junior year because of the filth that consumed the space the two years prior. Not that I complained; I enjoyed the security that my own space provided.

But I digress. What I truly mean to say is that I am almost never bored. It really takes a lot to make my eyes water in the almost painful experience that sheer boredom brings. Unfortunately for me, it seemed like this night was going to be nothing but being bored.

My best friend, Violet, had been gushing about this charity event for weeks now. I had heard of it before—Skates and Plates. Being an avid Pittsburgh Penguins fan, I knew that the event raised money for various charities. They managed this through selling expensive tickets to sit at a table at the Consol Energy Center and have a Penguin serve you food.

Theoretically, it should be a fantastic time. I was quickly finding out, however, that it certainly was not.

Violet had been working with Tom McMillan, VP of Communications for the Penguins, for almost two months. It was her dream job, and her outstanding resume had secured her the position well before her graduation from PSU. When she initially accepted the job offer, she had immediately assured me that she would get me perks with the Penguins, knowing that I was a fan.

I declined, though. Despite the fact that Vi was offering, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I would be using her if I let her give me season tickets or helped me meet the players. It was an easy decision to make, and I vowed to never let her use her job to my advantage.

The charity event this year fell on my 21st birthday—January 17th. As much as I protested, Vi wouldn’t let me escape. She claimed that I “needed to do something to meet some Pens” and she “already had the tickets anyway”. So, reluctantly, I let her dress me up in a flirty red party dress, curl my long, blonde hair, and apply way more makeup on my face than I’m used to wearing.

When I first saw myself in the mirror, I wanted to go crawl back into my bed. I ride on my college’s equestrian team, and my usual look consists of muddy boots, jeans, a t-shirt, and my hair in a ponytail. Seeing myself dressed up like a Barbie doll was…unnerving. But Violet insisted that I looked “sexy”, made a few references to 10 Things I Hate About You, and forced me into her brand new Audi.

When we got to Consol, Vi flitted off to go mingle with some executives. She knew that I didn’t like being alone in a room full of strangers, but I knew that it was part of her job to talk to the other guests. Biting my lip a little, I tried to force a smile as I made my way to table eight.

There were people everywhere. I was a little surprised at the variety of ages; there were young couples who looked my age, older couples with walking canes and grey hair, and couples in between who brought their screaming children. There were men in suits and ladies in dresses, but also guys wearing sweats and girls wearing jeans. It certainly was a medley of people, and I found myself amused at watching them walk by.

Finally, I found myself at the table. I sighed with relief as I spotted my name on a card and slipped down onto the soft fabric of the chair, instantly slipping off my shoes. The relief my feet felt was immediate, and I couldn’t stop a grin from overtaking my face. Curious to see where Violet was sitting, I glanced at the name cards next to me and froze a little.

Neither one was Vi.

“Surely there was a mistake,” I thought quickly, my eyes anxiously scanning the room for her. Just as I managed to spot her, I heard a light tinkling ring through the arena, and a voice politely asking everyone to take their seats.

Vi caught my gaze and weaved her way through the moving crowd to my side. “Audrey, I’m so sorry!” she cried, grasping my hand apologetically. “Tom moved my seat next to his so we can discuss the new Student Rush system. Are you gonna be okay? I don’t want you to be alone. Oh my gosh, this is all my fault! I’m ruining your birthday! Do you—“

“Vi!” I said laughing a little. “I’ll be okay. Promise.”

Violet frowned a little and studied my face. I knew she was looking for the lie that we both knew was there, but I carefully kept expression steady. After a moment of hesitation, Vi released my arm. “If you’re sure…” she began.

I shook my head quickly. “Hey, I can handle one night on my own. Besides, I’ve got tons of sexy hockey players to look at. It’s gonna be great!” I forced a smile onto my face that was only half-fake, and I knew an instant later that Vi believed my lie.

“Well…okay,” she said, glancing over at her new table and the thinning crowd with apprehension. “I have to go, but if you need anything—“

“Go!” I laughed, interrupting her. With a rueful grin, she danced off towards her table, full of smiles and happiness.

The night just kept going downhill from there.

My table was supposed to be served by Mike Comrie, but his wife had been rushed to the hospital for the delivery of their first baby a mere hour before. Because of this, our table was being served by some random chick who was most certainly NOT an extremely gorgeous hockey player.

Said random chick must have secretly had it out for me, because not only did she knock my over my water, all over my dress, but then later tripped over my shoes and left a huge bruise on my shoulder, courtesy of the pepper grinder.

The gentlemen who were sitting on either side of me reeked of smoke and tobacco and had a tendency to spit as they talked. Lucky for me, they were old friends and chose to talk to each other throughout the entire dinner. The food wasn’t good to begin with, but after the third time a shower of spittle landed on my plate, I decided it would be simpler to just go hungry.

In addition, I knew absolutely nobody at my table. Whenever I spoke, they all looked at me as though I had sprouted a second head. It seemed that I was stuck sitting silently in my puddle of water, hungry, alone, with spit all over my cheek, and with a developing purple splotch on my arm.

Best birthday ever.

To top it off, I was bored. The noise level wasn’t conducive to getting lost inside my mind. I couldn’t leave because Vi had driven, and I didn’t want to offend her either. There was nothing to do and nobody to talk to. I was literally miserable, and would have settled for merely changing my clothes and eating some simple bread and cheese.

That’s when the idea hit me. The Penguins were done serving and had likely left. The boring rich guests were busy with their own conversations. Nobody would notice if a simple girl snuck into the kitchens and took an extra roll or two.

Brilliance.

I carefully dabbed at my lips with my napkin and mumbled something to the table about using the restroom. I think the smelly guy on my right grunted in acknowledgment, but he might have simply burped. I didn’t particularly care, so I kicked my shoes further under the table (to prevent my own tripping when I inevitably returned), pushed my chair in like a sophisticated woman, and made my way to the edge of the room.

From my people-watching, I knew the location of the hall from which the waiters emerged. I quickly made my way to the door and slipped through. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the bright light after having been in the dimly lit makeshift banquet hall. When they finally did, I spied a cart that looked promising, loaded with a tray of bread.

I practically ran to its side, my mouth already watering in anticipation of the carby-goodness that awaited me. I picked up the first roll my hand came in contact with and practically threw it in disgust. There’s a reason that white rolls are the first to be eaten…HINT: All the other kinds of bread suck. To my dismay, I realized that only wheat rolls were left on this tray.

“Shit!” I swore angrily, beginning to get pissed about the events of the night. Seriously—all I wanted at this point was dry clothing and a white roll. Apparently the cosmos wouldn’t even grant this simple birthday wish? “SHIT!” I swore again.

A male voice chuckled deeply behind me. “What,” he said, obviously amused, “did we not serve you enough bread earlier?”

I couldn’t help it; I jumped. I certainly was not expecting anyone to catch me “bread-handed”. Taking a deep breath, I spun around, expecting to be reprimanded by a security guard.

What I did not expect was the dazzling white smile that certainly did not look angry.