Lost In Pacific Time

After the first period I knew it was over. I was a fan of comebacks and underdogs. But Vancouver didn’t look like they had it in them for a comeback. Everyone in those ugly blue and green jerseys looked like they wanted the ground to swallow them up. My bowl of popcorn was long gone and I was tempted to microwave myself another bag of popcorn but every so often they’d have someone to interview. If I was in this situation I’d probably throw a diva fit and leave. Then again I was never good at team sports. I couldn’t depend or trust other people to work as hard as I did.

“I never liked Roberto Luongo,” I tell Dolce who’s walking around on the couch. Since he was traded around the 2006 draft, I never got to see him play live.

“His mask reminds me of dirty teeth.” I add pulling my legs into my body. As some guy is interviewing Milan and he looks so rugged with his playoff beard. He’s never had an issue with growing facial hair. I wonder what it feels like to be kissed by a guy rocking a beard like that but guys with beards kind of creep me out so I didn’t know what it felt like. He was talking about well I wasn’t really sure what he was talking about because I was too busy staring at his face. The interviewer asked him something causing him to chuckle. I loved it when he laughed because it was always so genuine, his eyes lit up and you could feel his body vibrate.

“His voice is so deep,” I tell Dolce as I pull her into my lap. His voice had always been that way, when I first met him I used to think that he must smoke like two packs of cigarettes a day. But every other day he’d sit right beside me and smelled like nothing more than a teenage boy. Somehow his voice had gotten deeper and he also gotten taller according to the stats that appear under his name on the graphic they’re showing on NBC.

I roll over on my back and placed Dolce on my stomach. “I bet his parents and brothers are there” I say as they show a shot of the sold out Rogers Arena. “Maybe even his significant other and children.” We really did lose touch didn’t we? For all I know, he could be married with children and living a happy life by the looks of this game it looked like it was going to get better. The second period got underway and I spent most of my time staring at Milan, he was so manly. It reminded me why I didn’t date here in Los Angeles.

Well the first reason I didn’t date was because since landing here no one has ever asked me out. Sure guys have hit on me and asked me if I’d like to come over to their place. And I didn’t even go out to clubs or bars this was at the supermarket of all places. I had of course said no because I wasn’t looking for a one-night stand with some frat boy from UCLA or a struggling actor who would probably kick me out before the sun rose. I was looking for a relationship. Of course I kind of had that will Milly it got so serious that she moved in with me when the lease to her apartment ran out and I kind of just let it happen. I had always thought the two of us were more like roommates like Monica and Rachel from Friends than romantic partners but isn’t that how all of my relationships start. And by all I mean both.
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“Its pretty here,” I say as we walk around Yaletown. I borrowed a camera from Photography class so that I could do my assignment outside of class time. I mean who really wanted to take pictures of whatever was on the school grounds. Yaletown is known as where all the Yuppies live, it was on the outskirts of downtown and a short walking distance from Rogers Arena. Yuppies in their shiny glass apartments furnished with expensive yet ugly modern furniture, driving around in their black Mercedes to yoga class down the block. I’ve never been a fan of Yuppies but I knew that inside I was bound to become one. It was what my parents wanted. I guess that’s what every parent wanted, they wanted their child to become successful and lead a comfortable life. Not happy, just comfortable.

“Yeah, I’m glad you came with me to the gym.” He said as we walked to the bus stop. Parking was a bitch in Yaletown so we decided to take the bus. I basically spent the whole hour and a half in the waiting room watching Milan through the glass as he lifted weights and stuff. His hair was wet from the shower and causing water droplets to fall down his face. I wanted to say something about how good he looked but I decided against trying to make things more awkward. He had done so well on the last chemistry test that he no longer need my help but after going to his hockey game he and I began hanging out more and more. I thought of us as friends at this point but that didn’t stop me from wanting more but I was too nervous to suggest anything.

“Do you mind if we walk around a little before we leave?” its around seven and the sun has just begun to set but I loved the way the white lights on the skyscrapers looked from down here on the sidewalk.

“Sure,” I didn’t usually venture out late at night but standing next to Milan made me feel so safe it made me feel as though nothing bad was ever going to happen to us.

We walked around Yaletown, the streets filled with edgy new restaurants and laughter as the dinner crowd was coming from their jobs in the financial district. Occasionally his much larger hand would brush against mine and for the first time I grabbed it. We held hands and occasionally I’d take out my camera to take a picture.

“What’s your assignment?” Milan watches me as I take a picture of a giant neon sign hanging off the side of a building.

“I’m looking for architecture,”

“Well why don’t we go on the bridge?” he says as we approach an intersection.

“Okay” I say walking onto the sidewalk portion of the concrete bridge. He’s right, here I can see the Burrard Street Bridge and the glittering downtown Vancouver skyline. I can see Granville Island and the yachts parked in the marina below me as I lean over the railing and captured pictures to my hearts content.

“It’s amazing here,” I tell him standing on the tippy toes of my silver sequined Converse to hug him. But then he turns his face and we kiss. Confession: I’ve never kissed a guy before. Maybe it was because I never made much of an effort to talk to them. I used to convince myself that it was gross, why would you want to swap saliva? But when Milan kissed me I realized that it was much more than just pressing someone’s lips against your own. It was the connection you felt with them and how it felt as though you were the only two people in the world even though cars were driving pass us every minute. I could’ve kissed him forever.

But both of us pulled away.

“I guess we’d better yet home,” he said running his fingers through his now dry hair.
I swore that even in the darkness I could see his cheeks were pink and flushed “Yeah,” I said kind of flustered “let’s just walk across the bridge first.”

Neither of us said anything about the kiss. I’m sure Milan had kissed tons of girls so it was probably because I was a bad kisser. Milan talked about hockey for what felt like forever and I watched the buildings on the get bigger as we got closer. I was a little sad until he reached out and took my hand in his. We looked at each other and smiled.

We got off at our stop and Milan walked me home. “So about what happened on the bridge…” he begins but I cut him off. I know he’s dating some girl from University Hill. I hear she’s smart too, well actually Milan told me that in the sentence line as “you’ll like her”.

I try and think about what Penelope would tell me to do in this situation. “Don’t worry about it, I won’t make things weird. We’re still going to be friends.” I say in my best nonchalant voice. I don’t want to pressure him into a relationship with me and yet I want to seem attainable. Honestly I think too much. He seems bothered by my last statement and tries not to show it but I can tell because he puts his hands in the pocket of his coat and turns away from me “We’re just going to be friends that have kissed.” I say as we reach that point in the street where he turns left and I turn right.

“Of course Amber,” he says and brushed my bangs from my face and kisses my forehead. Isn’t that what they say: What’s a kiss between friends?