Lost In Pacific Time

“I’m starting to think I’m bad luck.” I say to no one. Dolce and Coco decided to ditch me and chase each other around outside.

I was the last person you’d call superstitious but honestly it made no sense why Milan always got lucky in Vancouver, no pun intended. Especially when I wasn’t around. He won the Memorial Cup and Tournament MVP while I was ending my first year of working as an interior designer. Of course there were probably other factors such as that he didn’t have to go to school anymore so he could focus on hockey fulltime. As cliché as it sounds, I was a distraction. He spent hours upon hours with me when we were dating just being typical teenagers, hours he could’ve used to train. I myself wasn’t unlucky, the only reason I was here in my fancy living room was by chance, but maybe I brought bad luck upon people.

I open up a glass bottle of Pomegranate Jones Soda. I bought those things by the boxful from Costco. Gregory Campbell was being interviewed and as I drank and talking about his father. I was too focused on the background to hear anything he said. I saw number seventeen, in the background, he lifted a pretty blonde girl up into his arms and held her. I wanted to throw up. She had those five inch high Christian Louboutins that were covered in crystals I saw them around Christmas at Barneys. You could tell a lot about a person by the price and color of their accessories. Neutral colored accessories always meant that they were an investment that you could wear with everything. If you bought something like a bright cobalt blue it meant that you wanted to make it a statement piece.

I guess the fact that her shoes went with everything was a good thing considering that I doubted she bought them herself. Those shoes cost as much as those courtside seats to the Laker game, they were three grand. Even I found the shoes gaudy and I had to once design an entire room around keeping the mirrors on the ceiling. She didn’t seem like a flashy girl, especially not in her black and white ensemble. But I knew someone who was flashy and loud, those shoes seemed right down his alley.

The two of them hugged and kissed erasing any doubt that she was a cousin or relative I had yet to meet. They seemed happy then again no one would be upset after winning the Stanley Cup. Then the interviewer decided to leave Gregory Campbell in favour of Tim Thomas, thus giving Milan and his girlfriend their privacy and making me feel less like those girls who Facebook stalk their ex’s girlfriend. I never had a problem admitting another girl was pretty and she was pretty, pretty enough to be dating him. She wasn’t LA pretty where you had to be unusually captivating with a perfectly sculpted face that could easily be perceived as ugly. She was Midwest pageant queen pretty the kind of pretty that was caused by good genes and have right from the beginning. She probably started out her life as a pretty child and while everyone else is going through those awkward changes in the first few years of high school she smoothly blossomed into a women. She was a dictionary description of the kind of girls Milan dated in high school.

She was going to be the one who got to shave off that beard tonight when I bet hundreds of girls would give their left arm to do the same thing. I was not one of these girls, I liked my left arm, maybe I didn’t love it but I definitely appreciated it. But wouldn’t I like to have another shot with him?

That’s what got me going. What would’ve happened if I hadn’t left and got to spend another year with him before he left for Boston?

I guess I would be working since I didn’t accept any of the offers I got for university. I’d have to live another unpleasant year with my parents and I’d have a job because I needed to save up for university. Milan would spend his days playing hockey. I guess we wouldn’t really have time to hang out anymore, I had a real job and he had his hockey career. Slowly our relationship would decay like all the other high school couples who thought that they could be soul mates. We would breakup. He’d start dating a student at UBC who was only attending because her parents were paying for it and I’d send in my application forms to the universities. By the time he’s won the Memorial Cup, I’m stuck watching it on TV while his new girlfriend got my old seat, the one right next to the home team’s penalty box. He’d leave for Boston the same day I was going to board my flight to London, Ontario for the Richard Ivey School of Business. The both of us would just wait in awkward silence at Vancouver International Airport until we were set to board. And that would be the last contact we had. I’d go on to become a financial adviser and he’d go on to become a household name and win a Stanley Cup. I’d live in one of those apartments in Yaletown and marry some guy I worked with even though I didn’t really like him. One day I’d probably catch him cheating on me and stick with him because at thirty eight I had nothing better going for me.

Maybe I tweaked it to make me feel better about myself but I honestly couldn’t imagine our relationship surviving the crucial first year out of high school. So I was happy for him for moving on, at least one of us was. Maybe I was just in the wrong town. Guys here didn’t want a relationship unless it would benefit their career. That’s what everyone wanted, people wanted connections that would get them to the next level of celebrity. Also none of the guys here weren’t my type, I hadn’t dated enough guys to have a type but I wanted someone that was comparable to Milan. I wanted someone kind and thoughtful but also someone who was funny and genuinely happy. None of the guys here fit my description. They were attractive, sure, in an I-moisturize-the-night-before-a-big-audition way, not in the unconventional way the way Milan and I were.

I finished off my bottle of soda and called Dolce and Coco inside. I climbed upstairs, brushed my teeth, washed my face and climbed into bed.

I watched Good Morning America in the kitchen on my iPad. I was chewing on my bowl of Special K with cut up bananas and blueberries when I saw it. The Vancouver Stanley Cup riots. I was too young when the 1994 riots happened so this was a first for me; the city looked like it was going to be burned down. I wanted to blame Milan for winning the Stanley Cup but then I realized that he didn’t really do much in this series. So I decided to blame the people who lit the police cars on fire and broke the store windows instead. Deep down inside I felt like this was probably the most exciting thing that happened in Vancouver… you know after the Gold Medal game in the Olympics. I liked tradition and tradition was kept, Vancouver had failed once again to capture a Stanley Cup. Everyone on TV was all like “the game had nothing to do with the riots” but I begged to differ. I put my empty bowl into the sink and left my house for work.

I dialed down into the interns’ office and asked them to get me a coffee. I was on my iMac, on Youtube to be more specific. I had quit cold turkey, been fine for a while, and now I had relapsed. My name is Ambrosia Li and I'm have relasped badly let it all be a lesson to you: if your ex-boyfriend is playing in the Stanley Cup Finals do not watch unless you know you can handle it.

One of the interns, a girl with light brown hair and freckles knocked on my door, “Your mocha,”

“Thanks Sarah,” I said as she put the cup of hot coffee in front of me.

Once again, Jeff walked into the room. “Where’s Tyler these days?” I asked as I watched a post-game interview of Milan from about two years ago.

“I think he went to New Zealand on vacation,” Jeff replied as I watch some sort of video where the cameraman seems like they’re my height the way they’re looking up at him.

“Do you think, you’ve ever ran into him?” Jeff asks.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Milan Lucic. You know, you both grew up in Vancouver so maybe the two of you have both been at the same place at the same time.” Jeff replies.

“We were at Pacific Coliseum at the same place at the same time if that counts. My ex-boyfriend knew some people on the Giants so I went to a couple of their games. If that’s what you mean.”

“Not really, you paid to see him.”

“Fine, my ex-boyfriend and I had dinner with the Giants before their trip to the 2006 Memorial Cup.”

“Did he know Milan?”

“He might’ve,”