Status: active. . . .
Brave New World
Fascinated
"And Sidney Crosby is out, yet again. Just like that, the world is back on 'Crosby watch'," the voice of the NHL analyst was heard through my hospital room. I stared at the TV in sadness.
"Poor Sidney," I whispered to myself, mostly because no one else was there to hear me. My mother was god knows where, doing god knows what and my dad was in California, where he had been for 4 months.
A knock on the door interrupted my bitter thoughts. A nurse poked her head in, smiling.
"Hey, it's my favorite patient" the nurse, Myra, smiled. I rolled my eyes playfully. "Ready to give some blood, Cece?"
"If I have to." I grimaced. Myra gave a sympathetic smile.
"Well, look on the bright side, love, you're almost out of here!"
I pulled out my small, bedside calendar, the days crossed out with X's and one circled. "Six more days!"
Myra smile and took my blood quickly. I barely even felt it now. Two months in the hospital and you get used to giving blood. Myra turned to leave and stopped short.
"Cece..." she started thoughtfully.
"Yes?"
"Next time Sidney Crosby calls, would you like me to transfer it to your room?"
"What... I mean... Wait a second, what?"
"Oh. He called while you were sleeping earlier," Myra explained, a tiny smirk on her face. "Just thought you'd want to know."
Myra left then and I fell back into my pillows with a deep sigh. Sidney Crosby, my savior, had called here? To speak to me? Impossible. But... why would Myra lie?
Well, either way, it sure gave me something to consume my dreams. Another flash of Crosby went across the TV. I smiled softly. I hadn't seen Sidney Crosby since the day he visited me in the hospital 2 months ago and yet the sparkle of his eyes and the sound of his voice was etched in my brain.
I turned over and closed my eyes to try to sleep. I laughed to myself as Sidney's face entered my mind. I was'’t special. Every straight woman in Pittsburgh fantasized about Sidney Crosby. What made my fantasy any different?
Have you ever experienced an event like it was in slow motion? You registered what was happening and yet it felt so slow, so drawn out. It’s like that movie, Inception. You're falling, falling, falling.... and when you make the impact, it feels harder than it should. And then reality hits you.
This was precisely the way I felt during the hit. When I collided with Kunitz and hit the ice and the pain afterwards. All of it, it was all in slow motion. When the doctors said, "Sorry, Sid, you're back to square one." Still, it didn't sink in.
When the pain and anger and unfairness of it all finally registered, I screamed. I screamed so loud it hurt my own ears and my throat felt like it was on fire. I hated this. I hated feeling this way, like I was defective. The way Bylsma and the doctors and even my teammates, my supposed friends, walked on egg shells around their precious, damaged captain. I hated it.
I felt like everything I had had been taken away in that one second, that one mistake. That was the worst. Was my whole career really defined now by that one second in time? After all the years and countless practicing and sweat and tears and pain, it all came down to this one single second. I was done. Concussed Sidney was all I had. I couldn't even remember being pre-concussed Sidney, even in those last few games I played. I was beginning to doubt I ever would remember that boy and his dreams.
That was another thing: my dreams. It seemed so long ago that my dreams consisted of winning the Hart trophy or getting the Stanley Cup. But now, my dream was simply playing. I wanted to be back on the ice with my team, scoring goals and taking names. But, instead, I was the pity child of the NHL. I never thought I would miss being called hockey's golden boy, but the day has now come.
Suddenly, as I lay there sullenly on my bed, a memory flashed through me, a memory of a feeling. I remembered, so vividly, that one moment when I felt proud of concussed Sidney. That day at the hospital with the broken girl. That's how I referred to her; the broken girl. She had been broken in every sense of the word. And suddenly, I felt in odd urge to talk to her. But, she couldn't talk. I wondered if she ever would again.
I sat there for a few minutes before I groaned and reached to pick up the phone. No harm in trying, yeah? I dialed the hospital number. A woman answered and asked who I was called for. And then I panicked. Broken girl... What was her name!
"Well, uh... This is Sidney Crosby. Uhm... I think her name was Sarah?" I guessed, feeling my cheeks burn. How stupid am I? Calling some girl I met two months ago, whom I spent about 5 seconds with before she went into cardiac arrest.
"Sarah, huh?" the woman sounded amused. "And you say this is Sidney Crosby?"
"Yeah..." I said cautiously, now wondering if it was such a good idea to say my name. Could they trace my number? Damnit.
"I think you mean Cecilia Henderson. I'm sorry but she's resting right now. You can call back later though," the woman explained. I slapped a hand to my forehead. Cecilia! That was her name!
"Wait, how did you even know who I was talking about?" I asked quickly, before she could hang up.
"Cecilia has told everyone the story of how Sidney Crosby saved her life. She talks about you all the time. How you saved her from her suffering and how amazing you are."
I was baffled. I practically turned crimson, though the woman obviously couldn't see. I thanked the woman and hung up. I finally found some sort of peace in my mind and fell into the depths of my dreams.
It would be the next day, as Sidney sat, debating whether to call again, that he would realize just what the woman had said. Cecilia talks about him. She could talk. And then he would call.
Cecilia spent the night dreaming of Sidney and the one day he would sweep her off her feet, like the true prince charming he was. She would wake up to Myra handing her the phone with a wink. Her prince charming was waiting.
"Poor Sidney," I whispered to myself, mostly because no one else was there to hear me. My mother was god knows where, doing god knows what and my dad was in California, where he had been for 4 months.
A knock on the door interrupted my bitter thoughts. A nurse poked her head in, smiling.
"Hey, it's my favorite patient" the nurse, Myra, smiled. I rolled my eyes playfully. "Ready to give some blood, Cece?"
"If I have to." I grimaced. Myra gave a sympathetic smile.
"Well, look on the bright side, love, you're almost out of here!"
I pulled out my small, bedside calendar, the days crossed out with X's and one circled. "Six more days!"
Myra smile and took my blood quickly. I barely even felt it now. Two months in the hospital and you get used to giving blood. Myra turned to leave and stopped short.
"Cece..." she started thoughtfully.
"Yes?"
"Next time Sidney Crosby calls, would you like me to transfer it to your room?"
"What... I mean... Wait a second, what?"
"Oh. He called while you were sleeping earlier," Myra explained, a tiny smirk on her face. "Just thought you'd want to know."
Myra left then and I fell back into my pillows with a deep sigh. Sidney Crosby, my savior, had called here? To speak to me? Impossible. But... why would Myra lie?
Well, either way, it sure gave me something to consume my dreams. Another flash of Crosby went across the TV. I smiled softly. I hadn't seen Sidney Crosby since the day he visited me in the hospital 2 months ago and yet the sparkle of his eyes and the sound of his voice was etched in my brain.
I turned over and closed my eyes to try to sleep. I laughed to myself as Sidney's face entered my mind. I was'’t special. Every straight woman in Pittsburgh fantasized about Sidney Crosby. What made my fantasy any different?
Have you ever experienced an event like it was in slow motion? You registered what was happening and yet it felt so slow, so drawn out. It’s like that movie, Inception. You're falling, falling, falling.... and when you make the impact, it feels harder than it should. And then reality hits you.
This was precisely the way I felt during the hit. When I collided with Kunitz and hit the ice and the pain afterwards. All of it, it was all in slow motion. When the doctors said, "Sorry, Sid, you're back to square one." Still, it didn't sink in.
When the pain and anger and unfairness of it all finally registered, I screamed. I screamed so loud it hurt my own ears and my throat felt like it was on fire. I hated this. I hated feeling this way, like I was defective. The way Bylsma and the doctors and even my teammates, my supposed friends, walked on egg shells around their precious, damaged captain. I hated it.
I felt like everything I had had been taken away in that one second, that one mistake. That was the worst. Was my whole career really defined now by that one second in time? After all the years and countless practicing and sweat and tears and pain, it all came down to this one single second. I was done. Concussed Sidney was all I had. I couldn't even remember being pre-concussed Sidney, even in those last few games I played. I was beginning to doubt I ever would remember that boy and his dreams.
That was another thing: my dreams. It seemed so long ago that my dreams consisted of winning the Hart trophy or getting the Stanley Cup. But now, my dream was simply playing. I wanted to be back on the ice with my team, scoring goals and taking names. But, instead, I was the pity child of the NHL. I never thought I would miss being called hockey's golden boy, but the day has now come.
Suddenly, as I lay there sullenly on my bed, a memory flashed through me, a memory of a feeling. I remembered, so vividly, that one moment when I felt proud of concussed Sidney. That day at the hospital with the broken girl. That's how I referred to her; the broken girl. She had been broken in every sense of the word. And suddenly, I felt in odd urge to talk to her. But, she couldn't talk. I wondered if she ever would again.
I sat there for a few minutes before I groaned and reached to pick up the phone. No harm in trying, yeah? I dialed the hospital number. A woman answered and asked who I was called for. And then I panicked. Broken girl... What was her name!
"Well, uh... This is Sidney Crosby. Uhm... I think her name was Sarah?" I guessed, feeling my cheeks burn. How stupid am I? Calling some girl I met two months ago, whom I spent about 5 seconds with before she went into cardiac arrest.
"Sarah, huh?" the woman sounded amused. "And you say this is Sidney Crosby?"
"Yeah..." I said cautiously, now wondering if it was such a good idea to say my name. Could they trace my number? Damnit.
"I think you mean Cecilia Henderson. I'm sorry but she's resting right now. You can call back later though," the woman explained. I slapped a hand to my forehead. Cecilia! That was her name!
"Wait, how did you even know who I was talking about?" I asked quickly, before she could hang up.
"Cecilia has told everyone the story of how Sidney Crosby saved her life. She talks about you all the time. How you saved her from her suffering and how amazing you are."
I was baffled. I practically turned crimson, though the woman obviously couldn't see. I thanked the woman and hung up. I finally found some sort of peace in my mind and fell into the depths of my dreams.
It would be the next day, as Sidney sat, debating whether to call again, that he would realize just what the woman had said. Cecilia talks about him. She could talk. And then he would call.
Cecilia spent the night dreaming of Sidney and the one day he would sweep her off her feet, like the true prince charming he was. She would wake up to Myra handing her the phone with a wink. Her prince charming was waiting.