Sammy Boy

Just as he did to Mackenzie the week before, Sam woke Sidney up by licking his face. Sidney’s eyes fluttered open as he put his hands behind Sammy’s ears and scratched them.

“G’morning, Sam,” he said with a smile. The dog’s tail wagged back and forth as his tongue tried to reconnect with Sid’s face once more. Sid pushed the dog away and sat up in bed, laughing.

“Alright, alright, I’m up. I know I promised you a walk but I didn’t expect it to be at the crack of dawn.” Sam simply jumped off the bed and looked at his owner, tongue hanging, tail wagging, eyes expectant.

Sid raised his arms above his head and did a big morning stretch before placing his feet on the floor. He walked into his bathroom and as he brushed his teeth he examined his body, clad in only a pair of boxers.

His brown hair was messy with bed head. He looked at his eyes; Sidney had noticed that there was a consistent underlying hint of the exhaustion brought on by the concussion. His jawline was sharp and his lips were full – he was sometimes self-conscious about them but he was told on more than one occasion that he was a good kisser, so he had learned to accept them.

He continued down his body and looked at his chest. The trainers didn’t think strenuous workouts were safe with the concussion, so his body had lost some definition; normally his abs were sculpted deeper and his shoulders broader.

Sid turned to look at his profile, and saw his stomach was still flat and his ass still big; that was another thing he used to be embarrassed about – he had to custom order jeans – but he had grown to believe that his body was a temple, and the reason he was successful at his sport.

Sid’s thighs were his powerhouse; nine months of inactivity couldn’t erase the years of skating and training from that area of his body; the muscles there were still toned and strong.

He finished brushing, gargled some mouthwash and rinsed off his face; he put on some gym shorts and a t-shirt before heading into the kitchen.

Since he wasn’t able to do any hardcore workouts, he tried to keep his meals simple and light, so Sid placed a frying pan on the stovetop and set the burner to low while he poured a cup of dog food into Sam’s bowl. He gave him some fresh water before returning to his own breakfast: he cracked four eggs into the pan and put two pieces of cinnamon bread in the toaster.

After his eggs were scrambled and his bread toasted, Sidney poured himself a glass of orange juice and dug in.

Once the dishes were dry, he returned to his bedroom and threw on some sneakers, a hoodie, and his signature baseball cap; he then attached Sam’s leash to his collar and headed to the elevator.

As the pair made their way through the streets of downtown Pittsburgh, Sidney thought about the city that raised him; he had grown to love it and called it his second home.

Sidney started to get attention for his hockey playing by the age of twelve and had been in the spotlight ever since. By the time his draft year came along, it had been nicknamed “The Sidney Crosby Sweepstakes.”

Pittsburgh knew they got lucky when their lotto ball was the last to be drawn in 2005; the whole world seemed to know that the city Crosby went to would be blessed with one of the best talents since Gretzky.

And the world was right: Sidney was the youngest captain in the history of the NHL to hoist the Cup at twenty one years of age and even had a gold medal under his belt – not to mention “The Golden Goal” to win it.

He had always held himself to the highest of standards and had just come off of a twenty five game point streak when “the hit” happened.

It was delivered during the Winter Classic and Sidney could immediately tell that something was off, but he played on. In the next game the Pens played however, he was hit from behind once again and the pain couldn’t be ignored.

He hadn’t played since.

And now, here he was at twenty four, half a life time later from the twelve year old boy who garnered the attention of the hockey community, and the pressure continued to rise with every passing game day and off season.

He loved his city and the fans, and Sidney handled the interaction aspect with grace and humbleness – he knew it was part of the job – but he had to admit that the constant recognition could be a little overwhelming at times.

His thoughts reverted back to Mackenzie. It had been a week and a day since “the Sam exchange” and her piercing blue eyes had made frequent appearances in his mind. He believed that she stuck in his memory because it was rare that someone didn’t recognize him in Pittsburgh.

Sidney and Sam turned the corner and, although they had already had their breakfast, he decided to stop at his favorite coffee shop; they made the best homemade glazed doughnuts. Sid was in a good mood and while he tried to watch his diet, he thought a little indulgence would be alright.

He tied Sammy to the table outside and walked in.

The shop was quiet on the Sunday morning; lazy sippers of coffee, workers of the laptop and Sunday morning newspaper enthusiasts sat scattered in mismatched armchairs. It was the perfect start to an autumn day for any resident of Pittsburgh: cozy, inexpensive and always delicious.

The instant Sidney walked up to the counter, it was evident that the boy behind the register recognized the superstar. After he ordered, the teenager slipped him a pen and a piece of paper and asked for an autograph; Sid appreciated the attempted discreetness and graciously signed it. After he was handed his doughnut, Sid dropped a ten dollar tip into the jar on the counter.

He took a bite of the glazed goodness and walked out of the coffee shop to find a woman petting Sam.

Mackenzie.