Islands
Adversity
December 2, 2010 Capitals 1 @ Stars 2
December 4, 2010 Thrashers 3 @ Capitals 1
December 6, 2010 Leafs 5 @ Capitals 4 (SO)
December 9, 2010 Panthers 3 @ Capitals 0
December 11, 2010 Avalanche 3 @ Capitals 2
December 12, 2010 Capitals 0 @ Rangers 7
December 15, 2010 Ducks 2 @ Capitals 1(OT)
With a little luck, I managed to juggle a six pack of beer, a half empty bottle of vodka, a single can of beer, and two wine coolers in my arms, my bag slung over my right shoulder. I walked away from a pair of pouty freshmen—the girls with claim of the wine coolers—as they whined and cursed at me. I’d grown emotionless towards the situation after my first year of being an RA in the freshmen dorms. It was a strict university policy: no alcohol allowed in the first year residence halls.
I had to do routine room checks three times a semester. They were supposed to be random, but I always dropped hints as to when I was coming around. I didn’t even go through closets or bags. Yet somehow there were always those few rooms that left their alcohol out in plain sight. As an R.A., I was required to confiscate it and get rid of it.
My arms were starting to feel like jelly as I took careful steps. The last thing I wanted in one of the hallways on my floor before winter break was the wafting scent of Pabst Blue Ribbon.
“Erin,” I heard my name and footsteps approaching toward me. “Some blond guy is waiting for you in the common room.”
The voice belonged to Cassie, an outgoing freshman who hadn’t been dumb enough to leave alcohol in plain sight in her room. It was my job to know who these kids were and along the way I also found out their maturity level. She wasn’t one of my freshmen who acted like an 18-year-old living away from home for the first time. I nodded at her with a smile, already on my way to our floor’s common room.
As I passed through the threshold, I could hear two male voices. One was Ryan, a jock-type kid who had been clutch in our floor’s performance in the res hall 3-on-3 basketball tournament before Thanksgiving, and the other was Nicky. They were seated across from each other on armchairs. Ryan had his feet up on the coffee table between them and Nicky had two cups of coffee in front of him. I looked at Nicky briefly, catching his gaze, before heading straight into the kitchen with my arms full of alcohol.
I gave him directions to get to the res hall and when he texted me last he said he was standing outside the building. I had four more rooms to check for booze when I got his text and responded, saying I’d be down in 10 minutes or so. A keycard was required to gain access inside, but it wasn’t really a problem when people were walking in and out all the time.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” I heard Ryan say. “Are you an actor?”
I chuckled to myself as I reached the kitchen, setting the booze down on the counter beside the sink and dropping my bag haphazardly on a chair. I tried to picture Nicky acting on an American sitcom, comparing sex to pizza and reciting one-liners.
“I’m no actor,” Nicky answered in his accented English.
I unscrewed the caps of the wine coolers first, throwing them lazily in the big trash bin at the end of the counter. I tipped both bottles upside down, aiming the flow right down the drain of the sink.
“But I know you from somewhere,” Ryan insisted.
The liquid made a gulping sound in both bottles, too much trying to escape the small opening of the bottleneck at once. I strained to hear the conversation in the lounge area over the noise.
"Hockey," Nicky answered simply.
“Oh! Gotcha! For the Capitals, right?” Ryan sounded annoying. “I’m more of a football guy myself.”
I wondered how bad Nicky wanted to get away from the conversation with Ryan. I didn’t hear what Nicky said to Ryan about football as I uncapped the Smirnoff bottle, but I did hear Ryan speak again, louder, which meant they were closer to me. Nicky must have awkwardly gotten up when he saw me disappear into the kitchen.
“Who are you here to see again?” Ryan asked. “You know this is a freshmen dorm, right, dude?”
Sure enough, when Nicky answered he was right at the entrance to the kitchen, Ryan on his heels. “I’m here for Erin.”
I smiled at them both as the last drops of colorless liquid dripped from the Smirnoff bottle. Nicky had a get me out of here look on his face. I stifled a laugh. Surrounded by adorning and sometimes creepy fans, he was probably completely fine. But one overfriendly 18-year-old without a declared college major was too much.
Nicky looked out of place in a campus residence hall lounge during finals week. I was lucky and had just finished my last final the morning before, but as a general rule all the freshmen still had at least one more to write. In my res hall and all around campus, students were dressed in heavy cotton and clean faced, concentrated on their exams. Nicky was casual in his sweater and black jeans, but even that was too dressed up for the occasion of finals week.
Both cups of coffee I’d seen were in his hands. He set one on the counter beside the booze and took a sip from the other. He frowned at the remaining bottles and can of beer but didn’t say anything. I lined the vodka bottle up next to the emptied wine coolers and he put his coffee cup down, too.
“Oh, hey Erin,” Ryan spoke again. “Didn’t realize you’d come in here.”
I nodded. “How’s it going?”
“I’m okay.” He looked at the remaining bottles and the can, but not in the same curious way that Nicky had. “I guess I should get back to studying…Nick, it was good to meet you, man.”
They shook hands and Nicky gave him a “Go Redskins!” as Ryan walked away.
I turned to Nicky, my back to the sink as I faced him. He had his hands in his jeans pockets and I touched his elbow through the material of his sweater. It was soft and the green Lacoste crocodile logo stood out against its solid blue color. He towered over me. “Hi,” I greeted, my voice soft.
“Hi.” his voice was gruff.
Then his lips were on mine, kissing me deeply. I had to take a step back to steady myself as he leaned into me. Both his hands were on my hips as my back pressed into the counter. I felt him drag the tip of his tongue against the inside of my mouth, towards my back teeth, and my fingers curled at the nape of his neck. I certainly hadn’t expected such a hot kiss when I’d walked into the kitchen.
We both smiled at each other for a prolonged moment when it ended. Nicky’s lips always looked too pale, almost the same color as his skintone, but this time around they had a little more color. He let go of me and smoothed down his hair where I’d messed it up.
“That coffee is for you,” he pointed at the cup he hadn’t taken a sip from. “I got it at that Hoya Snaxa store downstair. Should still be warm.”
I wanted to kiss him again but I stopped myself, knowing I’d get another chance later. When other people I knew made grammatical speech mistakes, it didn’t sound so pretty. But somehow hearing him say downstair—no ‘s’ at the end—with his Swedish accent was adorable.
“Thanks,” I told him. “But aren’t we supposed to drink coffee, decaf, after our date?”
“Okay, before I answer that, first I have a question.” Nicky pointed at the booze on the kitchen counter. “What’re you doing?”
“None of the kids that live in this dorm besides me and the other R.A.s are 21 or older,” I explained. “I have to take alcohol away from them if I see it in their rooms.”
“You pour it down the drain?” he sounded surprised. “Why don’t you, you and other R.A.s, keep it for yourselves?”
“We’re not allowed to do that. We can’t keep anything we take away. Your suggestion is mean, too!” I laughed and grabbed two bottles from the six pack, holding one out to him. “Want to help me?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
I held the bottle against the countertop tightly, the cap just touching the ledge, hitting the top hard with my free hand to pop the cap off. Since there was no drinking allowed in the freshmen dorms, there were no bottle openers in any of the floor kitchens. I had to hit the cap a few times before it fell to the floor. Nicky made it look easy, pressing his bottle to the counter and getting the cap of his bottle off in one solid motion. As I picked up the two caps from the floor, I told him that he should just open the rest of the bottles and I would pour.
Beer was sloshing down the drain from the third bottle when I asked him again, “So why did you buy coffee?”
Nicky was done uncapping bottles and he picked up the sole can of beer. He cracked it open and stood beside me, turning it sideways above the sink and letting the golden liquid flow. Our hands bumped.
“So you’ll be warm.” When I gave him a curious look, he shook his head and added, “You’ll see.”
I found out later in Nicky’s SUV that we were just going for a simple evening walk in Kalorama, ending at the top of the Spanish Steps. Spanish Steps Park wasn’t a very well-known spot in the city and I’d never been there before, but I’d heard about it. It was quiet and apparently romantic. I was curious how Nicky kept coming up with these date ideas but I didn’t ask. I liked all the dates he had taken me on. December in the district was chilly, though there was no snow on the ground, so the coffee I drank before our long walk was helpful.
We kept our conversation casual, laughing and holding hands. What I learned from the time I’d spent with Nicky was that he was actually quite funny. Though he was a quiet guy, when he wanted to make quips he made good ones. I was starting to understand that he chose everything he said carefully because his words were loaded and he didn’t have to say more. I knew during our walk that something was bothering him. He was even more understated than usual. When we passed by other couples walking in the park (not that we were a couple), he looked at them like he was waiting for someone to approach him and start yelling.
“Nicky,” I said as we began our ascent up the stairs, “what’s eating you?”
He looked at me, blond eyebrows knitted. “Hmm?”
“Oh, sorry. It’s an expression.” I frowned at myself for forgetting that he might not understand the idiom. “What’s bothering you?”
He was silent for a few steps, holding my hand and making sure that we were taking the steps at the same pace. He sighed. “We lost 7 games in a row now. I don’t think practice will be fun tomorrow.”
I knew about the Capitals’ recent slide that he was talking about. It was all over town. The team had only two wins in the month of December, most of the games losses at home. I’d suspected that that was what was bothering Nicky; I’d been hoping that he would bring it up instead of me asking about it. I didn’t want to make him feel worse. Essentially, hockey was his entire life, so I knew all the losing affected him. In the short time that I’d known him the Caps hadn’t won a single game.
“I think you guys will win soon,” I tried to sound as encouraging as possible. “You’ll probably win in Boston.”
The next few games on the schedule included a two-game road trip before they played the Pittsburgh Penguins at home at the Verizon Center for the first time of the season. It was the only game between the two teams before their New Year’s Day faceoff at the Winter Classic in Pittsburgh.
“Is been terrible lately,” he answered as we reached the landing at the top of the steps. “We can’t win, we’re not getting the bounces. Everyone is angry. And all of this on the cameras.”
It was hard enough to hear about the local hockey team’s recent struggles around DC. But it was compelling to watch it all play out on HBO. The HBO cameras were following the Capitals’ every move and the consciousness that their losing streak was featured on a commercial-free hour-long episode each week probably wasn’t making anything easier.
The first episode of The Road to the Winter Classic had just aired the night before. The cameras had been on the ice at the Sculpture Garden the day I met Nicky. Not only did my nephew Jaden make a small appearance on the first episode, but his telling Nicky that the Caps had lost two in a row at that time had actually made the final cut of the show. In my dorm room, I sat squirming through the whole segment before sending my sister a text that her son had made it onto HBO for a few seconds of air time.
I squeezed Nicky’s hand as we sat down on the ledge in front of the fountain a few strides from the landing. “You’ll figure out how to get through the adversity as a team.”
Nicky chuckled bitterly and let go of my hand, putting his arm around me and resting his chin on my shoulder. “I’m so sick of the word – adversity. I can barely remember the last time we won. I don’t even know the last time I got a goal. I feel responsible.”
“You can’t hold yourself accountable for the entire thing,” I said.
“I signed the big contract in the summer. I wear the ‘A’. I play most minutes of all centers,” Nicky reasoned. “I wish I could do more.”
It wasn’t the first time we were talking about hockey, but it was the first conversation we were having specifically about his team and his season. He was pretty simple. He was quiet and interesting and funny, but at the end of the day he was just simple. He was about something. He was about hockey. He was committed to his craft and his team, so of course he felt responsible during a losing streak.
“I really do think you’re going to win on the road,” I said, moving my hand to his knee.
“Sorry to be a downer,” he replied, his breath tickling my cheek. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
“I’m not sad.” I shook my head. “And I’m the one who asked, remember? I don’t want you to be sad. I want to know you’re okay.”
I placed a kiss on his cheekbone, his chin still rested on my shoulder, as he looked down the steps at the street below us. It was illuminated by street lights and bordered by trees, some with leaves fallen on the ground. It was just another street in another neighborhood in Washington, but it looked different from the steps. It was something from a postcard or a hard-bound coffee table book.
“I’ll be okay,” he said after a long pause, taking in the scenery.
When he lifted his head and adjusted his arms around me, I leaned in and kissed him, softly, on the mouth shortly. He was becoming less of a mystery every day and more of a dream. It didn’t matter that I’d only been out with him a few times or how different our lives were. We’d made a connection and I was falling for him.
“When we’re together,” he whispered, “the world moves too fast.”
December 4, 2010 Thrashers 3 @ Capitals 1
December 6, 2010 Leafs 5 @ Capitals 4 (SO)
December 9, 2010 Panthers 3 @ Capitals 0
December 11, 2010 Avalanche 3 @ Capitals 2
December 12, 2010 Capitals 0 @ Rangers 7
December 15, 2010 Ducks 2 @ Capitals 1(OT)
With a little luck, I managed to juggle a six pack of beer, a half empty bottle of vodka, a single can of beer, and two wine coolers in my arms, my bag slung over my right shoulder. I walked away from a pair of pouty freshmen—the girls with claim of the wine coolers—as they whined and cursed at me. I’d grown emotionless towards the situation after my first year of being an RA in the freshmen dorms. It was a strict university policy: no alcohol allowed in the first year residence halls.
I had to do routine room checks three times a semester. They were supposed to be random, but I always dropped hints as to when I was coming around. I didn’t even go through closets or bags. Yet somehow there were always those few rooms that left their alcohol out in plain sight. As an R.A., I was required to confiscate it and get rid of it.
My arms were starting to feel like jelly as I took careful steps. The last thing I wanted in one of the hallways on my floor before winter break was the wafting scent of Pabst Blue Ribbon.
“Erin,” I heard my name and footsteps approaching toward me. “Some blond guy is waiting for you in the common room.”
The voice belonged to Cassie, an outgoing freshman who hadn’t been dumb enough to leave alcohol in plain sight in her room. It was my job to know who these kids were and along the way I also found out their maturity level. She wasn’t one of my freshmen who acted like an 18-year-old living away from home for the first time. I nodded at her with a smile, already on my way to our floor’s common room.
As I passed through the threshold, I could hear two male voices. One was Ryan, a jock-type kid who had been clutch in our floor’s performance in the res hall 3-on-3 basketball tournament before Thanksgiving, and the other was Nicky. They were seated across from each other on armchairs. Ryan had his feet up on the coffee table between them and Nicky had two cups of coffee in front of him. I looked at Nicky briefly, catching his gaze, before heading straight into the kitchen with my arms full of alcohol.
I gave him directions to get to the res hall and when he texted me last he said he was standing outside the building. I had four more rooms to check for booze when I got his text and responded, saying I’d be down in 10 minutes or so. A keycard was required to gain access inside, but it wasn’t really a problem when people were walking in and out all the time.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” I heard Ryan say. “Are you an actor?”
I chuckled to myself as I reached the kitchen, setting the booze down on the counter beside the sink and dropping my bag haphazardly on a chair. I tried to picture Nicky acting on an American sitcom, comparing sex to pizza and reciting one-liners.
“I’m no actor,” Nicky answered in his accented English.
I unscrewed the caps of the wine coolers first, throwing them lazily in the big trash bin at the end of the counter. I tipped both bottles upside down, aiming the flow right down the drain of the sink.
“But I know you from somewhere,” Ryan insisted.
The liquid made a gulping sound in both bottles, too much trying to escape the small opening of the bottleneck at once. I strained to hear the conversation in the lounge area over the noise.
"Hockey," Nicky answered simply.
“Oh! Gotcha! For the Capitals, right?” Ryan sounded annoying. “I’m more of a football guy myself.”
I wondered how bad Nicky wanted to get away from the conversation with Ryan. I didn’t hear what Nicky said to Ryan about football as I uncapped the Smirnoff bottle, but I did hear Ryan speak again, louder, which meant they were closer to me. Nicky must have awkwardly gotten up when he saw me disappear into the kitchen.
“Who are you here to see again?” Ryan asked. “You know this is a freshmen dorm, right, dude?”
Sure enough, when Nicky answered he was right at the entrance to the kitchen, Ryan on his heels. “I’m here for Erin.”
I smiled at them both as the last drops of colorless liquid dripped from the Smirnoff bottle. Nicky had a get me out of here look on his face. I stifled a laugh. Surrounded by adorning and sometimes creepy fans, he was probably completely fine. But one overfriendly 18-year-old without a declared college major was too much.
Nicky looked out of place in a campus residence hall lounge during finals week. I was lucky and had just finished my last final the morning before, but as a general rule all the freshmen still had at least one more to write. In my res hall and all around campus, students were dressed in heavy cotton and clean faced, concentrated on their exams. Nicky was casual in his sweater and black jeans, but even that was too dressed up for the occasion of finals week.
Both cups of coffee I’d seen were in his hands. He set one on the counter beside the booze and took a sip from the other. He frowned at the remaining bottles and can of beer but didn’t say anything. I lined the vodka bottle up next to the emptied wine coolers and he put his coffee cup down, too.
“Oh, hey Erin,” Ryan spoke again. “Didn’t realize you’d come in here.”
I nodded. “How’s it going?”
“I’m okay.” He looked at the remaining bottles and the can, but not in the same curious way that Nicky had. “I guess I should get back to studying…Nick, it was good to meet you, man.”
They shook hands and Nicky gave him a “Go Redskins!” as Ryan walked away.
I turned to Nicky, my back to the sink as I faced him. He had his hands in his jeans pockets and I touched his elbow through the material of his sweater. It was soft and the green Lacoste crocodile logo stood out against its solid blue color. He towered over me. “Hi,” I greeted, my voice soft.
“Hi.” his voice was gruff.
Then his lips were on mine, kissing me deeply. I had to take a step back to steady myself as he leaned into me. Both his hands were on my hips as my back pressed into the counter. I felt him drag the tip of his tongue against the inside of my mouth, towards my back teeth, and my fingers curled at the nape of his neck. I certainly hadn’t expected such a hot kiss when I’d walked into the kitchen.
We both smiled at each other for a prolonged moment when it ended. Nicky’s lips always looked too pale, almost the same color as his skintone, but this time around they had a little more color. He let go of me and smoothed down his hair where I’d messed it up.
“That coffee is for you,” he pointed at the cup he hadn’t taken a sip from. “I got it at that Hoya Snaxa store downstair. Should still be warm.”
I wanted to kiss him again but I stopped myself, knowing I’d get another chance later. When other people I knew made grammatical speech mistakes, it didn’t sound so pretty. But somehow hearing him say downstair—no ‘s’ at the end—with his Swedish accent was adorable.
“Thanks,” I told him. “But aren’t we supposed to drink coffee, decaf, after our date?”
“Okay, before I answer that, first I have a question.” Nicky pointed at the booze on the kitchen counter. “What’re you doing?”
“None of the kids that live in this dorm besides me and the other R.A.s are 21 or older,” I explained. “I have to take alcohol away from them if I see it in their rooms.”
“You pour it down the drain?” he sounded surprised. “Why don’t you, you and other R.A.s, keep it for yourselves?”
“We’re not allowed to do that. We can’t keep anything we take away. Your suggestion is mean, too!” I laughed and grabbed two bottles from the six pack, holding one out to him. “Want to help me?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
I held the bottle against the countertop tightly, the cap just touching the ledge, hitting the top hard with my free hand to pop the cap off. Since there was no drinking allowed in the freshmen dorms, there were no bottle openers in any of the floor kitchens. I had to hit the cap a few times before it fell to the floor. Nicky made it look easy, pressing his bottle to the counter and getting the cap of his bottle off in one solid motion. As I picked up the two caps from the floor, I told him that he should just open the rest of the bottles and I would pour.
Beer was sloshing down the drain from the third bottle when I asked him again, “So why did you buy coffee?”
Nicky was done uncapping bottles and he picked up the sole can of beer. He cracked it open and stood beside me, turning it sideways above the sink and letting the golden liquid flow. Our hands bumped.
“So you’ll be warm.” When I gave him a curious look, he shook his head and added, “You’ll see.”
I found out later in Nicky’s SUV that we were just going for a simple evening walk in Kalorama, ending at the top of the Spanish Steps. Spanish Steps Park wasn’t a very well-known spot in the city and I’d never been there before, but I’d heard about it. It was quiet and apparently romantic. I was curious how Nicky kept coming up with these date ideas but I didn’t ask. I liked all the dates he had taken me on. December in the district was chilly, though there was no snow on the ground, so the coffee I drank before our long walk was helpful.
We kept our conversation casual, laughing and holding hands. What I learned from the time I’d spent with Nicky was that he was actually quite funny. Though he was a quiet guy, when he wanted to make quips he made good ones. I was starting to understand that he chose everything he said carefully because his words were loaded and he didn’t have to say more. I knew during our walk that something was bothering him. He was even more understated than usual. When we passed by other couples walking in the park (not that we were a couple), he looked at them like he was waiting for someone to approach him and start yelling.
“Nicky,” I said as we began our ascent up the stairs, “what’s eating you?”
He looked at me, blond eyebrows knitted. “Hmm?”
“Oh, sorry. It’s an expression.” I frowned at myself for forgetting that he might not understand the idiom. “What’s bothering you?”
He was silent for a few steps, holding my hand and making sure that we were taking the steps at the same pace. He sighed. “We lost 7 games in a row now. I don’t think practice will be fun tomorrow.”
I knew about the Capitals’ recent slide that he was talking about. It was all over town. The team had only two wins in the month of December, most of the games losses at home. I’d suspected that that was what was bothering Nicky; I’d been hoping that he would bring it up instead of me asking about it. I didn’t want to make him feel worse. Essentially, hockey was his entire life, so I knew all the losing affected him. In the short time that I’d known him the Caps hadn’t won a single game.
“I think you guys will win soon,” I tried to sound as encouraging as possible. “You’ll probably win in Boston.”
The next few games on the schedule included a two-game road trip before they played the Pittsburgh Penguins at home at the Verizon Center for the first time of the season. It was the only game between the two teams before their New Year’s Day faceoff at the Winter Classic in Pittsburgh.
“Is been terrible lately,” he answered as we reached the landing at the top of the steps. “We can’t win, we’re not getting the bounces. Everyone is angry. And all of this on the cameras.”
It was hard enough to hear about the local hockey team’s recent struggles around DC. But it was compelling to watch it all play out on HBO. The HBO cameras were following the Capitals’ every move and the consciousness that their losing streak was featured on a commercial-free hour-long episode each week probably wasn’t making anything easier.
The first episode of The Road to the Winter Classic had just aired the night before. The cameras had been on the ice at the Sculpture Garden the day I met Nicky. Not only did my nephew Jaden make a small appearance on the first episode, but his telling Nicky that the Caps had lost two in a row at that time had actually made the final cut of the show. In my dorm room, I sat squirming through the whole segment before sending my sister a text that her son had made it onto HBO for a few seconds of air time.
I squeezed Nicky’s hand as we sat down on the ledge in front of the fountain a few strides from the landing. “You’ll figure out how to get through the adversity as a team.”
Nicky chuckled bitterly and let go of my hand, putting his arm around me and resting his chin on my shoulder. “I’m so sick of the word – adversity. I can barely remember the last time we won. I don’t even know the last time I got a goal. I feel responsible.”
“You can’t hold yourself accountable for the entire thing,” I said.
“I signed the big contract in the summer. I wear the ‘A’. I play most minutes of all centers,” Nicky reasoned. “I wish I could do more.”
It wasn’t the first time we were talking about hockey, but it was the first conversation we were having specifically about his team and his season. He was pretty simple. He was quiet and interesting and funny, but at the end of the day he was just simple. He was about something. He was about hockey. He was committed to his craft and his team, so of course he felt responsible during a losing streak.
“I really do think you’re going to win on the road,” I said, moving my hand to his knee.
“Sorry to be a downer,” he replied, his breath tickling my cheek. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
“I’m not sad.” I shook my head. “And I’m the one who asked, remember? I don’t want you to be sad. I want to know you’re okay.”
I placed a kiss on his cheekbone, his chin still rested on my shoulder, as he looked down the steps at the street below us. It was illuminated by street lights and bordered by trees, some with leaves fallen on the ground. It was just another street in another neighborhood in Washington, but it looked different from the steps. It was something from a postcard or a hard-bound coffee table book.
“I’ll be okay,” he said after a long pause, taking in the scenery.
When he lifted his head and adjusted his arms around me, I leaned in and kissed him, softly, on the mouth shortly. He was becoming less of a mystery every day and more of a dream. It didn’t matter that I’d only been out with him a few times or how different our lives were. We’d made a connection and I was falling for him.
“When we’re together,” he whispered, “the world moves too fast.”
Great story!
11/16/18