The Longest Time

When I’d agreed to upgrade from Leo to James, I’d somehow assumed that my life was going to change drastically. Of course there were some scheduling changes, but overall my life was still my life. I spent most of my time commuting from Jessica’s to campus with the occasional stop at my apartment. The end of the semester meant the deadlines I’d though were miles away were suddenly standing in front of me, taunting me and holding signs with failing grades written in bright red marker. So while James and I had been together for a little over two weeks, I’d yet to meet his moles and freckles. In fact, I’d only seen him twice after the team dinner. I had to admit I was impressed by my own patience. With the exception of Ben, my high school boyfriend and best friend, I’d never waited more than a week before sleeping with someone. And by a week, I mean it usually happened within the three days. But despite desperately wanting James, I didn’t feel that sense of urgency. There was no need to rush things with him, I had faith that even without hanky-panky he’d still stick around, although I wasn’t wanting to test that theory.

“What are you doing?” He was calling from a hotel room in Chicago, I imagined him sprawled out on a bed in his boxers, his hair a mess and chin stubbly. I shivered and had to stop my mind from wandering.

“Just sorting through shots for my final,” I replied, sitting on the floor of my apartment surrounded my prints. “I can’t make up my mind.” I shuffled through a pile of I’d developed a few weeks earlier of Jack and Riley playing in a pile or leaves.

“Show me?” he asked and I heard the squeaking of the bed underneath him. “Go on Skype, I’ll call you back there.”

He hung up and I quickly ran to the mirror pulling my unruly copper curls into a ponytail and shaking my bangs out. I pulled off my oversized hoodie and adjusted my boobs in my white tank top. Sure, he’d seen me looking a little less than perfect before, but I wasn’t ready for him to realize how common my dishevelled look was. Racing back to my desk, I pulled my laptop down to the floor with me and leaned against the bed. He called as soon as I logged in and used the reflection of the screen to sure my boobs were still showing just enough cleavage while I waited for the call to connect.

“Hi,” he grinned when his face popped onto my screen. “I missed your face,” he said quietly and I could hear someone snicker in the background.

“I miss you too,” I blushed and studied the fuzzy image of his face. “Is that from the Shaw high stick?” I reached out to touch the cut on his bottom lip. He’d suffered worse but I was perversely intrigued by the shocking maroon gash on his lightly pigmented skin. It was slightly swollen and I could see three stitches poking out. I wondered if it would be bruised by the time he got home, and how much I’d have to adjust the saturation to pick up the colours if I were to take a picture of him.

“Yeah,” he brushed his fingers over it gently. “No big deal.”

“Makes you look tough,” I winked.

“I try,” he shrugged and laughed quietly. “So you watched the game?”

“Most of it,” I started flipping through the pile of pictures again, trying to decide which ones I wanted to bother showing him. “I didn’t want to keep Jessica up too late so I left half way through the third.”

“See that’s why you need a TV,” he teased and picked up the computer, moving back to the bed. Seeing him with his back against the headboard reminded me of waking up beside him after my wild night.

“Why would I need a TV? All the good porn is on the internet,” I said dryly, watching his face for a reaction. He grinned and shook his head laughing, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. There was another voice coming from outside the screen that was laughing just as loudly. The same one I’d heard snicker.

“I’d love to know how you learned this.”

“Common knowledge,” I shrugged. “Who are you with?”

“Sunshine,” he rubbed his face, still chuckling. “So are you going to show me those pictures?”

I nodded and picked up another pile, “So these are all raw, some self portraits. I haven’t done any touching and they’re pretty bare.” I picked the first one off of the top and held it up.

“What the hell are you two talking about?” I heard the other voice say and James looked away from the screen.

“Pictures,” James answered. “She’s got a project due.” I saw him glare at Beau, then focus back on the screen. Before either of us could continue the conversation, I saw the image shake and Beau appeared on my screen, leaning over James and grinning into the camera.

“I missed your face too, Colbie!” he obnoxiously bat his eyelashes and flicked his wrist.

“Hi Beau,” I laughed and tried to look over him to see James who rolled his eyes.

“So let’s see these nudes,” Beau settled in beside James and sat patiently with his hands folded in his lap.

“Just to be clear, these are all film shots, I take my nudes using digital. Y’know for distribution purposes,” I said matter-of-factly. James and Beau looked at each other with a mixture of horror and delight on their faces. I didn’t give them enough to time to form a response before holding up the first picture.

“This project is going to drive me to the allegorical looney bin. Originally my theme was going to be like youth and changes, but I’m not really representing that given that I only have four people to photograph.” I explained, still holding up a black and white shot I’d taken of myself the first day of classes. It had only been a few months but I swore the girl in the picture was a stranger. It was taken in the bedroom area of my apartment, me sitting crosslegged on the bed, not making eye contact with the camera but trying to smile. I could see my own terror in the image, the little traces of anxiety hidden in the stiffness of my jaw and the way my eyes looked to the left. In it I’m holding the family photo taken the day I left, the one that still made me cry if I was having a rough day. The picture itself was nothing spectacular, technically it was solid but there was nothing overly exciting about it. It didn’t seem like the kind of artistic analysis of life I knew my professor was expecting.

The second self portrait I showed them was from the night of the home opener. In it I’m staring directly at the camera, hair pushed out of my face, my scarf still on and my cheeks flushed. I was sitting on the counter, holding the ticket stub at the edge of the frame. My face was more relaxed, there was an energy in this one that I wondered if other people could sense without knowing the backstory. I held up a few more shots, ones I’d taken of the kids, all in colour, all full of an unexplainable joy that I had been able to capture effortlessly. It was easy to capture emotions in their little faces though, the pictures took themselves as I stood by acting as some kind of mechanical support for the camera. If only I could do the same with myself.

“I like them!” Beau said when I’d returned the last picture to the envelope. “They’re really good.”

“Thanks,” I smiled back at him, waiting for James to give me some kind of response. Instead he just sat there a look of concentration spread across his tired face. I wanted to crack open his mind and read what he was thinking, but instead I left him to process turning once again to Beau. “I just can’t figure out how to make them all work in a project, I feel like I need more diversity but I know like six people in this city,” I sighed, shuffling the envelopes beside me.

“Call Bea!” Beau replied excitedly. “Bea will definitely be able to help you, she’s pretty artsy.”

“Like Crosby?” I looked at him alarmed. There was no way in hell I was calling Beatrice Crosby to help me with my silly little project.

“Keller-Crosby,” he corrected me. “But yeah, she’s bored out of her mind right now I’m sure she’d be stoked to see you.” He looked so enthusiastic and sure of himself, even if the idea sounded ludicrous.

“I can’t do that,” I laughed. “I hardly know her.”

“You should call Beatrice,” James finally spoke, a soft smile across his lips. Their insistence seemed strange, like they’d forgotten that I’d only met her once. I wondered what kind of role she played in their lives, if she was more than just their captain’s wife.
“Trust me,” he said softly and I wanted to be in Chicago beside him more than I could handle. Trust wasn’t my forte. Trust was a relatively foreign concept actually, but those two words coming from his red, tantalizing lips had me melting in a way I’d never experienced. Oh how desperately did I want to trust him. I wanted to throw away any reservations that had nestled themselves inside of me and go running footloose and wildly into his arms. Propel myself off of my fears and dive into the dark unknown of James Neal.

We said goodnight and I set aside my project for another day, then crawling into bed and letting the mental images of his face flood my mind. That face that could break a million hearts, that body that take over my life, that man who could destroy me. I looked forward to him in a way I hadn’t anticipated anything in years, like a child on Christmas morning I was giddy with excitement, eager to see what was in store for me. After years of living recklessly and skirting around anything to do with actually caring about another person it was refreshing to let myself fall, and I was giving myself full permission to fall as hard as I could.


I woke up the next morning with the joy of a free Saturday welcoming me to the weekend. Jessica had given me the day off and I had ambitious plans of doing absolutely nothing all day. The day was mine for the taking and I entered it with no expectations. Outside my window snow blanketed the the city for the first time that winter and continued to fall lazily from the sky. Pittsburgh still felt like a new city to me, I wasn’t yet comfortable with the streets or landmarks, but covered in snow it started to feel like home. After watching the snow from the edge of my bed, I did the same thing I’d done every morning since saying yes to James, I reached for my phone to call him. However instead of the usual good morning text from him I found two more, one from my sister and another from an unknown number.

UNKNOWN:
Hi Colbie, It’s Bea- we met at the Pens team dinner a few weeks ago. I got your number from James who said you were looking for people for a project. I’d love to help if I can.

I reread the message a few times, amazed that she’d actually text me. I noticed that she didn’t refer to herself as Crosby’s wife, and even her message felt friendly. Was it possible to be starstruck by a player’s wife? Was it as pathetic as I thought? I quickly wrote back asking her when she was free and in less than five minutes we had plans for that afternoon.

“I can’t believe you actually got her to text me,” I said into the phone, skipping the hello.

“Good morning,” James laughed on the other end which made my me flush and miss him all over again. “And it really wasn’t hard to do. Did you text her back?”

“Of course I text her back, I’m not in the position to be passing up help,” I replied, getting up from the bed and walking to my sad, empty fridge, hoping to find something breakfast worthy.

“Good, you’ll like her,” he said with a kind of certainty I wouldn’t usually expect from him.

“I’m going to her house this after noon,” I pulled out a carton of orange juice and took a drink directly from it.

“That’s great. Their house is really nice,” he told me and I could hear him moving in the background. I was about to ask what he was doing when it dawned on me that he’d said ‘their’ house, as in Sid and Bea, Sidney and Beatrice Crosby, Keller-Crosby whatever. I was going to the house of a Canadian icon. A household name whose pictures my brother had plastered on his wall since 2005. I mixture of excitement and nerves began in the pit of my stomach and I dropped the juice jug I’d forgotten I was holding.

“Sonofabitch, feck’s sake Colbie Kathleen,” I cursed, impersonating my mother perfectly with a slew of words that were often heard coming out of her pursed Irish lips. I sighed and bent down to mop up with orange mess that was covering my kitchen floor.

“What’s wrong?” James asked concerned, having obviously heard my little outburst.

“Nothing,” I replied trying to seem cheery while covering the floor with paper towel. “I just realized where I was going and got a little jumpy and spilt nearly a full thing of orange juice on my floor, which sucks because I wanted to drink that.”

“You got so excited realizing you were going to Crosby’s house that you spilt your juice?” he clarified, failing to hold in his amusement and finishing the sentence with an undignified snort.

“No!” I cried defensively. “Okay maybe, but stop laughing.” I could hear him clearly snickering in the background. “It’s not funny!”

“It’s kind of funny,” he said in a softer tone. “Mostly because he’s sitting beside me.” I let out a frustrated groan and heard him say my name to someone in the background.

“Can you not tell him please?” I half whined into the phone, tossing the first batch of soaked paper towel into the bin. It was starting to feel like embarrassing myself in front of him was some kind of perverse second nature.

“Relax, Beau asked who I was talking to. Your fangirling is safe with me.”

“I am NOT fangirling!” I made sure to say every word as clearly as possible.

“It’s totally okay,” he continued to torment me. “It happens to the best of us, just don’t steal his toothbrush or anything okay, babe?”

“Seriously James I’m going to kill you before we’ve made it past third base,” I threatened and thew the last of the wet paper towel out.

“Okay that got really mean really quickly. I’m going to let you go cool off there sparky,” he chuckled and I heard background noise growing louder.

“Yeah, that escalated quickly, I would most definitely sleep with you before committing any felonies,” I reassured him.

“I’m so comforted by that, Colbie. So, so comforted. But I’m about to get on a plane for St. Louis, so I’ll call you after the game tonight. Please try to curb your violence before I call.”

“What is violence anyway?” I quoted him, an unavoidable smirk on my face.

“That’s my girl, have a good day.”

He hung up a few seconds later and I couldn’t have wiped the smile from my face if I tried. Every conversation with him acted as some kind of grand reassurance that being with him was the right decision. James was like nothing I’d expected him to be and it was a pleasant surprise each time I rediscovered that. I’d expected him to be arrogant, entitled, someone who I would be sick of within a week of meeting, but it had been nearly three months of awkward conversations ad nights spent thinking about his smile and I still felt a flutter in my stomach when his name appeared on my phone. In the book of Colbie Kathleen O’Connor, this would go down as record, the kind that deserved a medal, and possibly a cake.

By the time I left I’d tried on nearly every article of clothing I owned. My goal was to look cool, hip, but like I wasn’t trying at all. But I definitely was trying, in fact I was always trying. Every casually thrown on flannel shirt I wore was a strategic fashion move. Every loose fitting tunic had a purpose. I’d finally settled on jeans when it came time to leave. Jeans and a sweater with a four leafed clover on it that Mallory had bought me last Christmas. No one would ever know it had taken me hours to get dressed. With my kit in the backseat of the car, I managed to make my way to the home of the NHL’s newest royal couple without getting royally lost. And James was right, it was beautiful. Oversized compared to his place and pristine. White siding that looked like it was hand scrubbed daily and two lamps at the end of the long driveway. But it was somehow understated, normal. There were no giant lion statues, or extravagant water features. It was just the inconspicuous home of a multi-millionaire.

I made my way up the un-shovelled walkway and pushed away the nerves that had returned. I scoffed at how ridiculous it was that my hands were shaking, even if it was unnoticeable. Within seconds of ringing the bell, the heavy door swung open and Bea stood in front of me. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun and she was in a sweater that fit tightly around her stomach, she had no make up on, her socks didn’t match, but she was grinning.

“Hey! Thank God you’re here,” she laughed, her cheeks almost overshadowing her eyes as she smiled. “I’m so damn bored I think I’m losing my mind.” It wasn’t as if I should have needed it, but at that moment I knew I had no reason to be nervous around her.

Notes

Fricken finally right? Is that what you're thinking? Finally this chick has realized she's writing two pieces!

Well I've had a nice two days of clarity! The feeling is so good I want to bottle it and sell it on the street for mad cash. I guess there are some perks to skipping class!

Heny'vey, if you love it or hate it I expect to hear it all! I'm a needy person guys, and I neeeeedddd your comments because they are the life sustaining juice I live off of, like oxygen or something.
Okay, I've stooped so low as to guilt for comments.... I'm ashamed of myself.

xx-T