27. Centre Bell

So I went to Tremblant for the weekend – bit of an escapist weekend and I heard this song in a café there - I’m not sure about using it – I know there are many associations with it, but it seemed appropriate here. If you’re offended or think I shouldn’t use it, please let me know. I didn’t post before I went because I wanted to be proud of this update, but I'm still less than impressed. I feel my writing has been mediocre of late. It's still a little disjointed. Let me know what you think...


Song: Tom Cochrane - Big League




ELLA'S POV


“So you still haven’t confessed up as to why you’re here. Ells?” I listened to Felix’s voice as he stood in my doorway as I lay flat on back on my comfy bed. I had exhausted rue St. Catherine, Place des Ailes and the Eaton Centre and come home to flop. My feet were killing. I’d visited several friends at McGill, played Frisbee in the parc and even been up to Quebec City for the day with my mother who’d taken me to lunch at the Frontenac. “It’s all about being seen in the right places,” she had told me.

“It’s no biggie,” I lied, not even bothering to look through the stuff I’d absentmindedly bought earlier in the day. You know the shopping you do when you drift around, not looking for anything in particular but returning with a dozen things, things you don’t need or necessarily want. There’s only so much avoidance shopping I can do, Montreal is better than Pittsburgh for shopping, but it’s no New York.

“Well, I’m taking you out, to the game tonight. You need a distraction, I have season tickets. You’re coming,” Felix said, taking my hands and pulling me up. In Montreal there is only one ‘game’ – hockey. Everybody bleeds bleu, blanc, rouge. “Have a shower, choose something from your shopping trip and we’ll go.”

“Who’s playing?” I asked when we were on the metro. Please not Pittsburgh. Just please not them.

“Montréal against Tampa Bay,” Felix replied. Thank God. “Is this about Jordan Staal? What happened?” He looked me straight in the eye, trying to read me. I needed to learn not to give things away so easily, but then again I can’t hide things from him. Felix has always been my counsellor, not mother dearest. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“You knew we were exclusive. Well we were in Diesel, with Gina and Max, he plays too…” I saw Felix’s face but I pressed on… “And he was dancing with this girl. They looked, friendly, and he was drunk. And, and….” I didn’t need to say anymore, he just knew. Almost instinctively. Felix pulled me into a hug, my head buried in his shoulder. I wrapped my arms around him, forcing the tears away. What good was crying now?


Felix has always had excellent seats at the Centre Bell though this would be the first time I’ve ever been with him. The atmosphere was incredible, so many noisy Habs fan, I could almost be converted, I thought, as we passed the four hockey statues outside. And then I saw a Penguins jersey. Just one. And then another. And another.

“Shit! Felix, it’s not Tampa Bay is it?” I hissed, pulling on his arm. How could he have tricked me? What if Jordan saw me? I mean it’s unlikely, in such a huge stadium he wouldn’t be able to pick me out. He’d be concentrating on the game. But still, what if? Our seats are on the second row, it’s not impossible.

“No it’s not, but you wouldn’t have left the house if I had said otherwise. You need to get your mind off things, and you’ll know how you feel when you see him,” Felix admitted. At least he was being honest. It wasn’t like he was trying to push me here to talk to Jordan, he wanted me to take my mind off things.
“Hot dog? Poutine?” he offered as we passed the concession stand. He knew poutine was a joke – the only time I’ll eat it is when I’ve been skiing.
“Get me a beer or two,” I replied, needing something to take the pain off actually being here. I’m a glutton for punishment and some cold Molson is the way forward right now. I’m not a beer drinker and until now I’ve never been to a hockey match – there’s a first time for everything. Felix just looked at me, deciding whether to question me or not and realised he knew better, turning back around in the queue.


I watched them run out onto the ice, enjoying the display of lights and music, then the mascot and the fat lady singing ‘Oh Canada’. I picked Jordan out, slightly taller than most of his team mates, his white helmet perched on top of his head, joking around with Max and the guy wearing number 71. He looked happy and relaxed, without a care in the world as he skated around, messing about with a puck behind the net.

The first period was zipping by and I was absorbed, glad that Felix had dragged me out, not that I’d admit it. The crowd was infectious, their enthusiasm for the game never ending even as Pittsburgh made it 3-0 towards the end of the first period. Felix leaned towards me, “Are you OK? You need to stop staring at the visitors’ bench.” I hadn’t realised but I hadn’t taken my eyes off Jordan. I wanted him to see me, but he never took his eyes off the puck or his team mates on the bench opposite us. “You have to talk to him, maybe he feels the same way,” Felix said quietly. It definitely didn’t look that way in Diesel. “I know you want him back, you have to tell him that.”

“Hey, what are those things that whizz over the ice and make fresh ice again?” I asked obviously trying to change the subject as said machines rolled out onto the ice. “Sounds like a type of pasta?”
“Zamboni?” Felix chuckled. OK, I’m not the hockey expert and I don’t pretend to be.
We sat watching the zambonis sweep over the ice as the people around us gradually dispersed to get more beer and popcorn.

“You want to talk about it?” Felix asked.

“Not particularly,” I snapped. Would he just quit it? “You brought me here – isn’t that enough? And you lied…” I was still a little cross about this, despite Felix saying he was just trying to ‘get me out of the house and take my mind off things’. Technically he had still deceived me even if he had my best interests at heart. And watching Jordan skate around was nice to watch, though I wasn’t so keen on him being hit. “Well we aren’t going anywhere until you do. And you couldn’t take your eyes off him first period.” I know I hadn’t and I knew I liked him. I just didn’t know what to do now – who was that girl from Diesel and how did I approach Jordan. I hadn’t spoken to him for nearly a week; I couldn’t just turn up in Pittsburgh and assume things were back to normal.

I watched the players file back out onto the ice, Max skating in little circles, scanning through the crowd, until his eyes rested on mine. His mouth dropped into a little ‘O’. Felix noticed and nudged my arm. “You know Max Talbot?” I nodded gently, not wanting to draw attention to us or the crazy fans on either side of us who had now returned.

“Gina went on a date with him last week. Too much charm and seems like a total womaniser,” I replied, staring straight at the ice, not focusing on anything in particular. Felix laughed. “Yep, sounds right, but he did score their winning goals last year.” Really? I’m surprised I haven’t heard about that seeing how ostentatious he was with everything else. Felix grinned at me, turning his attention back to the ice, before he was tapped on the shoulder. A man in a suit whispered quickly into his ear, as Felix nodded, a smile spreading across his face. As quickly as the man had arrived, he had gone. That was bizarre.

“We’ve been invited back into the dressing rooms after the match,” Felix said. “You cannot not let me go, it’d be a crime for me not to go, I’ve always wanted to go. Come with me.”