by Van Barrett
Lane paused. “I just – I don't see how I'm gonna be able to help you. You need someone who understands hockey to write this. So … what is it you want from me here?”
I swallowed. I had to think it over and choose my words carefully.
“I uh, I want you to get to know me. And just … be honest with me. And listen. I guess that's all. I don't want a sports piece, Lane. I want you to tell the world why I stayed in school all four years. And that it's not because I'm this selfish monster that the press is making me out to be. Or – hell – maybe I am. And if I am, that's the paper you'll write.” I shrugged.
“Alright.” Lane shut his notebook with a sigh. “I guess I have some research to do.”
“Now let's get outta here.” I stood up. “I'll lead you back the way we came.”
***
Off we went, back through the secret maintenance door. I made small-talk while we descended the stairs.
“You like to work out, Lane?”
“Uh, yeah, why?”
“Oh! You do. That's great. What do you do?”
“Cardio stuff, I guess … I definitely don't use weights like you do. Why?”
“You ride the bike? Or the elliptical?”
“Elliptical mostly. Bike sometimes.”
I smiled at him. “You ever work out so hard, you puke like Lettuce did?”
“No.” He made a retching noise. “What the heck was that about, anyway? Is he sick?”
“Nah, he just pushed himself too hard after practice. He's a real good kid. Freshman, depth forward, role player. If anyone goes down, he steps in. But I know he'll have an impact role as early as next year when I'm gone.”
Silence. I looked over and realized that Lane was staring at me like I had three heads.
“I understood maybe half of what you just said, River. Remember, tabula rasa.”
“Ha.” I scratched my neck. “I'll work with you on that.”
“Great …” Lane made a sarcastic noise of relief. “Wait. One more question. Is that guy's name really Lettuce?”
“No,” I laughed. “His name's Chris. Chris Cale.”
“So why do you call him Lettuce?”
“Cale … Lettuce …” I raised my palms, waiting for the joke to click.
“Oh. I get it.” Lane looked disappointed. “But kale isn't a lettuce. It's a leafy cabbage.”
“Psychologist, journalist, didn't realize you were a botanist, too.” I chuckled. “But fine, I see your point. I just don't think 'leafy cabbage' has the same ring to it, you know? If you wanna tell the boys they ought to be calling him 'leafy cabbage' instead, hey, be my guest. But it probably won't end well for you.”
“What – will they get mad about it or something?”
“Mad? No … they'd probably just start calling you 'leafy cabbage' instead.”
I led Lane back through the basement, up the stairs, and back out the regular concourse.
“There you go, Lane. Hey, it was good meeting you, man.”
I extended my hand and we shook.
“Thanks. You too, River.”
“And sorry about the interrogation earlier.”
“Yeah, well, it's okay …”
“But, you passed.” I grinned. “Anyway, we're playing our next game here at home. Saturday afternoon.”
“I'll uh, I'll be there, I guess.” Lane shrugged – what choice do I really have?, he seemed to say.
“Good. We can meet up after the game and talk some more if you're free?”
Lane shrugged. “Yeah, – yeah, I guesso.”
“Alright bud. Hey. Take care.”
I gave him a half-hug and clapped my hand on his back and we parted ways.
10
Research Material
– Lane –
One day later, in the journalism computer lab.
After my classes ended, I spent the whole afternoon doing research on River's whole hockey SNAFU. I'd filled several pages of my notebook up with notes and questions that I'd thought would be good to ask River.
I was still there, doing my research, when Devon rolled in at last.
“Hey Lane!” She dropped her bag at the desk next to mine and gave me a hug.
“Hey Dev!” I hugged her back. “So glad to see you. I've been dying to catch up with you.”
“Yeah! Totally! It feels like it's been forever.”
I grinned at her. “Sooo?”
“What …?” was her playfully coy answer. She knew exactly what I wanted to know, but she was playing dumb.
“Don't even,” I tutted. “The boy at the bar. What happened.”
“Yeaaaaah.” Devon trailed off, biting her lip to keep from smiling too big. She powered her computer on. “He's hilarious, Lane. He's got this motor-mouth that just keeps running. Like, it will – not – stop. But I was cracking up all night! And he was obviously a babe, so that didn't hurt.”
“I'm sure it didn't. So? Did you go home with him?”
“Yup,” she said, popping the p.
“And?”
“And … it was pretty great.” She shrugged with a giggle. But she covered her mouth with her hand, apparently burdened by something serious. “He's on the hockey team, Lane.”
I grinned. “I know.”
Her eyes caught fire – she looked like she'd just been robbed of a great story to tell.
“How'd you know?!”
“Because while you were talking to him … I was talking to River. Without even knowing it.”
“What!” Devon's eyes lit up. “And??”
I told Devon about everything that had went down: how I happened to sit next to River. How I evolved from being, oh, deathly afraid of him to fawning over him in the span of thirty seconds. And how I checked him out so hard, I stumbled off my stool and smacked my freakin' face into his shoulder.
Then I told her how I realized, just yesterday, that the guy at the bar was the same River I had to interview. And he was not happy about it, and it turned into a mini-drama situation.
(I also told her about the whole Paulo situation, and how I'm totally done with him. But whatever, Paulo is now a mere footnote in my life, along with all the other confirmed duds …)
“So what's River like?” Devon demanded to know.
I inhaled while I thought it over.
“Um. He's kind of a cheese ball, really. He's got this Dad-level sense of humor that makes you just want to roll your eyes at him non-stop. I swear, Dev. So many times during our interview yesterday, I just wanted to put my finger to his lips, shush him, and say, 'Shh, shh. Stop talking. You're pretty.'”
“Haha!” Devon tittered. “So is he dumb? A guy that buff and good looking has got to be lacking in the IQ department, right?”
“No. He's not dumb … he actually seems kinda – well, smart, I guess! Believe it or not. But he's smart in this weird bro way. Like I'm sure he could probably rattle off entire text-books' worth of sports stats and history. That's a kind of intelligence, right?”
Devon snickered. “Yeah. Sure. Has to be.”
“Yeah,” I agreed with a whimsical sigh.
“Sounds like you're smitten, kitten,” Devon teased with a wink.
“Oh, stop it. I am not. I'm not in high school anymore Dev. I've learned the error of my ways. No more crushes on straight jocks.”
Devon pointed at my monitor. “So what's that?”
I glanced at it. My browser still showed a picture of River in action. A flurry of ice and snow, sent shooting up by his skate blades, was frozen in time. River cradled the puck with his stick, ready to launch it over the diving goalie's pads. His eyes were squinted and confident. He wore the smallest and cutest of smirks – like he was saying, ha, gotcha. Sports fans could say what they wanted about River – I could already tell he's the type of guy that knows just what he wants and how to get it, too. He didn't give a damn if they approved of it or not.
Ahem. I promptly clicked the [x] on the browser tab.
“Oh, uh. Research,”
I said.
But beneath that tab was another tab – and on it was another picture of River. I clicked my mouse again and again, click! click! click! click!, all pictures of River. Frantically, I clicked faster, trying to hide the mounting evidence of my embarrassing image binge.
“Research. Is that what you call it?” Devon asked with snark. She got up and peered over my shoulder to watch the images of River shoot by like a flip-book. “God, he is a stud, isn't he …”
I elbowed her playfully. “Hey! You already got your hockey player, Dev. You leave mine alone.”
She laughed. “You've so got a thing for him, Lane.”
“Whatever,” I sighed, rolling my eyes. “He's straight. Alright? So does it really matter if I think he's sexy? Because yeah, of course I do. Doesn't mean it's gonna go anywhere.”
“You never kno~w,” Devon sang.
I shook my head. “Except … when you do know.”
Eager to change the subject, I brought us full-circle. “So what's the future with this Jono guy?”
“Honestly?” Devon searched skyward. “I had a lot of fun with him, Lane. He asked for my number and I actually gave it to him. And now he won't leave me alone.”
“Another obsessed suitor.” I cracked a smile. “Nothing new there.”
“And maybe I'm just blinded by him being on the hockey team or something? But I actually feel like I wanna get to know him.”
My jaw dropped. Devon hadn't been serious about a boy since the first guy she loved broke her heart during freshman year. “No kidding?”
“Well, it's still too early to say, obviously. But we're gonna go out Saturday. After the game. And I'm actually looking forward to it, Lane.”
I laughed. “Me and River are going out after the game, too!” I stuttered, catching myself. “Er. I mean. Y'know. I'm going to interview him further.”
Devon loved it. “Oh my God, Lane, please tell me we're gonna double date someday.”
“Don't do that,” I protested. “You're only gonna get my hopes up for something I can never have, and then it's only gonna suck that much more when reality inevitably bites me in the ass …”
“Ohhh, you're so jaded now, Lane.”
An ominousness suddenly overwhelmed me. A panic in my heart set in.
“Wait, Dev,” I croaked. “You didn't tell Jono anything about me … right?”
“No, of course not.” She shook her head profusely. “As soon as he told me he was on the team, I got a little freaked out. Because of your situation. So, no. I didn't bring you up.”
“The team can't find out that I'm gay, Dev. And they definitely can't find out that I'm … y'know … Moan, the student sex columnist.”
“I know that, Lane. Relax.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“I did ask him about River, though, on the off-chance he might spill some juicy tidbit I could pass along to you.”
“Any luck?”
“Nope. He just kinda changed the topic.”
“Probably for the best,” I said.
Devon started unpacking her bag. “So. Speaking of Bitch and Moan. Shall we?”
“Yup. Let's get started.”
***
An hour and a half later, I stood up, went over to the printer, and waited for the machine to spit out my hard copy.
I held the sheet, still a touch warm, and proof-read it.
Here's what it said:
Dear Bitch and Moan,
Help! I can't stop snooping. I know all my girlfriend's passwords: her e-mail, Facebook, Twitter, the unlock code to her phone. Even her defunct Myspace. I mean everything. It wasn't hard to find out, 'cause she uses the same password for all those sites. Anyway, I recently found out she's been communicating with some other guy. I wanna ask her about it, but nothing too bad has been said between her and the guy yet – but I'm still freaked out! It feels like they have chemistry! I mean they have inside jokes! But if I confront her, she'll know I've been snooping. Catch-22. I can't live like this! What do I do?
Sincerely,
Sir Snoopsalot in Squires Hall.
And here's my response:
Dear Snoopsalot,
See, every two or three months, I have to run a question like this one to spread this simple message of sanity: for the love of God, people, if you value your relationship, do not snoop on your loved ones!
… Unless the relationship is already dead, and you're just looking for confirmation that it's time to cut your losses and bail. At which point, your act of snooping is slightly less masochistic, but borders more on cowardice. I still wouldn't recommend it.
So let's start there, Snoopsalot. Why have you snooped on your lady all this time? Can you, with a clear mind and open heart, look deep inside yourself and ask that one question? What motivated you to keep tabs on her while your courtship was (presumably) smooth sailing? Are you willing to ferret out all those petulant, jealous, and possessive traits that had you obsessively monitoring all her private communications? Can you see that your lack of trust, your possessiveness, will drive people away in the long run? Do you understand the meaning of the saying, 'the more you tighten your grip, the more slips through your fingers'?
If no to all those questions, stop reading here, and start screaming from the rooftops that old authoritarian screed – 'those who have nothing to hide have nothing to fear!' – and then take your stodgy ass over to the local NSA data collection super center to find out if they're hiring.
If yes, congratulations, read on!
Open and honest communication is truly the key to any healthy, functional relationship – and it begins with knowing yourself inside and out. I think it's time you ask yourself what it is you want from this relationship, Snoopsalot. Because I'm not gonna lie to you, Snoopy, things are about to get hard. Pain likely awaits you, no matter what path you take.
If you want to stay with this girl, the choice is clear – you have to own up to what you've done. Tell her, in your own words, that you understand you've committed a big relationship no-no. Don't just say it because you jealously want to keep her. Say it because it's true. Say it because you've asked yourself those tough questions, and you can now eloquently talk about your issues that you're now willing to work on.
(And if it ain't true, stop wasting everyone's time and just hit the road already!)
Your girl will have a right to be mad that you violated her privacy. Understand that. You broke her trust – regardless of what she's been up to outside your relationship. Hell, she could be married to 80 different guys. Yeah, you'd be glad to have dodged that bullet, but it still wouldn't make snooping right. That's a bitter pill for people who think the ends justify the means. But I believe that deceit is less likely in a healthy relationship with open communication. Start building the foundation for a healthy relationship, and all those unhealthy behaviors won't have such an easy time hiding in all the cracks and uneven floors and cobweb-covered corners.
Maybe you'll explain all that and make your case that you're a changed man. And maybe she'll slap you upside the head and say 'that's my cousin, you insipid, spying dolt!' Or maybe she'll say, 'yes, Snoopy, I have been cheating all along!'
Are you ready for that? Would you be able to forgive her? Will you both be open to working on your issues moving forward?
As you can see, you're facing some big challenges here no matter what. But if you ever want to have a healthy, adult relationship … it's time for you to step out of the cave of insecurity, see the light of day, and come clean.
I hope you man up and do the right thing, Snoopsalot.
For all you other pre-crime snoopers out there: if you're having doubts about your significant other – please, don't snoop, talk to them! Ask questions! Express concerns in a non-confrontational manner! You will find that honest communication feels amazing. Like boulders off your shoulder. And it's contagious. It only gets easier the more you do it. Start today. Good luck.
With Love,
Moan
**
*
Devon read my answer and nodded. “Yup. That about says it all.”
“Sweet.”
We powered our computers down and started packing up our bags.
“So what do you think ol' Snoopy's gonna do?” Devon asked.
I sighed. “Probably nothing?”
“Yup,” she agreed.
“People get too freaked out by confrontation. Or change. It's like they'd rather have this horrible thing, this specter of doom, just hanging over them indefinitely. Because facing it is just too scary. Even though facing your fears is the only thing that will make them go away.”
“Yeah,” Devon exhaled hopelessly. “But why is that? Like, what's that say about us?”
I shook my head. “God only knows.”
We flipped off the lights on our way out of the lab.
“So you wanna grab a bite? Watch some Netflix at my place or something? I don't have any homework and I'm bored.” I asked Dev.
“Um,” she trailed off with a smile, her head in the clouds.
“Uh oh.” I laughed. “Lemme guess. Jono.”
“… Maybe.”
“Girl,” I sighed. “Better not go falling in love.”
“Hey.” Jokingly, she narrowed her accusatory eyes at me. “You too.”
“Pft. Please …”
11
Pre-Game
– River –
Saturday afternoon, in the Fighting Hawks dressing room.
“You boys got some good sleep last night, I hope!” I joked, bent over as I laced up my skates. “Because I'm gonna be setting you guys up with quality looks all day long today. I'm telling you guys right now, you better be ready or you're gonna look bad.”
“What, you mean you're gonna pass the puck for once?!” Elliott put his hand on his heart like it suddenly stopped beating. “You hear that boys? We might actually touch the puck tonight!”
