Source: Practical Creative Writing
Prompt: His eyes were brown with a tiny fleck of gold at the edge.
His eyes were brown with a tiny fleck of gold at the edge that belied his stoic expression as it sparked. He'd seen her there before, countless times, even spoken to her once or twice when they'd crossed paths around the arena. Always having been rugged and outgoing did him no favours in her presence, when it came to her he couldn't start an actual conversation to save his life. The instant he locked eyes on her his insides set to trembling, every single time.
He slipped his worn work gloves off and leaned forward to lean atop the the rink boards just in time to see her skate out with a few of her team mates to warm up. Even weighed down in all her hockey gear he could see the effortless grace of her movements as she skated so strong and surely over the ice. It was only a moment or so before she began her ritual of suicide-drills, once up the ice and once agian back down. Her routine since childhood, he knew because he'd watched her do it even then. He allowed himself only a moment to watch before forcing himself back to his tasks.
Clay had grown up in this rink and had come home to take it over after his dad had died three years ago, only two months following his moms death. He'd been living in Chicago, putting his aeronautical engineering degree to good use but coming home to help his sister close both house and shop brought him to the realization that he was actually there to stay. Marcy still lived in their hometown of Burlington with her husband and their two daughters, the only family he had left. It was then he had seen that Vermont was home but without what he knew and loved, letting it all go would mean that he would never really come home again.
But he had come home. He'd made some updates to the tiny arena he now owned and ran and business had not only lifted but sat at a healthy bustle, complete with wait-lists for ice times. For the past few months he'd been working, in his free time, on renovating the dated house he'd grown up in and going back and forth between work at the rink to work on the house was wearing him down. That was, until he saw her again.
He hadn't recognized her at first but late one night, as the last team of the day took to the ice for their practice, he did. The women's hockey team had talked him into staying open for them an hour later than usual, twice a week. Having been ousted from their usual rink they were in desperate need of ice time and he knew his father would haunt him relentlessly if he were to turn them down. And so he agreed. On that first night they had scrimmaged there he'd been passing by the far end of the rink, on the way to the boiler room, when reality threw him back into memory and stopped him cold. Most of the women had been stretching, a few had been skating easy laps to get a feel for the ice but it was the woman in the center of the ice who had captured his full attention. He'd felt his heart lurch in his chest as he'd watched her skate furious suicides from one end of the rink to the other and then back again to where she'd begun from. He had stood there and watched until she had finished before joining the rest of her team convening to start their scrimmage. That was the moment when for Clay, recognition had turned into hope.
It had taken all he had to pull himself away that night, and every other that followed. Now, while he worked to close for the night, Clay let his mind drift back to the days when he would rush to get out of his own hockey gear just so he'd be able to watch her on the ice. Back then she'd been only one of two girls in the league but as good as any of the boys who had constantly tormented her, maybe even better. From what he'd seen of her in the past months, she hadn't missed a beat. He couln't count the times he'd wanted to talk to her growing up but he'd been three years ahead of her in school and three years in teenage years, well, he never did work up the courage.
Tonight would be different. Tonight he was determined not to chicken-out; he would find a way to talk to her and he would finally ask her out on the date he'd been waiting most of his life for. She always said hello to him and a few times he'd even caught her looking at him as he passed by before she would quickly turn away. Each time he'd cuaght her glance it had raised his hopes along with the beat of his heart and the tell-tale spark of gold in his snapping dark eyes.
He listened from the sharpening room, as he tidied and closed up for the night, until he heard just the sound of slight cool-down skating mixed with chatter and laughter. In a minute or two they would be on their way to the locker room.
He waited ten minutes before turning out the concession lights to make his way back down to prep for the final flood of the day. Perfect timing. She had just emerged from the locker room with one of her friends, laughing, rosy-cheeked and so far beyond beautiful. And then she looked at him and that smile, for that moment, was all his.
"Hi!" She greeted him easily.
"Hi," he answered her. "Good practice?"
"Great practice, thanks!" Her eyes shone up at him. "Sorry you have to stay later for us," she shrugged her shoulders slightly, "but we all really appreciate that you do."
"I'm happy to do it." And he was.
This was his chance, this was his time. He had so much he had to tell her, to share with her, to offer her. Everything he was, he wanted to give to her. All he had to do was ask her.
"Well, goodnight," she said and glanced shyly away before she started toward the door with her friend.
He nodded, "Goodnight..."
