Page 2 of What It Means To Be Found

Honestly, hearing her voice rambling on about whatever, it made me feel a little less alone and isolated from society.

After a year or so of meeting up with Courtney at the gym, I finally opened up to her regarding certain details about my life, per my therapist’s suggestion. I finally told her about my accident, which explained my damaged voice and the visible scars on my skin. I shared that I had a little sister, who passed away in that same accident, and that Courtney reminded me of her.

The problem was that exposing that history of mine suddenly made me feel bare. I wasn’t used to it, and I immediately hated it. That also happened to be the day Eloise Bane showed up at the gym, openly admitting that she had followed Courtney there for some reason. I had heard of Eloise before. Courtney had mentioned all her friends to me multiple times. I could keep up with the names and relationships easily enough, but I wasn’t prepared for the reality of meeting Eloise.

It was all too much for my introverted antisocial brain to handle. My heart was racing in my chest and I was sweating from the vulnerability (and maybe the workout) I had just experienced with Courtney, and suddenly I was sitting in front of this woman who looked like she was made specifically from my fantasies.

We had just met, and I was overwhelmed by her direct attention. I clammed up. When that didn’t divert her attention from me, I signed to her because that was literally all I could do to communicate with the woman.

Courtney scolded me because ASL is a blunt language and I was also a rude person, which made my words sound very off-putting. Picking up on my annoyed energy, Eloise ran off quickly after that. I remember that her cheeks flushed underneath her freckles and that her clear blue eyes were lined red.

Courtney, being Courtney, told me that I needed to apologize. I agreed because even though I was an asshole, I also knew when I was wrong.

Every single interaction I had with Eloise Bane from that moment on was a fumble. That woman could hold a grudge like no other, and apparently, she wasn’t used to being so easily dismissed. It made trying to regain favor with her incredibly difficult, especially when I was consistently surrounded by all of her friends, already nervous about hanging out with so many people outside of work—who also didn’t know what I did for a living.

No one asked, so I never offered the information.

Courtney and Josh only learned of my profession because they had randomly attended one of my hockey games and saw me playing on the ice.

Anyway, I digress.

I tried to compliment Eloise’s (very) beautiful singing voice the next time I saw her, and somehow, she interpreted that as an insult. Another time we all got together, I tried to joke around with her like everyone else in the group does, but I ended up getting a slice of pie smashed on my chest. Later, we all carpooled together to see Courtney’s fiancé sing, and Eloise took one look at my truck before she started insinuating that I had a small dick.

For the record, I don’t.

Dick size doesn’t matter, everyone knows that.

But, just so we’re clear, mine isn’t.

I know about a dozen hockey players who can vouch for me.

Moving on.

Then there was Courtney and Josh’s engagement party, where I was struggling the entire night to not stare at Eloise in her beautiful dress with her beautiful face and smile (when she wasn’t glaring at me), and I desperately tried to throw down a white flag. But Eloise Bane was stubborn. Therefore, it was still a rough conversation. The interaction included me, desperately trying to communicate without my voice and strictly ASL, and Eloise, trying to understand my signs even though she was still a beginner and could only catch a word here or there.

Then I kissed her hand.

Don’t ask me why I did that, because to this day I have no idea. I was desperate and panicking that I would lose the one close friend that I had made outside of the NHL because her friend continued to hate me.

What I wasn’t expecting, however, was Eloise’s reaction to getting her hand kissed. It was quick, and if I hadn’t locked in on every single expression that flickered across her face when I pressed my lips to her knuckles, I would have missed the glimmer in her eyes.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t hope that the look in her gaze was arousal.

Regardless, the moment ended, and we pretended like nothing happened. It wasn’t the first time I had seen Eloise look at me in a way that made my chest heat, but I had a feeling it would be the last. Which was a shame because Eloise was exactly my type. I, unfortunately, wasn’t hers. And that was okay.

I had moved on.

Until Courtney informed me that she would be attending my hockey game one night. Courtney and Josh were both dramatic people and loved surprises, and no one else in the group knew that I played on the local Anaheim Ducks hockey team. I had been casually hanging out with this group for over a year now, and it was time to open up another side of me to them. Because, as my therapist helpfully pointed out in our sessions, friends know what friends do for work. It was, in fact, weird for me to keep it so close to my chest for this long.

This was how I ended up sitting on the bench in the locker room with my teammates and listening to our coach talk about the game, the plays, and everything we needed to prepare for as we went against the Blackhawks that night. The Ducks weren’t the best team in the NHL, and with it being near the end of the season, I was ready for the break.

However, I was sure I looked eager to get out there and play my heart out from the way my leg was bouncing nervously. Only, I knew that wasn’t the case. I knew my nerves had absolutely nothing to do with playing a sport I had been playing almost every single day of my life since I turned nineteen. No, instead my nerves were all over the place because it had been literal months since I had seen the small woman who reminded me of an angry pixie. And the next time Eloise saw me after all that time, she would see me doing the thing I did best. The thing that helped me channel my anger towards life before therapy and friendship ever became part of it. The sport that became my safe place in college. The sport that allowed me to build a life of my own and also allowed me to isolate as much as I possibly could before I decided to reevaluate some things.

Hockey would always have a special place in my heart, and every nerve-ending I had felt like it was on the brink of short-circuiting at the thought of Eloise Bane watching me play it.

I just didn’t allow myself to think too hard about why that was.

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