Good. Maybe he’ll use some of that aggression and score a few goals this weekend against Penn State…
Even while I’m thinking this, I raise my hand and flip the middle finger in his general direction as he angrily skates his way toward me, tearing his gloves off and throwing them into the box before stepping into it.
“You should really learn to control your temper. This is only a practice.”
“Fuck you,” he spits out, taking a chug from a water bottle, swishing it around in his mouth before spitting it on the ground.
“What the hell did I do to you?”
He stares at me, an incredulous look of disbelief spreading across his face.
“Thanks to you, Molly is still pissed at me for giving you Cece’s number. Not to mention, that little stunt you pulled by writing that last letter. She showed that shit to Molly and now I’m cut off.”
“I thought the letter was pleasant! My mom told me to write it… Besides, Cecelia likes the banter -”
He cuts me off before I can finish my sentence. “Dude. Are you fucking crazy? Knock that shit off – You’re starting to sound like a pansy. And stop calling her Cecelia.” He straps his helmet back on, slaps the side of it, and waits for the ref to signal his re-entry to the practice game.
A few moments later, he’s skates off and leaves me standing there.
Cecelia
Matthew: So I was told to stop calling you Cecelia…
The text comes out of nowhere, several days after our last emails were exchanged, and from what I know from Molly, the guys are out of town and on the road until Monday.
The phone is balanced on the arm of the couch, along with my Kindle and the remote control for the TV – a total indication I’ve not only been here for a while, but that I’m in it for the long haul.
To round out the evening I have planned: a big glass of iced Crystal Lite sits on the coffee table, a hand crocheted blanket lays across my legs, and I’m donning my favorite chenille socks.
Me: Actually, I don’t mind it.
And really, I don’t.
I don’t really know when everyone started calling me Cece, or why, but there’s something lyrical about my given name that I actually quite enjoy.
And no.
I’m not talking about the Simon & Garfunkel version that they play in bars. You know the one that goes ‘Ceceila, you’re breaking my heart (clap clap) you’re shaking my con-fi-dence baby/Oh Cecelia (clap clap) I’m down on my knees/ I’m begging you please to come home/O-O-ome….’
Um, yeah. Thanks Simon & Garfunkel for turning my name into a drunken frat boys serenade… kind of the same way everyone in a bar goes crazy when they play ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ or ‘Piano Man.’ It’s unavoidable - and unfortunate - that whenever ‘Cecelia’ gets played and I’m at a bar (and it always inevitably does get played) drunk guys find me and go through a routine that basically goes something like this:
Clutch their chests like they’re having a heart attack or stroke
Fall to their knees in front of me like they’re praying to Jesus.
Scream (or screech) out the lyrics as if their sloppy lives depend on it.
And where am I during all this? Why, pretending to be somewhere else, of course.
And where are my friends during all of this? Usually falling all over themselves in hysterical laughter - it actually wouldn’t surprise me to discover they were the one’s requesting the song…
Guys must think an inebriated serenade is romantic.
Which it… is… not. Not even remotely close.
I mean - get up off the damn floor for crying out loud! It’s freaking disgusting down there - people spill their beers, food, and lord knows what else. Oh! And let me remind you about the time I saw some guy peeing in a corner that was most certainly not the bathroom.
The point of all this is: except for those times it’s being slurred by a tanked-up guy - I really do love my first name.
But anyways, back to Matthew…
Matthew: That’s good to know. Wes chewed my ass out.
Me: For calling me by my name???
Matthew: Yes. That and because Molly showed him the last email I sent you.
Me: LOL
Matthew: It wasn’t a biggie was it? I mean. You and I both know it was a joke.
Oh really? This is news to me, and it leaves me wondering: which part did he think was funny?
Me: A joke... Obviously.
Matthew: I mean. She’s your roommate & don’t girls always show each other private shit?
Me: No. Not always.
Me: I only showed her because I thought it was a funny message. I honestly didn’t think she’d flip out.
Matthew: Seriously?
Me: Yes. I’m being serious. I never would have shown it to her otherwise. I’m generally a very private person.
Matthew: That makes 2 of us.