Snow covered the ground, but it was starting to melt. We were in the midst of a late-January thaw. Snow people built by neighborhood kids were sadly fading into snowy lumps. It was still dark outside, but the street lamps and reflections off the white snow cast a surprising amount of light into dark corners.
When I returned home and charged through the back door, my mom was at the stove frying bacon. She said, “You’re going to get frostbite going out like that before the sun comes up.”
I shook my head as I peeled off my stocking cap. “No worries, Mom. I was moving fast enough to avoid any frost settling in. The little hairs on my upper lip didn’t even start to freeze.”
“Is there a reason you’re up so early?”
“I’m supposed to talk to Lucas this morning online, and I couldn’t sleep.”
She turned away from the bacon with a smile on her face. “I’m happy for you, James, but don’t forget that he’s in Europe and you’re here.”
I picked up one of the finished strips of bacon from her plate by the stove and crunched into it. “Don’t worry. You raised me to be realistic.”
I caused my mom to frown when I rushed through the meal and left the table early. My mom still made breakfast for the entire family every morning. I was confident we were the only family in our neighborhood, perhaps in the whole town, who always ate breakfast together every day. Mom, Dad, Michael, and I all sat down to eat as a unit. We sometimes missed dinners, but we rarely ever missed a breakfast. When I had to go somewhere early for hockey, Mom got up an hour or two earlier and insisted that Dad and Michael follow suit.
I leaned in toward the computer as it connected with Lucas on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean in the outskirts of Amsterdam. Suddenly, there he was. He brushed his hair back from his face and said, “James! Good morning!”
He looked as happy as I felt. I asked him where he was, and he said he was at home in his bedroom. He had a slight cold and took the day off. I could feel the worry appear on my face, and I said, “Take care of yourself. Chicken soup and orange juice.”
Shaking his head, Lucas said, “Don’t worry, James. I mainly need, what is it you call it in America, a mental health day. I went back to work as soon as I got home. I should have taken a break. The jet lag is finally gone, but I’m still tired. I will go back to work tomorrow.”
I pointed at the screen and asked, “Is that a trophy behind you?”
“Yes, it is. From the speed skating races.” He paused for a moment before he turned the conversation to me. “I met a wonderful man on the flight back home, and he said your college has a great hockey team.”
I beamed. It was true. We regularly ranked as one of the top ten college hockey teams in the country. I was a starting forward. I said, “We do well. My coach says we could make the final four this year.”
“Are you going to play in the NHL?” asked Lucas.
That was a more complicated question than most people thought. Playing in the NHL was a dream since childhood. I was drafted early in my college career, but, like many other players lower down in the draft, I elected to return to college both for the education and more practice on the ice. I didn’t want to lean too hard on the idea of professional hockey for my long-term plans. If I could reach a deal with the team, I might become a professional hockey player after college graduation. I said to Lucas, “It’s possible.”
“I didn’t ask you this before, and I hope it’s okay to ask now. You told me you were studying architecture in college, but is your goal to do hockey as a career? Playing? Coaching?”
I said, “I’m thinking about the NHL, but I try to be realistic. Architecture is a good field. I like buildings. That’s what I’ll do if the hockey doesn’t work out. I think I need some success beyond college as a player if I want to be serious about coaching.”
“What makes you want to play hockey, James? I mean, it’s almost expected here if you have any athletic skill at all, you will try to skate. How did you start playing hockey?”
I swallowed hard. I could feel my hands start to sweat. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to share the story with Lucas. I didn’t tell many of my hockey teammates, and only my head coach knew.
“Did I ask a bad question?”
I said, “No, but it’s hard.” I pulled my face back from the computer.
Lucas said, “We can talk about something else. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. There are so many other things to talk about.”
“No, you should know. It’s important.” I said, “I had a sister, Lucas.”
I watched him blink his eyes, and he said, “You told me about your brother Michael.”
I said, “I know. My sister Meredith isn’t with us anymore.”
A look of shock spread over Lucas’ face. I still didn’t know very many people who lost a sibling in childhood. My mom sent me to a support group for six months after Meredith died, but I didn’t keep in touch with the people I met there. Lucas spoke in a soft voice, “That must be very hard.”
I nodded. “She was hit by a car when she was nine years old. I was holding her as she died.”
I thought I saw Lucas shiver on the screen. I recognized the response from other times when I told people the story. His mouth was open, and he wasn’t saying anything. His hands were under the edge of the desk holding the computer, and I could tell that he was nervously rubbing his pants.
I said, “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything, but it’s important for understanding me and hockey. Sometimes I think this sounds crazy, but it is what it is.”
Lucas leaned closer to the computer camera. “You can tell me as little or as much as you want me to know. It’s your story, and it’s your decision.”
His comment made me happy. I said, “Thank you. As far as hockey, it has to do with ice. It was on one of our trips to Chicago. They had an ice storm, and we probably should have stayed in the hotel. There wasn’t much traffic, and even fewer people were outside, but the city looked like a crystal wonderland.”
Like other listeners when I told the story in the past, Lucas hung on every word. I sometimes wondered if somebody should make a movie about what happened. It was so vivid in my memory that it was almost like watching a film when I thought about it. I said, “Meredith stepped out into the street to take a photo. She had a little digital camera. I remember hearing her say, ‘It’s so pretty, James,’ and I remember yelling, ‘Meredith, don’t!’ when I saw the car behind her. They really did try to stop.”
Lucas whispered, “Oh no…”
I knew that he could see it unfolding in his head, too. “The street was too icy, and Meredith slipped when she tried to get out of the street.”
Silence reigned over our video connection. I lowered my head into my hands for a moment. I was breathing hard, and my heart was pounding. Telling someone the story never got more comfortable.
Lucas whispered the one-word question, “Hockey?”
I said, “It’s the ice. I decided that I needed to do something on the ice. I needed to do it for Meredith. In some way, I decided I would conquer the ice.”
Lucas whispered, “Wow.”
After another sixty seconds or so passed, I said, “I’m sorry. I know it’s a difficult story to hear.”
Raking his fingers through his long blonde hair, Lucas said, “No, I’m happy that you told me. You’re a strong man. I don’t know if I could do what you do.”
“It’s like the fuel for the furnace. It keeps me going. If we lose a hard game, or I feel sore, I think about Meredith. It keeps me going.”
Lucas smiled. “Thank you for being so open about that. It’s like you welcomed me into your life. I get to see something that I’m sure not everyone sees. I feel honored.”
With a nod, I said, “I don’t tell many people. My whole team doesn’t even know. Telling you feels like a weight off my shoulders, though. I feel closer to you, Lucas.”
“I feel that, too.” He leaned in close to the screen and pursed his lips li
ke he was waiting for a kiss.
“Oh, man, I wish you were here in person to do that.” Seeing him like that changed the thoughts in my head. I was grateful for it. An idea appeared in my head that sounded a little ridiculous, but I decided to bring it up anyway. Lucas was at home, and so was I. We could do almost anything on the video connection that we wanted to do.
He said, “You are a good kisser. I remember it like it’s right here and real.”
“Lucas, since I revealed something about me, can I ask you to do the same about you?”
I could see the confusion on his face. His eyebrows knitted together. He said, “I don’t think I have any stories like that. I don’t even have any good speed skating injury stories unlike some of my friends.”
“No, I want to see something.”
He laughed nervously. “I don’t know if I’m ready…I’ve never done that on the computer before.”
I held my hand up to my eyes for a moment. “Oh, God. I didn’t mean to make it sound like that. I guess it sort of did. I just wanted to ask if you would take your shirt off.”
I loved the expression of relief followed by the smile on his face. Lucas always melted my heart when he smiled. He didn’t even answer. Instead, he began unbuttoning his shirt. I followed suit. Soon, we were both sitting shirtless smiling at each other like happy kids on Christmas morning.
Lucas’ chest was smooth, and his firm abdominal muscles were visible. He didn’t look self-conscious at all. Instead, he leaned in close to the camera to see me. I have a trail of hair down the center of my chest and abs, and I keep the hair on my pecs trimmed short. If I didn’t, I would be growing a small forest like my dad.
Lucas whispered, “You’re so handsome, James. You make my mouth water.”
Lucas did a lot more to me than make my mouth water. I was glad I was sitting behind a desk because the outline of my cock in my jeans was blatantly visible. I wanted to reach down and touch myself like I did when I watched porn, but I knew Lucas and I weren’t there yet.
He said, “I swim to keep in shape now that I don’t skate as much. In the summer the whole country rides bicycles.”
I said “I should race you in the pool, too. My hockey coach suggested it for the off-season. I’m pretty good.”
8
Lucas
I was proud of the office space that I rented near the center of old Amsterdam. It was an open, sunny space. The ceilings were high and, with easels in a corner, I imagined myself as one of the famed Dutch artists of the 17th century.
After arriving home from my trip to see Sophie and Jerry, I quickly settled back into a comfortable work pattern. Several contracts for advertising graphics piled up while I was gone. I kept my schedule on my phone while in America, and it was time to deliver on the promises I made.
A week after getting my first peek at James’ body without a shirt, I took a morning off from the graphic design and found myself sketching short-track speed skaters lined up for a bunched start. Most of my speed skating images of the past depicted one or two racers in long track events on the big oval. Bunched starts gave me the opportunity to show a variety of athletes lined up and ready for a crowded race. After completing the basics of what could become a painting, I turned to my laptop computer for a Google search.
I pulled up hockey video clips. While I wasn’t specifically concentrating on him, it was not hard to figure out who was my primary inspiration. The uniforms and equipment made the players much bulkier than speed skaters. They wore heavy pads and carried their long sticks. I was soon mesmerized by watching the quick starts and stops on the ice followed by mighty efforts to build up speed for a breakaway.
Soon I had three different hockey sketches roughed out. One of them featured a goalie. I knew that was not James’ position, but I was intrigued by the mask, and my sketch made the goalie’s eyes visible. It was his only body part that the viewer could see clearly. The puck was in flight, and it was not clear whether the goalie would be successful in stopping its path to the goal or not.
My second sketch featured the opening face-off at center ice. The focus of the sketch was two players, one from each team, and everything else faded into the background. I was always fascinated by the opening moments of team sports. It was a moment of both anticipation and anxiety. It always felt like the viewers held their collective breath, and, for one brief moment, the earth stopped spinning on its axis.
The third sketch captured the unique violence of hockey. Two players were smashed up against the wall of the rink at the moment before they began fighting. Both bodies were tense and ready for what came next. It was unintentional, but I realized that something that looked like a tooth hung in the air in the background. I wondered if I would leave it in if I turned the sketch into an actual painting.
When I worked with paints, one element that excited me was the unpredictability. My graphic designs were very deliberate and matched specifications from business clients. When I painted, I was never sure exactly what I would include until I completed the painting. My hands almost had a life of their own when I applied the colors. Sometimes I eliminated parts of the original sketch. In other cases, I added in multiple details. The serendipitous process was exciting to me.
I was successful at using up nearly the entire morning sketching. When I had only one hour left before lunch, I turned my attention back to the graphic design projects. I was designing graphics to feature on a website and printed materials for a new athletic facility. It offered a pool for swimming, a track for walking and running, and an ice rink. I planned to create abstract images of each that would blend into a balanced whole.
I wanted to create an image that caused the viewer to think about sports even if they couldn’t immediately figure out why. Often, our minds pull similar tricks on us. Certain shapes, colors, and even textures make us think of something because it triggers a memory from the past. Experts who design company logos are masters of that kind of art.
I spent fifteen minutes staring at my images and doing nothing. I was stuck. I got up to make myself a cup of coffee. When my phone chimed with the arrival of a text message, I breathed a sigh of relief. I needed the distraction.
It was my sister Sophie. The message read:
“I need the eye of a designer. I’m shopping. Jerry and I have an anniversary coming up, and I’m buying a new dress for the occasion. Two photos to follow.”
I smiled to myself. It was not the first time that Sophie took me along as a virtual advisor on a shopping expedition. The most recent time she took me on an excursion through a furniture store. The dresses were stunning. They draped around Sophie’s body and nearly touched the floor. One was a deep royal blue, and the other was red. Although both dresses were beautiful, I thought the red flattered her shape and blonde hair more.
I typed:
“I suggest the red. If you can get both, go right ahead and add them to your collection. If only one, the red wins the race.”
She asked:
“It’s not too flashy?”
I answered:
“Not for my stunning sister.”
A few minutes passed before I received another text from Sophie. She finally said:
“Everyone wonders why I’m blushing now. Thank you, little brother.”
My mission was successful. Sometimes Sophie didn’t understand and embrace her natural beauty. She was not alone in seeing herself that way. I’ve known many female friends who doubted how attractive they were. Fortunately, Sophie had Jerry at her side as a constant cheerleader.
When I returned my concentration to the business project underway, I was no longer stuck. The conversation with Sophie pushed me out of the rut, and I realized I needed to adjust and focus on colors instead of the shapes of my design. By the time my lunch break arrived, I had a completed draft that I could share with my client.
I brought a simple lunch with me. Some days I left the studio to eat at local cafes, but I enjoyed the days on my own staring out at the city wh
ile munching on tuna, crackers, and apples. Sometimes I added a nice wedge of cheese or a proper green salad. I didn’t like heavy lunches. Heavy food for lunch made me sleepy in the afternoon and bogged down the creative process.
After I finished eating, I used the remainder of my allotted lunch time to begin sketching again. This time the subject was clear from the first simple shapes. I was thinking about how James might appear in a hockey uniform and pads. He told me that he played the forward position, and I looked for images of other players in that position.
I was able to capture James’ smile and facial bone structure as well as his compact, muscular body. I stopped mid-sketch when I thought about his bare torso. Since the day that he told me the tragic story of his sister, neither of us wore a shirt when we spoke through video chat. His upper body was so familiar that I was confident I knew how it felt to touch his bare skin. My fingers would trace their way down the trail over his belly. I often thought about reclining on a couch together with my head resting against his lightly hairy chest.
After I roughed in the rest of his body, I decided that James would not have a smile in my sketch. Instead, he needed an expression of steely determination. I didn’t communicate it solely with his mouth and his dark eyes. It was also obvious in the way that he held his arms and the position of his legs. James was ready to confront the opposing team and take away the puck. He was willing to use brute force if necessary.
Halfway through the afternoon, I leaned back in my chair and laughed softly. When the day began, I had no plans to sketch James. Several hours later, I was well on my way to creating my first portrait of the American man who filled so many of my waking thoughts and my nighttime dreams.
Built for Speed: Winter Sports, Book 1 Page 5