The doorbell rings and my mother answers it. “Linda, it’s for you!” she hollers. “Who is it?”
“1983 Wayne Gretzky!” The dreamiest of all Wayne Gretzkys! I exclaim to myself, quickly removing the last of my hot curlers, letting the hair fall about my face as I run down our stairs. He is charming my mother with hilarious anecdotes about his exciting career. He’s talking about hockey, but makes it accessible, so my mom isn’t bored. I respect that. He pulls a corsage from behind his back. It is red and white, like our nation’s flag. I blush as he puts it on my wrist and my mom says goodbye to us as we walk toward his convertible. It is a windy night. I am underdressed, having chosen an outift with perfect boob to leg ratio, but not enough cold weather coverage, and I wasn’t banking on an open roof. He notices my shiver and pulls off his Oilers sweater and offers it to me. I refuse but he insists. Such a gentleman.
“Where are we going, 1983 Wayne Gretzky?”
“it’s a surprise.” he sasy, with a smile that could sell a million boxes of NHL All Stars Cereal. What is he up to? I don’t mind being taken along for the ride.
He blindfolds me with a clean hockey sock and holds my hand, guiding me where he wants me to go.
“Open your mouth!”
“Oh no you don’t, fool me once, shame on me…”
I am interruptd by a squeaking cheese curd, covered in gravy. Poutine…how did he know? He removes the sock. We are on a Zamboni. There are two bottles of wine, one red, one white,with a bottle of whiskey in the middle. He knows I like to get fucked up. I like that.
We talk about everything and nothing. His stories are fascinating and mine are not, but he listens attentively and laughs at all the right parts. He parks the zamboni and looks into my eyes. “Oh…1983 Wayne Gretzky!” He leans in to me. I think you know what happens next. I wasn’t cold anymore.