Write the first ten songs on shuffle then include a favourite lyric for each. Then tag ten people to do it.
1. Old Dirt Hill – Dave Matthews Band
The first time I kissed you I lost my legs
Bring that beat back to me again
2. Trampoline – Joe Henry
But I don't miss you half as much
As who you made me think I was
When I could see myself the way you do
I could almost see myself in you
3. Paper in Fire – John Mellencamp
She had a dream and boy it was a good one
So she chased after her dream with much desire
But when she got too close to her expectations
Well the dream burned up, like paper in fire
4. How Can You Expect To Be Taken Seriously? – Pet Shop Boys
Tell me baby how you generate longevity
Tell me baby how you really hate publicity
How can you expect to be taken seriously?
5. Cornflake Girl – Tori Amos
Things are getting kind of gross
And I go at sleepy time
This is not really happening
You bet your life it is
6. (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction – Rolling Stones
When I'm watchin' my TV
And that man comes on to tell me
How white my shirts can be
But he can't be a man 'cause he doesn't smoke
The same cigarettes as me
7. Sounds Like Hallelujah – The Head and The Heart
Momma don't put no gun in my hand
I don't wanna end up like these men
8. Miss Delaney – Jack’s Mannequin
In no time there'll be
One less sad robot
Looking for a chance to be
Something more than just metal
9. Lock All the Doors – Noel Gallagher
She never hears me when I speak
I gotta find out where the magic sleeps
And I can feel you underneath my skin
10. Another Nail In My Heart – Squeeze
I had excuses those little boy lies
That she computed by watching my eyes
And told me firmly
She couldn't stand it I'm bad on her heart
She dropped her makeup and I found the bar
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The day Sid flew from Pittsburgh to Halifax, a photo of him and Geno at a coffee shop had hit the wires. It pinged on his google alerts when he checked his phone as the plane landed.
And, whatever, it’s not like them hanging out for a few days was a secret. Sid shrugs and doesn’t think about it, caught up as he is in making his lake house feel livable again, spending time on the water, fishing and enjoying the peace and quiet. It’s been a cool spring and the water’s still too chilly for swimming.
It’ll blow over, he knows, as the playoffs and various coaching and GM hirings and firings are providing the big news right now.
*
Taylor drops by after he’s been home for three days, and she says, without preamble, “It’s a cute picture of you guys.”
He hums noncommittally.
She huffs in frustration. “What is the matter with you?”
“What’s the matter with me is that I get no privacy ever, and when everyone’s always watching everywhere, even discretion counts for nothing. It’s … it’s my reality, Taylor.”
Her voice is unusually gentle; she sounds warm and sweet like their mom, when she says, “I know, Sid.” It disconcerts him when she sounds like an actual adult.
He feels bad for snapping at her. “Look. It’s not like … I’m not like one of your friends who someone snapped a picture of on a blind date with some guy and stuck it up on Facebook, Taylor. This ... I take enough shit out there, I can’t add fuel to it.”
“I know, okay? God, Sid, I’m not new, I’ve been Sidney Crosby’s sister for my entire life, remember? Just …” she trails off, but he knows she’s not done talking yet. “I wish … I wish you could have nice things like that. Normal things. That a picture of you and a guy in a cafe, a really freaking cute picture, as I might have mentioned, with both of you happy and smiling and relaxed … I wish it could mean something for you. Something sweet.”
He can’t even think about all of that, but he feels compelled to say, “I do have nice things, Taylor. Triple gold, remember?”
She sighs. “I know. I just meant, nice things outside of hockey,” she pauses and takes a sighing breath before continuing, “or your family, or your millions of dollars and your lake house,” she finishes, forestalling what he’d already opened his mouth to say.
He just shakes his head at her, feeling fond but frustrated.
She regards him for a minute, then shakes her head right back, before asking what he’s been up to, letting them drift back into comfortable conversational territory.
“Nothing. I had a really nice day on the lake. I got one of those wetsuits specifically for swimming, so I can get some swimming in before, like, July.”
*
The Chronicle-Herald in Halifax emails him for an interview and he thinks nothing of accepting. Sure, they’ll ask about the photo, but what of it.
Once he’s met with the reporter, though, his nonchalance gives way to the familiar feeling of generalized annoyance about his utter lack of privacy.
He explains it easily to the reporter, just as he’d rehearsed a dozen times in the privacy of his own home. “Oh, sure, I did spend a few days in Moscow with Geno after Worlds. We both left Pittsburgh so fast and there were things we wanted to talk about about the Pens’ season while it was still somewhat fresh in our minds.” Sid’s proud of his ability after so many years of PR training to come up with appropriate responses himself instead of relying on the professionals to feed him carefully-worded answers.
And the phone wouldn’t have worked just as well? The reporter wants to know.
Sid shrugs. “It’s actually a place I’d been intending to visit, and Moscow’s beautiful in May, and I was already in Prague. Good way to get it done without causing myself more jetlag, right?”
The reporter gives him an if-you-say-so kind of look, but she drops it, and Sid resolves to be not quite as forthcoming as he’d intended to be. He really doesn’t like taking attitude from journalists. He smiles his best media-ready smile as she clears her throat to ask him more questions.
*
Taylor’s coming for dinner, so Sid pulls the salmon he started marinating that afternoon out of the fridge to warm up to room temp. He had eaten salmon with a ginger-sesame glaze in Prague and he’s been trying to perfect the recipe since, tweaking the ones he’s found online. He’s had some good ones, but none of them have been quite right. Today he doubled the brown sugar, added scallions and toasted sesame seeds, and he has high hopes for the results.
He’s going to grill red peppers and asparagus to go with it, and heat up some fried rice that he’d deliberately made a double recipe of last night.
“Hey, bro,” Taylor says, sliding onto a kitchen stool. “I see everyone knows about your Russia trip now.”
“It wasn’t a secret in the first place,” Sidney says patiently, and she scoffs.
“Whatever. Your answer was good, anyway,” and it’s like her to pick up on his lingering insecurity and answer his unspoken question. “You sold it. Made it sound like no big deal.”
“Which … it wasn’t a big deal,” he points out.
“Whatever you say. Have you heard from Geno again?”
He hasn’t, really, nothing more than a couple of snapchats and a text or two. “Nah,” he says, and she squints a little at him.
“Really?”
“Well, nothing out of the ordinary, okay? He’s sent me pictures, a text here and there. Normal stuff, Taylor,” he says.
“You gonna invite him to visit you?” she asks, forced-casually.
“No way,” he says instantly.
“Why not?”
He smiles, even if she can’t see it. “Because I can’t.”
Sid blinks at his own reflection in the mirror of the cramped airplane bathroom, somewhere over the north Atlantic. It’s a shocking realization: he hadn’t wanted to leave Moscow.
He should have been restless, ready to embrace his usual off-season routine of wrapping up his responsibilities in Pittsburgh before heading to Cole Harbour. Somehow, though, the bubble he felt he’d been living in during Worlds had carried over into the magical handful of days in Moscow with Geno.
*
“The thing is,” he tells Taylor a few days later, when they’ve finished a workout. “It felt surreal, kind of, you know?”
She cocks an eyebrow at him. “All I know is that you, bro, went seriously off-script, and I don’t even know what to do with that.”
Taylor’s lying back, propped on her elbows, using a foam roller on her hamstrings, as he stretches across the room. Sid winces when he hears her let out a pained gasp, but she’s fine, he knows. Most of the guys he knows aren’t as tough as she is; they swear and whine instead of just breathing through it like she does. It’s still funny to him, sometimes, that he and his baby sister can work out together, that they share the same goals, the same drive.
Sid shakes his head and smiles. “Me being predictable isn’t exactly news, Tay.”
She sits up and points at him. “It still amazes me when you can be self-aware about it, though, instead of just getting defensive.”
“Personal growth,” he says, and she laughs delightedly.
“Triple gold brother’s got /jokes/,” she crows.
It always disconcerts him when someone gets his sense of humor, even when it’s his sister. He shakes his head at her, though, and she scoots over to thump him on the knee with her fist.
“It was weird, though. Geno was so …” he trails off, and he suspects he has kind of a weird look on his face when he sees the way Taylor’s eyeing him.
“Whoa, Sidney, I was joking around, but what the /hell/?”
“What?” Sid says defensively, and she holds up her hands.
“Look, I’m the last person who’d call you a robot, okay?”
Sid makes a face, but she continues before he can contradict her. “Robots are not nearly as fussy as you are, or else science fiction has grossly misled me.”
He makes a noise of protest. “Don’t …” he huffs impatiently. “What’s your point, anyway.” He sounds a little sulky even to his own ears.
“Just …” she looks up at him from where she’s still on the floor. “Your strength has always been your single-mindedness. Your focus.”
“Well, yeah?” Again, this is not a groundbreaking observation.
She cocks her head at him, gaze penetrating. “Everything’s in neat little boxes in your brain, and they don’t really overlap much.”
“Well, that’s not true,” he says. “Everything has to do with hockey. Family, friends, food, down time.”
“Yeah,” she says, but her voice rises at the end of the syllable, as if she’s expecting him to go on with his list.
He just blinks at her. What else is there? She sighs, and presses her lips together.
“Listen,” she says softly. “I’m not trying to be a jerk, and it’s … it’s really none of my business, anyway, but …” she crinkles her nose. “Is there … something going on, between you and Geno?”
“Something …” he echoes, and then her tone catches up with him and he can feel his eyes go wide, and he jerks his head up to meet her gaze. “What?”
“You heard me. Just. Think about it.” She wipes her hands and tosses her towel at him. “I’m gonna change and get started on dinner. I’m grilling that swordfish, and you’re on sides, got it?”
He nods and then stares after her as she jogs down the hallway and up the stairs.
