I was pretty much left alone after that until high school when kids became bigger bullies. My freshman year was miserable, but thankfully, they seemed to get bored with me and moved on.
It was a boring, lonely, quiet existence. I know my parents worried about my future if I couldn’t get over it or at the very least, learn to cope. I feared what it meant for work. The ‘real world’ was a fucking nightmare up until two years ago when I got this job with L.A. I was constantly having panic attacks and losing my shit.
My parents aren’t thrilled with the fact I’m a mascot as mycareer. But the thing is, there’s lots of growth available within the Los Angeles Golden Tides. I can literally go anywhere or do anything. Managementknowsabout my anxiety and is willing to work with me. That’s more understanding and patience than nearly every single person in my life has given me.
So yes, I’m a mascot now, but that doesn’t mean I’m stuck in this job for the rest of my life. It just means I’m here while I’m comfortable and maybe someday, I’ll find a way to stop hiding behind the seal mask.
I take my time on the ice, gathering the pucks in a bucket and hauling them back to where it belongs with the rest of equipmentstorage. Then I head to my ‘office’ which is basically a large conference room they converted into my seal cave. There are three different costumes. The difference is mostly size, but there are other nuances too.
The rest of the room is filled with the merchandise I’m allowed to give out at games. I reorder once every couple months and am constantly looking for some cool things.
Our first game is in ten days and, while it’s a little early, I pull some items from their bins and lay them out on the table. I usually do this the day before a game, planning ahead as to what I’m going to give away.
The table is divided into five sections—three periods and two intermissions. The periods are usually filled with stuffed animals and pucks and shit that I will carry around and hand out from time to time as I make my rounds through the stands. The intermissions get the bigger things, like T-shirts and foam fingers and seal masks.
I’m allowed to buy and do a lot of cool things because management says that since I’ve been in the stands, the audience has been more vocal. Louder. A lot more involved. I keep them animated and interactive. A happy audience is an audience that returns, spends money, and tells their friends.
It helps that we had a decent season last season. Winning also brings in more fans. Like it or not, so many supposed fans are actually just fair weather fans. They’re there to support and spend moneyas long aswe’re winning. That’s life, I suppose.
My office is along the primary corridor close to the exit. Generally, I keep my door cracked when I’m in here. Because I’m a creep and I can hear people moving through the hall more clearly. Plus, I can listen for Hugo.
I’m not a creep. I don’t stalk him or anything. But I definitely watch from afar as often as I can here at the arena. I’msupposed tobe here. And my work often takes me around the team. So it’s not stalking in a creepy way!
It doesn’t take me long to set up my first game day giveaways. So now I’m lingering around as I wait. Hugo will be one of the last to leave. Not just because he and Winslow were hanging out on the ice for a while after practice, but because he takes really long showers. Okay, yes, I know this particular detail because I’m a slight creep.
Eventually, I hear him and Winslow moving down the hall. Waiting for them to pass, I hurry to the door and flick off my light and follow as silently as I can.
Okay,thispart in particular is slightly stalkery. I can totally admit that! And I’m only slightly horrified by myself.
They step outside and I follow, pausing at the door to watch through the dark tinted glass. There’s almost always a puck bunny or two waiting outside, and today is no different. My stomach sinks when I see Hugo turn that big, beaming, flirty smile toward one. He drapes his arm over her shoulders and steers her toward his car.
I notice he’s a complete gentleman and opens the door for her. He even takes her hand and assists her in sitting. He waits until she’s situated before shutting her door and making his way to his own side of the vehicle.
Then they drive off.
Fuck, the ache in my chest.
Swallowing, I push the door open and step outside. This is stupid. Not even silly, but fucking stupid. Not just because I’m being a weirdo and pining after a man who has given me no indication he’s interested in me as more than someone he says hello to, but he’s fuckingstraight.There’s no onemorestraight than this man. He brings a different girl home practically every single night!
I climb into my car and work through some breathing exercises that I typically reserve for panic attacks, though I’m not feeling anxious. I’m feeling sick to my stomach and… sad. So damn sad.
This is unhealthy. I know that. Just like every other day I leave the arena and watch Hugo takeanothergirl home, I spend the hour drive home wallowing in my longing.
Once there, I say hi to Fish Hugo and then plop myself in front of my computer and flick it on. I play Creature Community; it’s a social simulation video game where your character is a human living alongside anthropomorphic animals within a village. You do everyday activities like fishing, hunting, gardening, questing, and whatever. It’s a cutesy, cartoonish game that’s meant to offer an escape while still building a community and offering social interactions by visiting other people’s villages and homesteads.
I don’t find it nearly as difficult to talk to someone online. Theycan’t see me. All they see is my character. Which is currently wearing a bunny costume, I think.
While my computer boots up, I pull out my phone and open the empty chat between me and Hugo. The franchise has a portal where all players’ phone numbers are listed. It’s used in case of emergency, with a phone tree telling you who calls who.
It’s rather old school, actually. We have a messaging system now that notifies everyone via text all at once. But the index of phone numbers remains.
I may have creeped a little and programmed Hugo’s phone number into my phone so I can stare at it and pretend. I didn’t even save it as his whole name because it felt too impersonal. If I just have him programmed as ‘Hugo,’ it appears like we’re friends. Sometimes, I even type a message as if we’re friends. Or lovers.
Then I erase it. It’s just pretend.
I type in ‘hi’ and then stare, wishing I were brave enough to send even that little bit. Open a dialogue, if you will.
My computer beeps and I glance up. Reaching awkwardly with my left hand across the keyboard instead of putting my phone down, I type my security pin on my 10-key.
