Some tension leaves her body. Her shoulders lower a little and her posture relaxes a bit. “Thank God! I was really worried. I have no idea what we’re doing, but I’m excited.” She fills a vase with water and deposits the flowers inside, taking a few seconds to arrange them before pressing her lips to the underside of my jaw. “Thank you, they’re beautiful.”
In my car, I can tell she’s nervous–she’s picking at the cuticles on her thumb, she keeps fidgeting with her feet, and rearranging her purse on her lap. I rest my hand on her thigh and she threads her fingers over mine, settling some of her fidgeting.
I pull into the parking lot behind an unassuming warehouse. “We’re here,” I announce, enjoying the look of confusion on her face. There are a lot more people here than I thought there would be. There's a whole ass security guy with a metal wand and a line to get in.
Because there are no obvious signs on the outside of the warehouse, and Kennedy still looks a little confused, I fish the tickets out of my pocket and hand them to her. I watch as her eyes scan the ticket, then the moment of realization that hits her with a huge gasp. “You did not!”
“Yes, I signed us up for mixed duos, is that okay?”
“Oh my god, Yes!” She clutches my forearm with both of her hands, excitedly squeezing, “I’ve never even heard of an air hockey tournament, how did you find out about this?”
“I wanted to take you to something you've never done before.” The back of my neck heats up when I admit the next part, “And I also wanted to mark two things off your list at once. It just said hockey, not ice hockey. So this counts right?”
She throws her arms around me, soothing the nervous part of myself that worried this was a bad idea.
The line moves fast, Something I’m thankful for, because the Michigan December cold is making my knee ache just a bit. We’re inside at the registration desk in under ten minutes. I was a little worried her nipple piercings would set off the metal detector but they didn’t.
“Team Name?” the registration lady asks, flipping through a binder of papers. I glance at Kennedy next to me, just a little embarrassed to say it out loud. She’s pulling her lips into her mouth, fighting a laugh.
“Old Man Eyes.”
“Alright,” she says, finding our team name and pulling out two waxy papers for us to safety pin to our backs. “Here ya go. And this is your bracket assignment. You’re at bay three. Start time is in,” she checks her watch, “26 minutes. Good luck.”
Kennedy and I both say our thanks before grabbing the materials and heading toward the giant open warehouse floor with 25 air hockey tables set up. Luckily, off to the side is a merch booth selling air hockey mallets because I was going to use the ones I stole from Logan’s frat house. The booth has all kinds of mallets, some nearly identical to ones I’ve seen in arcades and other advanced ones claiming speed and weight advantages. Kennedy picks out the only pink one on display, a relatively cheap one, and I buy us both the pink one, because why the hell not, we’re a team, might as well have matching gear.
“Here, let me pin this on you.” Kennedy gives me her back as I pin Team: Old Man Eyes to her top. She does the same to me. We head to our air hockey table and unpack our new mallets while I give her some context.
“Okay so we’re playing an unsanctioned duos tournament. Technically, four people tables are not regulation, so unfortunately if we win today, it's just bragging rights. First team to seven points wins the match.”
She cartoonishly cracks her neck in both directions, then does a forward lunge, “I hope you brought your A game today, Taylor, because I’m ready to kick some ass.”
I’m just happy that we’re on the same team, because Kennedy is insanely competitive. Insanely. I’m not too proud to admit that she’s made me cry on exactly three occasions while playing Catan during 5th grade.
We introduce ourselves to the duo we are facing, an older couple, apparently the man, Dan used to be some air hockey big wig. The way he’s holding the mallet is making me worried that we are about to be the ones who gets our asses kicked.
Kennedy stands to my left giving me the right side of the table. Perfect, I’m already a right winger in hockey, this plays to my strengths.
The faceoff starts and we somehow gain possession of the puck with Kennedy launching it toward their goal. Dan blocks it, then does some crazy move that makes the puck go back and forth really fast before he strikes it back at us. I block the goal, Kennedy letting out a giant whoop next to me.
The game carries on like this for a few minutes before Dan whips the puck right into our goal. “Looks like you might need some glasses for those old man eyes you got over there,” Dan smack talks with a smile. Kennedy throws her head back, then composes herself with scary speed, narrowing her eyes at Dan and shaking her head.
Dan’s wife and I lock eyes and she just shrugs, her face saying, it’s kinda funny.
Dan and his wife absolutely obliterate us with 7-1. We fist bump and shake hands before moving on to the next round. There are only three guaranteed rounds for the duos, it's a less popular choice due to it not being regulation. After the third round, only the top four teams will move on.
We somehow win both of our following matches meaning that we progress onto the semi-finals. I buy us both a gatorade from the vending machine as we wait for our next round. A small crowd is gathered around Dan and his wife’s table as they battle another really good team. So far Dan’s team is undefeated. I study Dan’s movements, cataloging where he aims the puck so I can try and emulate it during the next match. I turn my head to point out how he’s standing to Kennedy, but she has her phone pulled up, watching a youtube video on air hockey techniques.
She goes on her tip toes and whispers in my ear, “We’re not doing the triangle method. And we’re holding the mallet wrong.” She hands me her phone to watch the short 90 second video and she’s right. The mallet technique Dan was using against us is what all the pros use. I don’t mention the fact that Kennedy has been the one blocking the goal.
Dan and his wife win again. That old man’s spritely for his age. I do a few hops and shake out my arms, prepping myself for the next match. Kennedy does the same then grabs her pony tail with both hands and pulls in opposite directions, tightening her hair.
I love how competitive she is right now, already in the athletic position, fingers tucked into the back rim of the mallet, a few inches in front of the goal, ready to defend. The opposing team wins the faceoff, but I score the first goal. Our teams go back and forth, trading points until we’re 6-6. Kennedy hops back and forth between each foot, bouncing, keeping herselfagile and loose. My knee is aching from the matches we’ve played already, so I pull back just a bit, not wanting to start limping out of here like I do after games and practice.
Kennedy makes a noise I’ve only heard on Wrestlemania and that's when I know Ken the Contender has taken over Kennedy’s body. Next, she shoulder checks me out of the way and hogs the center area. I haven’t seen Ken the Contender come out in over three years, but the look on her face would strike fear into the hearts of several men on my hockey team. She’s down right maniacal.
And beautiful. The way her skin is flushed just a little over her cheeks, the dusting of freckles highlighted over her nose with her no make-up face, the bounce of her hair with every hop. I don’t even see it coming because I’m too busy admiring her. I hear her gasp before I feel her mallet connect with my face. It hits me directly on the bottom lip with enough force that I taste a little blood.
“Foul!”
