Filed to story: Luci Forrester and Easton Reed: Hockey Romance Story
“Daddy’s turn,” he announces, and I can’t resist paying the guy to pop all the large balloons at the top so he can claim his dragon. The vendor hands it over, and Cole is in absolute bliss.
“I have to name him,” he declares, the dragon nearly as big as he is. I chuckle, watching him strut around with his new treasure. Luci shares in the moment, a sweet smile gracing her lips as she observes him.
“Fireball?” I suggest, but he shakes his head vigorously.
“Luci?” he asks, turning to her. Luci leans down, pretending to scrutinize the dragon seriously. Her eyes light up as she smiles, and I can see the spark of creativity in her.
“How about Icebreaker, like your daddy? Fire melts ice…” she proposes, handing the dragon back to Cole, who nods eagerly in agreement.
I watch her thoughtfully, feeling a warmth spread through me.
“Daddy, now you have to win Luci one. She needs a stuffed toy,” Cole calls out, hugging his dragon tightly. But Luci avoids my gaze, shaking her head.
“No, Cole, I don’t need anything,” she insists.
“Choose what you want,” I say softly, hoping to coax her into accepting.
“No, really. I don’t like stuffed animals,” she replies, her eyes averted.
“Such a bad liar. Pick something, sweetness. Cole wants you to have one,” I press gently.
“Luci, stuffed animals are the best!” Cole chimes in, squeezing his dragon close.
“Any will do,” she finally concedes, a hint of reluctance in her voice.
We stand in front of a booth filled with glass bottles waiting to be smashed. “Which one is the hardest to win?” I inquire, and the worker points to a large stuffed rabbit, its plush exterior far nicer than your average carnival prize. “That’s what she gets then. How many do I have to break?”
“Seven consecutively,” he replies, handing me ten balls. I take a deep breath, hurling the first one as a test and realizing I need to throw harder. After that, I hit every target, feeling a surge of adrenaline. I could use this game at home for stress relief. The vendor shakes his head, impressed. “You’ve got some serious arm muscles.”
He pulls down the lavender rabbit, and I hand it to Luci. “A rabbit for a rabbit,” I say quietly, a smile creeping onto my face.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her gaze fixed on the stuffed animal as if it holds the secrets of the universe.
“Let’s go through the funhouse, Daddy,” Cole urges, and I nod, noting how Luci seems to be lost in thought. She walks slowly, her gaze unfocused. I recognize one of her little fugue moments.
I let her pass me before gently grabbing her arm, stopping her just before she collides with a trash can. Leaning down close to her ear, I whisper, hoping to bring her back to the present. “I can’t wait to hear what you name him.” The slight hitch in her breath tells me she’s returned to reality. I hold her there for a moment longer, inhaling the sweet scent of her strawberry vanilla shampoo, curious if I got it right.
Her head turns, and her eyes sharpen with focus. I release her, and she moves to stand beside Cole, holding out her hand for his dragon. She offers to watch the stuffed animals while we navigate the funhouse. I nod at her, sensing she needs a moment to herself. I had apologized earlier, realizing I had pushed her too far when she was already upset. Today, I need answers from her, and I can’t let her retreat into silence.
We step out of the funhouse, laughter bubbling between us like the bright colors of the carnival around us. Cole, with his eyes sparkling with excitement, is tugging at my sleeve, pleading with all the enthusiasm a child can muster. “Can we go to the ponies and the petting zoo now?” he implores, his voice tinged with hope.
“Alright,” I reply, glancing around. My eyes catch sight of Luci, who is standing near one of the concession stands, completely lost in her own world. “Luci!” I call out, my voice rising above the din of laughter and chatter, hoping she’ll hear me.
Just then, I see a man emerge from the funnel cake stand, balancing a massive, steaming pot of grease high above his head. He seems oblivious to the world around him. “Luci!” I shout again, but she remains unresponsive, lost in whatever thoughts have captured her attention.
In a flash, I lift Cole up, urging him to hold on tight as I race toward her, my long legs covering the distance in hurried strides. “LUCI!” I bellow, desperation creeping into my voice.
Just as I reach her, I manage to pull her out of the path of the fryer pot. She blinks, startled, her wide eyes reflecting a mix of confusion and fear. Cole gently touches her face, concern etched on his small features. “Luci, you weren’t listening,” he states, his voice soft yet firm.
I grip her arm tightly, my heart racing from the near miss. “Where did you go? Do you have any idea what was about to happen?” I ask, my tone sharper than I intended, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.
“Just lost in thought,” she stammers, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think… no, I didn’t see.” There’s a tremor in her voice, a hint of panic that makes her seem like a trapped rabbit, vulnerable and scared.
“No, it’s more than that,” I insist, my voice rising slightly. “You’ve been in that state before. I called your name four times, Luci! You could have been seriously hurt. That guy was going to hit you with that fryer pot, and you could have been drenched in hot grease!” Her mouth drops open in shock, the reality of my words hitting her.
“Thank you, I’m sorry. I know. I’m really sorry,” she murmurs, her gaze fixed on the ground, avoiding my eyes.
“Cole, do you want to go down the slide? The line is almost empty!” I point to the slide behind us, trying to lighten the mood. He nods eagerly, and I pull Luci along with us as we hand over our tickets, watching as he eagerly climbs the steps to the slide.
“Luci, we need to talk,” I say, my voice low but firm as we settle at a nearby table. “Cole wants to ride the ponies, and you’re going to explain what just happened.” She remains silent, her expression still haunted by the moment.
As Cole giggles, racing down the slide, I reach for Luci’s bicep gently, guiding her toward a table near the pony enclosure. “Let’s go. I see a table right next to it too,” I say, trying to maintain a calm demeanor.
I hand over enough tickets for four rides, allowing Cole to choose his horse before placing him in the saddle. Luci fumbles with her phone, attempting to take a picture, but her hands tremble so much that I take the device from her and snap a few shots myself. “Hold on tight, buddy,” I warn Cole, before steering Luci toward the table.
“Talk to me, Luci. You look terrified every time you zone out like that. Before you argue, I want to know because you drive my son home from school every day. Nothing is more important to me than him,” I say, my heart still racing from the earlier incident. I don’t mention the research I did, the terrifying possibilities I uncovered about absence seizures that flooded my mind with images of her and Cole in a terrible accident.
She fidgets, scraping her fingers together nervously on her left hand. “I guess you have a right to know because of Cole. But please, keep an open mind,” she replies, meeting my gaze with sincerity. “I have ADHD. Mild inattentive ADHD. I don’t focus well, and I get lost in daydreams, but they’re a little more intense than what most people experience. It’s like my brain is a chaotic Wonderland some days. You never know which illusion you’ll wander into. I miss things sometimes, especially when people start talking to me. But it won’t affect me with Cole as much. I seem to pay more attention to kids, and I don’t wander when I’m with them. Driving keeps me focused for certain reasons that are burned into my brain. I have tricks to help me concentrate and remember things. The hockey game I messed up? I didn’t commit your note to memory and forgot to add it to my phone calendar. I struggle with chunking information, which is part of my rambling issue. I can’t always focus on completing a whole task, like writing an essay. I have to break it down to make sure I can finish those kinds of assignments.”
I stare at her, intrigued. “The fingernail scraping… what’s that about?”
“It’s a coping mechanism,” she explains, her voice steadying. “When I get overwhelmed by new information or tasks, or when I feel anxious, it helps me refocus somehow. I went to a therapist when I was eleven, and she taught me ways to stay in the present. It doesn’t always work, but I’ve managed to survive so far.”
A realization dawns on me. “Is that why you don’t always stand up for yourself? Because you’re worried you missed part of the conversation and will get it wrong?”