I kicked my feet up on the dashboard and turned the radio up louder. I lowered my Spitfires baseball cap and turned to look at Taylor who winked at me and pressed his foot down harder on the gas pedal. We'd spent last night huddled up in the back seat of his car, with blankets and nothing but the summer night's air. We talked hockey, school, and his plans after Windsor all night. Mickey got brought up, but only for a moment or two. As we sped off the exit to Yonge street in downtown Toronto, I couldn't help but think that maybe things had turned around for me, and I wondered where Taylor could be taking me next.
Taylor parallel parked the car outside of the Hockey Hall of Fame and shot me a grin.
"No way!" I squealed and hopped out of the car, "I haven't been here since I was 8 years old!" I felt my smile grow as Taylor opened the large wooden doors for me.
We spent hours at the museum, and I stared in awe at just about everything I saw. Whether it was Gretzky's puck from his first goal, or Bobby Orr's stick from That Goal. I soaked in everything like a sponge, I read every little box of information and took my time analyzing everything. Taylor grabbed my hand tightly and led me up to the Vault, where the trophy of all trophies lay. I held breath as I entered the beautiful old bank that had been transformed into the Great Hall where Lord Stanley stood on his pedestal.
I felt tears well up in my eyes as I stared at the trophy. This was everything. I walked up and touched the side of the cup with starry eyes. Taylor came up behind me and placed a quick kiss on my cheek.
"Picture?" I heard one of the HHOF workers ask.
"For sure." Taylor responded walking over to the other side of the cup. We both leaned over a placed a quick kiss on the Cup as the flash went off.
Things are looking up, I thought.