Page 18 of Things I Read About

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Someone whizzes by, crossing in front of me.

Okay, stick to the white and to the side.

I move to the edge of the slope and start skiing straight down, faster than I’m used to. I normally zig zag across, taking my time, but I think fast-and-over is better than slow-and-bombarded by other skiers I can’t quite see.

This is fine.

I can feel Nate to my side and just behind, following. I push myself. I don’t want him to be bored and—oh!

No!

I’m jumping.

Oh God, please let me land on my skis. Oh please, oh please, oh—

Okay.

I am back on my skis and still moving. Crap now my legs are trembling.

Fuuu—

I’m jumping, again!

What the hell kind of trail is this?

I am for sure going to die here and now. This is it.

Lord, why are you punishing me? I’m not ready to go!

I land hard. Pain shoots up my leg. Not good. And I think I cracked a vertebra.

Am I paralyzed? No, I’m still skiing.

It’s much slower here.I think I can maybe see the line for the lifts up ahead.

Yes, it’s over. I made it.

“That was wild,” Nate says as he pulls up beside me. I think he sounds impressed. Or just shocked. Maybe confused.

“It was,” I pant.

“Again?”

Never. I’m never skiing again as long as I live.

“Um.” I wince.

He picks up a ski to move closer to me. “Shit, are you hurt?”

“My ankle. On that last landing.”And maybe my spine. Definitely my psychological well-being.

“Can you walk on it?” he asks, his face serious.

I test the pressure and I definitely cannot walk on it. “I think I can glide over better than walking.”

“Okay. Take your poles together and hold them horizontal,” he orders in a new voice as he pops off his skis. A deep, concerned one.

At the sound of it I can’t feel my ankle anymore. Or my whole person, really.

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