Turning

We were given a nice table, but I felt awkward.  You would think that at a ski resort, people would be skiing, but we were the only patrons in ski boots and jackets.  The hostess hadn't blinked, however.  Now all I wanted to do was take off the uncomfortable plastic boots, but Dick hadn't, so. . . .

"I dont know what happened," I said.  "Last time we skied, I was doing Double Blues.  I hit a bump and fell back on my heels and I was down.  Then I couldn't get up.  My knee just wouldn't bend that way.  Then I lost the ski and it wouldn't go on and I was breathing like a race horse, and I don't know. . . ."

"Yea.  It will come back."

About that, though, I wasn't certain.

It was after two when we left the restaurant.  I told Dick to go ski whatever.  I would stay on the Green.  Dick went over to ask what time the lifts quit running.  I was surprised when I heard that some closed at 3:30 and some at 4:00.  We didn't have a lot of time.

"I'm going up to that run the lift guy told me about.  I'll run that twice and meet you back at the hut,"said Dick.

"Alright, I'll meet you."

Back on the Baby Green, I skied as fast as I could over and over again like I was training for the Olympics.  It didn't make me feel much better, though.  I felt the disappointment in my chest.  "I don't care," I told myself.  "This isn't important.  I'm no less a person. . . yada, yada, yada."  I wondered how I would write about it, wondered what I might say in print.

I was at the hut at four but didn't see Dick, so I went inside and took a seat at the big window facing out.  The place was closing up and few people were around.  As I sat, I watched an old fellow with white hair in a full length fur coat walking from the lift toward the door.  He had a beautiful, young woman on one arm and a good looking Amerasian fellow on the other.  They kept him up.  Apparently they'd just come up to have a look.  That's the way, I thought, that's the way to grow old.  He was very distinguished looking, the older fellow, and I thought surely he must be a director.  He looked as if he were used to directing people, certain and unabashed.  Not at all the way I felt being completely abashed an uncertain after the day's folly.  He reminded me of a better looking John Huston.  Two aspiring actors, I thought.  Sundance.

Just then, I saw Dick and waved to him through the window.

"You want to go to town tonight," Dick asked as we road the lift back down the hill.  I had not wanted to ski back this time.

"I don't know.  Maybe we should just settle in tonight and go tomorrow."

Dick looked at me.

"I mean, I'll do whatever."

At the bottom we drifted over to the ski rental shop.  I was walking like Frankenstein and couldn't wait to get rid of the boots and poles and skis.  The Argentinian girl who had helped me in the  morning came over to help once again.

"How was it?"

"Perfect," I said.  "It was a great day.  Fresh snow, blue skies."

"Yes," she said.  "You were lucky.  We haven't had a day like this all year."

"Oh, I'm a lucky fellow," I told her.  She was looking and smiling at me so that I felt a rush of adrenaline.  I recognized that look though I had not seen it in a very long time.  I swelled up knowing I didn't have to tell her the rest of it, but I was breaking with uncertainty and embarrassment as I turned and walked away.  I couldn't help myself, though, and I turned over my shoulder to look once more as I reached for the door.  She was still looking and smiling and raised her hand goodbye.

Outside, I gushed to Dick, "Holy Moly. . . man. . . I mean. . . did you see her. . . that. . . ?"

"What?"

"I like this place," I said.  "People are really friendly."

At the desk, we picked up the key to the room.

"Your bags were already delivered," said the pretty desk clerk.

"Did they bring the roll away bed?" I asked.

"No.  I'll have them bring it.  How many of you are there?"

"Just the two of us."

"The couch folds out into a bed," she said.  "It would be much more comfortable."

"Oh, O.K. then.  Never mind."

Dick asked her a few questions about restaurants, but I was skeptical.  She was young, in her mid-twenties if that.  Nobody that young ever knows anything about food or wine.  They know much about a lot, but not that.

Upstairs, we found the room.  Dick was ahead and opened the door.  We looked at one another.  Surely they had given us the wrong room.  The place was magnificent with a bedroom, a loft, a living room with a fifty inch HD television, a laundry room, three closets, a dining room, and a full kitchen.  What the hell, I thought.  Things are turning around.