Just Let Me Die Here (A Serialized Novel) 13

We arrive at the ski resort early. The parking lot is nearly empty and we get a spot in the front row. There are two other cars parked near us. One has all its doors open and three guys are piling out, putting on boots and collecting a pair of skis, poles, and two snowboards off the roof rack. An older couple is in the other. They have just arrived and are working on getting their gear together. Could that be Tucker and I years from now? Our children grown and gone and us away on vacation together. I look at the couple again. Nope. That’s not going to be us. The man looks way too happy to be here.

I sit on the back ledge of the car, getting my gear together as Tucker gets Millie out of her carseat. She’s all rugged up in her little penguin snow suit, topped with a fuzzy, pink beanie. Adorable. He sets her down next to me in the snow while he gets the rest of her things together. I look at my little girl and begin to imagine a future she might have here in the snow. I wonder if she will take up my fondness for skiing. Or maybe she’ll be more interested in snowboarding. I wouldn’t mind spending weekends at youth ski competitions, going on a few runs myself during the breaks. That would definitely mean a drastic change in our home’s location. Millie throws a handful of the powder into the air and giggles as it falls back down around her. I love that sound.

But it’s not enough for you.

You never wanted this.

You want your old life back.

I pick Millie up and swing her around in a circle, eliciting more of her joyous laughter, before sitting back down on the open back of the car and pulling her in, snuggling my nose into her head of milk chocolate curls. Best. Smell. Ever. I just want to breathe in this scent, let it fill every part of me.

Lies. I never liked it and neither do you.

“How about I go drop her off at daycare while you get ready?” Tucker says, swinging the diaper bag onto his shoulder.

“Great thanks,” I say. I give Millie one last squeeze and then pass her off to Tucker. “Bye-bye Millie. Have a fun day and Mommy will see you later.” I hoist myself up on my one booted foot and give her a kiss on the cheek. Millie swats a hand at my face and smiles.

“I’ll be back in a little bit,” Tucker says. I watch father and daughter walk away, Millie giggling loudly when Tucker slips a bit but manages to catch himself. We definitely have a happy child and I am very aware of how fortunate we are. We definitely lucked out with this one. Would it be possible to repeat that with a second one? Again, I let myself contemplate the idea of having another child.

You’ll ruin that one just like you’ll ruin this one.

I take my time getting ready, but it takes Tucker longer to get back. When he finally returns to the car, I’m ready to go and I’ve managed to return two emails from my phone that had been in my inbox since we arrived in Canada. One from my TA confirming a paper deadline and questioning a strange smell coming from the office. I forgot to empty the garbage bin with my half-eaten tuna sandwich in it before I left on vacation. The other email is from Jack Lohman, the dean of the history department. Yes, I respond, I will be there for the year opening meeting. Yes, I will have the notes ready. No, I can’t help with the conference call this week. I’m out of town. That had been followed with a quick scan of Facebook. Nothing new.

“Eager to get going?” Tucker says at my anxious expression.

“Come on,” I say. “It’s already getting warm.” I hand him the tube of sunscreen.

“You and I have very different opinions of what defines warm.” All I want to do is get on the mountain, but Tucker is taking his sweet time. And the more eager I get, the slower he seems to go.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” I say as he re-adjusts the clasps on his boots for the third time.

“Doing what?” he says, trying to act innocent but letting out a laugh.

“Very funny. Come on, let’s go!” The older couple who had been getting ready at their car give us strange looks as they pass by with their gear. I smile and wave at them, but this only seems to encourage them to hurry away.

The slopes are even better than they were two days ago and freshly groomed. The powder is amazing, as if we are gliding over clouds. I sink down in my boots and just let my skis carry me over the rolling mounds of snow. Now this is relaxing. Tucker, on the other hand, seems to be expending far more effort than necessary.

We ski for an hour and a half before he calls it quits. By now, the mountain is packed with other skiers and the crowds are getting to him. A small boy on skis whips in front of us, cutting Tucker off as he fearlessly races down the mountain. His mother follows close behind and seems quite oblivious to the near collision as Tucker flops onto his side. He is able to get back up, no damage done to his body, but his mood is destroyed.

“I’m exhausted,” he says when we finally reach the bottom, stopping me as I start to head towards the ski lift.

“Sure. We can take a quick break, grab a snack, and then get back up there.” I give him an encouraging smile.

“No, really, I’m done. But I don’t want to spoil this for you. I’ll relax in the lodge for a bit and you can keep going.”

“You sure?”

“I know you want to go off on some tougher runs, so go have fun,” he says. “I’ll get Millie from daycare and the two of us will have lunch. We’ll meet you when you’re done.”

“Really?” I don’t want to seem too eager to get rid of him but I’m looking forward to some solo skiing.

“Absolutely. I’m just holding you back.”

“Okay,” I say, getting excited about heading up to the blacks again. I pull out my phone and look at the time. “Let’s say we meet up in the lodge in two hours.”

“Great, two hours.” He glances down at his watch and nods to himself. “See you then.” Tucker skis off toward the lodge and I push myself up to the ski lift.

I get in line and slowly make my way to the front. I am surrounded by groups that are cheerfully talking, exchanging stories about their holiday festivities and comparing gifts. In front of me, two young boys discuss their new phones.

“It’s not really the one I wanted,” one says to the other, holding the new device in his hand. I notice that this phone, now owned by someone who won’t even be driving for another five years, is the newest model and about three generations better than the one in my own pocket.

“Just you?” the lift operator asks when I get to the front.

“Yep, just me.” He waves me up to the red line along with the two people who are behind me. The seat loops around, scoops us up, and we are swept up into the sky.

I am sharing the lift with a father and his young son. The dad holds his son’s poles while the boy clears off his goggles.

“We had a bit of a fall on the last run,” the dad says to me, pretend whispering over his son’s head.

“Dad!” the boy moans, still scraping at a chunk of ice lodged in his goggles.

“That’s okay,” I say. “Even the greats fall sometimes. How old are you?”

“Eight,” the boy says. He tries to give a cool guy smile. The missing front tooth ruins it.

“Wow, and you’re already going down these big mountains?”

“He’s been skiing since he was three.” The dad beams at his son. “Kid’s a natural.” The boy takes back his poles and spends the rest of the journey up the lift staring straight ahead. I return to my thoughts of Millie and her possible future as a skier. Maybe in a couple years we’ll get her out here too. Teach her young and maybe, who knows, she might actually be good enough to compete. But a memory suddenly pops into my head.

“But Dad, I don’t want to go.” It had been my battle cry every Saturday morning for the entire summer.

“You gotta go kid, you’re the best one on the damned team.” Swim team had become a point of contention for my father and I the year I turned eleven. I had a knack for the sport, and was definitely one of the better swimmers on the team, but my passion for it paled in comparison to my dad’s. Not that he loved swimming. He loved me winning. He loved having a kid to brag about. One that was living out the glory days he never did. I had already participated the year before and had found myself dreading the coming season when Dad brought home the registration packet. Sitting there at the kitchen table, Dad flipping through page after page, I could already feel the sting of the chlorine in my eyes and the full body ache of early morning meets.

“I just don’t want to see you throw away your potential,” he had said.

“What if I have other potential?”

“We can work with it when it comes. For now, let’s just go with what you’ve got.” And so, I swam that summer, hating it more and more with each meet that I competed in. But the smile on Dad’s face when I got out of the pool each time was enough to get me back in again.

I would never want to put Millie through that. I try to push visions of her as a competitive skier out of my mind. She can do what she wants to do. And she can do it later. Much later. I just want her to enjoy being the wonderful little bundle that she is for the time being. And, come to think of it, I want to be with that bundle right now. This is meant to be a time for us to all be together. I shouldn’t be off on my own. I need to get back to my family.

I get off the lift and glide over to the trail map. I’ll head back along the ridge and then take Star Trek down to the bowl. One last run and then back to Tucker and Millie. Time to enjoy some good family vacation togetherness.

If only you were actually a good mother.

The trail leading to the top of the run is smooth, relaxing, and vacant of any other skiers. This is awesome. I curve around to the back side of the mountain and look out over the valley below as the trail drops away at the tips of my skis. I pause for a moment to take it all in, enjoy the present, and take a quick photo. And then I hear it.

The slicing of skis through the crusted snow. I glance over my shoulder just in time to see a man skiing full-tilt in my direction. His skis don’t turn with the path of the run. They aim themselves at me like arrows. The skier himself seems in complete control, the definition of calm and focus. I try to move out of the way, but my skis are locked in the snowbank at the side of the trail. I am stuck.

He is moving at a pace that I cannot comprehend until it hits me. Literally hits me. The man crashes into my side, sending me over the edge of the forested slope. There is a moment where I feel my entire body freed from the ground, flying, floating, falling. I land awkwardly and heavily on the mountainside, the snow neither powdery nor soft.

I tumble, skis jettisoned in one direction, poles in another, and brace myself for the crash I know is coming. The picturesque view flashes in front of me, first upright and then sideways. I miss one tree before slamming, side first, into the next, a wave of snow settling around me. The world stills, the agony strikes.

As the din of my fall dims to a painful silence, I have only one thought. Please, don’t let me die here.

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