Frost Bitten

The air outside was freezing. This was the third morning pressed against the window watching the skiers. I was a sprint away from the safety of the toilet. The chalet was a place of convalescence. I bent to put my shoes on and again felt a familiar gurgling inside. Dressed in my thermals I swore loudly. Not again, why now?

By lunchtime I was ankle deep in snow, the bitter air brightening my tired body.

My family whooshed past leaving me in an icy powder.

I shrunk into my disappointment. I had really tried.

Dinner was quiet near the roaring fire. It was not long since the sun had dipped behind the mountains and it felt like the first time in a week I had taken a deep breath. Bruised and humiliated we sat in silence. It was out last night. I anxiously wiped lipstick from the rim of my glass while avoiding eye contact. I wanted to tell him everything, but it seemed irrelevant.

“Are we getting up early to pack?” He asked.

“I guess so, or we could do it tonight.” I replied.

Tears welled quickly as I spoke.

“It’s not your fault, you tried.” He said.

He was trying to be sincere however I winced with guilt.

“Maybe mountain life just isn’t for you.” He smiled across the table.

He placed his hand on mine.

The morning was grey and solemn. I waved goodbye from the window of the snow cat. Maybe one day I will return.