“Hi, Mr. Gruen.”
“Oh, hi,” he searched my face for a name, “oh yeah, Julissa, Simon’s daughter.”
He looked uncomfortable with having the child of a man who died on a mountain standing before him while fitting another man with shoes to climb a mountain. Without question, he wasn’t about to open that conversation, nor did he care to have me say anything about it.
He pointed to my feet. “You going snowboarding.”
“Yes. Is Aaron working today?”
“He came in earlier, but he took the rest of the day off. He’s on the mountain.”
“Thanks. I pointed to the customer’s feet. “Nice boots,” I said.
I could see Carson wincing.
“Bye Julissa. Be safe.”
“So,” Cherrie said upon my return, “where’s your beau?”
“He’s on the mountain.”
“Snowboarding?”
“I don’t know. Carson didn’t say.”
“Doesn’t matter. Here. I got you a pair of boots and a snowboard. Pay the man and let’s get out of here.”
“How do I know the boots fit?”
“Our feet are about the same size. Besides, there’s not much left on the shelf. They’ve been cleaned out. We’re running late, so let’s get going.”
Riding up to the snow park was like driving through a picture postcard. The conifers weighed heavy with gobs of snow. Snow covered the road. Banks of snow, piled high by the snowplow, hemmed us in. There would be no going over the edge with the LC this morning.
I saw more cars coming down the mountain than going up.
“Why are so many people leaving already?” I asked.
Cherrie glanced at the train of cars heading down.
“Don’t know.”
She rolled down her window and held out her hand.
A passer-by slowed. He rolled down his window.
“What’s wrong? Where’s everyone going?”
“There’s been a power outage. None of the chair lifts are operating.”
“Is the park closed?”
“For now.”
“They didn’t say how long before the power is back on?”
“They didn’t, but they said the park is going to be closed through tomorrow so I expect they won’t have power until then.”
“So where’re you guys going?”
“Miller Flats.”
“Thanks.”
“What’s Miller Flats?”
“Back country skiing.”
Undoubtedly, Cherrie was disappointed, as were a host of other skiers. In my imagination I could see Jason’s disappointed face too.
“So,” I said, somewhat relieved, “not much we can do, huh?”
“You’re not getting off that easy.”
“You’re still going?”
“Perfect time to learn how to snowboard. When no one else is around.”
“They said the park’s closed.”
“The lifts are. The kiddie park isn’t. And if you have a mind to, you’ll hoof the hill and board back down. Isn’t that what you did in Minnesota? Hoof speed bumps?”
“Yes. Speed bumps. Not mountains!”
When we arrived, there were more than a few cars in the parking lot, including a beat up old pick up Dodge Ram truck.
“Your beau is around here somewhere.”
“Aaron? How do you know?”
“Cause I see the truck he drives.”
“Where?”
Cherrie pointed to an old blue colored truck with a splotchy painted hood. It was the same one I saw up at Bunny flat the day Aaron saved us. The hood ornament, a ram rearing up, was the only thing on the vehicle not rusted.
We unpacked our gear and I slipped on my boots. I waited for Cherrie to finish suiting up into her boarding pants (all I had were my sweat pants and winter coat).
“Did you bring sun glasses?”
I grimaced. “No.”
“You’re kidding me!”
“I didn’t think about them. I was in a hurry. Remember? Somebody kept honking the horn.”
“You’ll burn your eyes out without protection. Here. You’re going to have to wear these.” She handed me a pair of goggles. “They’re not the best for direct sun, but they’re better than nothing.”
I slipped them on and took a look at my reflection in the car’s window.
I groaned.
“What now?”
“I look like a clown.”
Cherrie chuckled.
“Yes, you do. Orange hat, blue goggles, red coat, gray sweat pants, and oversized boots. You definitely look like you’ve escaped from the circus.”
I searched the hills for Aaron. I could see small dots climbing the slopes and others boarding. It seemed like a lot of work for a very quick trip down. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed three dots off to the left side. In comparison to the other dots, their trip up the mountain seemed effortless. They took half the time to climb as the other snow boarders.
And then I saw why.
Aaron, Beaumont, and Belmont were snowboarding up the mountain. Slower, of course, than when they came down, but nevertheless, skiing up.
I didn’t know if I should consider that to be abuse of power or chalk it off to boys having fun. After all, from what I had seen, if a snowboarder gained enough speed, he or she could ski up and over hills. Granted, this was a bit different.
I also noticed something else different about the Delmons. Despite the brilliant sunshine on the crystalline white snow, all three rode without eye protection. I wondered why they weren’t burning their eyes out.
“Aaron,” I said.
“Where?”
I lined Cherrie up and pointed. “There. See him?”
“Yes. And the book-ends. Come on,” Cherrie said. Let’s get you started.”
Learning to snowboard is frustration excel. Your feet are trapped sideways in a board that has a mind of its own, goes where it wants to go, and leaves you hanging in balance and on your backside, ninety-nine percent of the time.
I made it down the slope my first time up, but I doubt Cherrie approved, because I laid flat on my back the whole ride down with the board dragging behind me.
“What am I doing wrong?”
“Possibly everything. Look,” Cherrie said, as she stood erect and struck a pose. “You need to stand up straight, knees bent a little, and point where you’re going.”
With her arm stretched out front, she pointed in the direction-sideways across the hill—where she wanted to go.
It looked easy enough.
I stood.
The board started to move on its own down the slope.
“Point!”
“I’m trying.”
I really wasn’t. My points were more down than out as I braced for falling. It seemed, and was, the natural thing to do.
And fall I did, landing, once again, on my behind.
Another soggy behind day.
“Okay,” Cherrie said. “Let’s get off this mole hill.”
I unclipped from the board.
“Where’re we going?”
“Over there.”
Cherrie pointed to what looked like a mountain to me.
“You’re crazy! I can’t ride the kiddie hill. What makes you think I can ride that thing?”
“If there’s one thing you need to understand about snowboarding, is speed is your friend.”
“Tell that to the trees,” I said, eyeing the rows of dark solid looking trunks sticking out on both sides of the monster hill’s run. “Isn’t that how skiers die? By hitting trees?”
“Remember when you learned how to ride a bike?”
“Yes. Sort of. I also remember there weren’t any trees in the middle of the road.”
“Remember how you kept falling over? But once you got up to speed you didn’t fall over anymore?”
“My bike had training wheels. I never fell over. Where are the training wheels on this thing?”
I held th
e board up for Cherrie’s inspection.
“You want to do this or not?”
I looked at the mammoth hill. Off to the left I could see the three dots, one of them Aaron, climbing and boarding, climbing and boarding. To the right, more than a dozen boarders rode the hill. I guessed it was Jason and his group of diehards.
“Let’s do it.”
To say the climb to the top of the hill was hard is an understatement. If you have ever walked in snow boots across a parking lot you understand what I am saying. Not to mention the boots I wore were a bit oversized. They’re made for stability not flexibility. It’s like trying to scale a mountain...well, yes, with oversized clown shoes on.
I could not but help envy the Delmon trio and their ability to ski back up the mountain.
It all seemed unfair.
By the time we crested, my head pounded, but I didn’t say anything to Cherrie. I didn’t want to alarm her and have her tell me I should have stayed home and rested like the nurse ordered. I did plead for a breather, however.
“You flatlanders,” she said. “When are you going to learn to breathe correctly at altitude?”
“There is such a thing?”
“Yes. Thought I already told you.”
“So teach me again.”
“It’ll come to you. Relax. Think about it. Breathe deep. Slow. Expand the lungs fully. And then let it out.”
She demonstrated by sucking in air and then forcing it out.
“I never had to think about breathing before.”
“You’ll get it. Just takes practice.”
I gave the technique a shot. The thumping in my head quieted.
We clipped onto our snowboards and stood.
I looked up the mountain and wondered; with all of the fresh powder, would we start an avalanche and become buried? Looking down the mountain did not bring me joy, either. At the moment I thought; why doesn’t she just push me off a cliff and be done with it?
My legs stiffened to the point of break. I dug my heels in, but even though the edge of the board set at an angle, I could feel the downward pull.
“Okay,” Cherrie said. “I want you to do this.”
She stood erect, facing downhill.
She set her board sideways against the down slope of the hill and pointed. Her board moved forward following in the direction she pointed.
“Now,” Cherrie yelled over her shoulder, “if it gets going too fast simply turn it back up the hill.”
She did this and I saw where the board slowed to a stop.
“Looks easy enough.”
“It is. But you got to relax. Tense up anymore and you’re going to break a bone. Try it.”
I did. The stance anyway. Relaxing was impossible, but I followed through on the maneuver.
“This is fun!”
A second later, the lip of the snowboard caught and I tumbled forward on my face. I came up spitting snow and coughing out powder.
“Okay. Back on your feet. Try it again, only this time,” Cherrie said, “when you get to the end, switch arms and point in the opposite direction.”
Cherrie made ‘back on your feet’ sound easy, like if I was standing up from a chair. I thrashed around in the knee deep powder like an animal caught in quicksand.
“How do I get up?”
“Roll over.”
“With the board on?”
“Yes. Roll over and face the mountain.”
I performed the maneuver, not gracefully, I imagine. Without too much effort I found the standing position. But now I faced the hillside. I actually liked it better as I couldn’t see down.
“Okay,” Cherrie said, “stick out your arm and follow where you point.”
I followed Cherrie’s instructions, carving one, two, and then three slices across the hill.
Cherrie kept up the encouragement.
“Keep it going,” she said. “Imagine a Christmas tree and you are making the design of its branches in the snow.”
I kept at it. Before I knew it I found bottom. My fear turned into exhilaration.
“That is fun!”
But exhausting.
Cherrie unclipped from her board.
“Come on. Let’s do it again.”
The hammer in my head pounded. My legs only wanted to move at a snail’s pace, but I followed Cherrie’s lead.
I unclipped from the snowboard and started the long trudge up the slope. I took turns watching the Delmons off to the left and Jason’s group off to right as they rode the slopes. They made boarding look easy, and fun. Whenever one caught air-which was often-or performed a jump, I heard shouts of “boyah!”
Cherrie waited for me at the top, clipped in and ready to go when I arrived. This time she rode a few yards out in front of me, pointing and leading the way. We reached the bottom all too soon.
I sat down and unclipped.
Cherrie unclipped and started for the hill.
“Come on.”
“You go ahead. I’m beat.”
“Oh, come on.”
“No, I’m serious. My head hurts. I’ll stay here and watch you. Show me your stuff.”
I made myself as comfortable as possible in the snow. My behind felt wet and cold, but I was too spent to stand.
Cherrie reached the top, clipped in, and was on her way down when I saw a blur of three riders cross from left to right above and behind her.
I recognized Belmont and Beaumont in the lead with Aaron trailing behind. Aaron wore a maroon beanie—my maroon beanie?
I was captivated by the skill they showed on the snowboards. No doubt Jason would agree they were rippin flake, and doing it in and around trees.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jason and his group hurtling down the slope. From my point of view, Aaron and the book ends were on a direct collision course with Jason and his friends. At the last minute I saw the Delmons adjust their route, not away from one of the boys in Jason’s group but toward him. It was as if they were targeting him.
I rose to my feet and watched, helpless to warn them off.
Belmont and Beaumont arrived first, one uphill from the snowboarder, one downhill. Their action caused the snowboarder to pull up. A fraction of a second later, Aaron went airborne.
He turned the board sideways.
From where I stood, I saw the board and Jason’s friend’s head connect. I saw the boy’s goggles and beanie go flying. I saw Jason’s friend, in a swirl of powder, upended, cartwheel, and plow into the snow. He slid down the hill for some distance. I could see the unmistakable contrast of red on white, but I didn’t know if it was blood or gear.
Aaron, Belmont, and Beaumont continued across the divide and into the next set of trees as though nothing had happened.
Cherrie pulled up inches away from where I stood.
“What’s up? You look like you saw a ghost? You okay?”
“You didn’t see?”
“What?”
I pointed to where Jason’s friend now sat.
She looked in the direction of my point.
“What? He fell?”
“No. Aaron plowed into him.”
Cherrie looked east where Aaron and the twins had been snowboarding.
“I thought they were over there.”
“They came across behind you.”
“Where’d they go?”
“Off in that direction.”
We saw Jason’s friend stand and wave off help from his friends down below. I guessed none of them had seen what had happened and figured he had biffed it.
“He’s all right,” Cherrie said. “Just shaken a bit. Hey, I know him.”
“You do?”
“I recognize the Marmot coat he’s wearing. See the lightning design. That’s the same boy that hit you.”
I kept silent on the ride back down the road from the mountain.
Cherrie prodded, asking me, “what’s wrong”.
I told her “nothing”, of course, and begged off using the excuse I was exhausted and
my head hurt.
In reality, everything couldn’t be more wrong.
Had Aaron targeted the boy who hit me? If so, in a way I found nobility in his action. It meant he had feelings for me and was being protective. But to avenge by causing physical harm! He could have killed the boy! I didn’t want any part of hurting people. And if Aaron held hateful tendencies, I didn’t want anything to do with him.
We stopped in at the Fifth Season and dropped of my gear. I didn’t check the store to see if Aaron had returned. There was no way I could face him right now.
“Where are we going?” I asked, as Cherrie turned left instead of right to go home.
“To the Burger Hut. You’re hungry, aren’t you?”
I had to admit I was starving. I hadn’t eaten any breakfast. Lunch hour had passed.
“You don’t like burgers.”
“No,” Cherrie said with a smile, “but the boys do.”
“We’re going hunting again?”
“Did we ever stop?” Cherrie looked at me. “Let me rephrase that. “Did I ever stop? You’ve found yours.”
“Not so sure anymore.”
“No? Found out god-man isn’t your type?”
“Not if he’s going to hurt people.”
“Isn’t that something you should be asking him?”
“I will.”
The Burger Hut parking lot, as I saw, was packed full of cars, including the blue paint speckled Dodge Ram.
“Aaron’s here,” Cherrie said.
“Yes,” I said, “I see. And it seems,” I said, as we entered, “half the school is, too.”
The Burger Hut is not the booth-type restaurant you find at Burger King or McDonalds. It has an open floor arrangement with large wood tables and benches for furniture. The place was packed with Shasta High students, some standing, others sitting in each other’s laps.
The noise level roared through the roof.
I placed an order for a chicken sandwich, fries, and a soft drink. When the cashier couldn’t hear me, I lip-synched until I got the point across.
“You’re not getting anything?” I asked Cherrie.
“We’ll share,” Cherrie said, more to the cashier than to me.
Finding a seat wasn’t easy. We spotted open bench in the middle of the restaurant and squeezed in.
I saw Aaron and the book-ends at the far end of the restaurant. Belmont and Beaumont had their backs to the fracas. They also had the table to themselves, which, at this point, didn’t surprise me. Once Aaron spotted me he stood up and headed my way.
Solstice - Of The Heart Page 16
