Page 3 of Christmas With My Ex

He immediately starts scanning the area, his sharp eyes locking onto me. He has a "GUIDE" printed in large, red letters across the back of his jacket and a red arm band stitched on one arm with a red cross.

The second skier joins him but stays quiet as the guide starts asking questions. He is probably scared shitless seeing this woman crumpled, alone in the snow, with my pathetic trail behind me revealing my scoot.

“You okay?” the burley guide asks. His voice is calm and clipped as he kneels down next to me. His helmet and goggles obscure most of his face, but I can see his full strawberry blonde beard peeking out. The professionalism in his body language tells he’s trained for this and has done it before.

I pull down my neck gator and push my goggles up, grateful for the rush of cool air on my face. “No. My leg... I can’t stand on it.”

“Is anything else hurt?” He’s already checking my posture, his hands hovering near my leg without touching it yet.

“My leg, that’s it. I hit a patch of ice and took a bad fall.” The words come out quickly, but I try to keep my voice steady. “It won’t hold any weight when I try to stand.”

He gives a sharp nod and radios in, informing someone on the other end that they’re heading back down with an injured skier. His movements are efficient, professional, no fuss. “Okay, let’s get you down before the weather turns.”

The other skier shifts behind him, silent, looking like he doesn't know what to do. I don’t pay much attention to him, too focused on the pain and the humiliation of being stranded out here.

The guide removes a lightweight sled from his pack. "Do you mind helping me transfer her?" He asks the man behind him.

"This is a toboggan designed for backcountry rescues," he explains calmly. I've seen them a hundred times. I've just never had the pleasure of knowing them personally. "My friend Nicholas here is going to help me lift you onto the sled. Stay as still as you can.”

I brace myself as they shift me, the sharp pain in my leg flaring up again. I bite down hard, trying not to make a sound as they gently maneuver me into the sled. It’s fast, efficient, just like the guide promised. I barely register the second hot guy’s hands as he helps, his touch careful but distant.

The guide secures me with straps, making sure I’m stable. I just want to get this over with. I keep my eyes fixed ahead, ignoring the awkwardness of it all.

“You’re going to feel a few bumps,” the guide says. “But we’ll go slow and steady. We’re about thirty minutes from the bottom.”

I nod, the words barely registering. I’m too focused on getting off this mountain, getting away from the cold, the pain, and the embarrassment.

The second skier, the one who’s been quiet this whole time, moves to ski alongside the sled. He doesn’t say anything, just positions himself near the guide.

They start down, the guide taking the lead while the other guy keeps pace beside me, his movements smooth and controlled. I close my eyes, willing the throbbing in my leg to dull as we descend.

Just get me off this mountain.

TWO

Nicholas

Hark, how the bells / Sweet silver bells / All seem to say / Throw cares away.

11:47 am

We skiinto the base of the mountain, Benjy slows the sled carefully as the rescue team comes into view. Fucking shitty that my session with the backcountry guide had to be cut short. When I saw who it was, that only compounded my irritation.

The skies are getting grayer by the minute, so the likelihood we are going back up is slim to none.

Paramedics are waiting for us. Benjy radioed in that there was an injured skier he was bringing in, so I'm sure they have everything ready to roll as soon as he delivers her.

The experience of all of this, while frustrating, surprisingly hits me like a punch to the gut. It’s been four years since I lostmy sister. Eventhough I deal with ambulances and paramedics multiple times a day, somehow the sight of it all in this setting, the time of the year, the urgency in their movement—all of it takes me back. I grip my poles tighter, willing myself to focus, but my mind drifts back to that day.

December 29, 2020. Helena, my sister, and her husband, Bobby, had just gotten back from Florida after spending Christmas with his family. She’d taken Sammy, their son, out for a quick trip to the store. Just a simple errand, nothing out of the ordinary. But that’s when it happened.

I can still hear Bobby’s voice when he called. I’ll never forget it: shaky, panicked. “There’s been an accident, Nick. Helena and Sammy... they’re hurt.”

By the time I got to the scene, the ambulance was already pulling away. Blue and red lights flashing through the cold winter air.

Her burgundy SUV was completely crushed at the driver’s door. I don’t even know how they got her out. I don’t know how anyone would survive that level of impact.

Helena was gone. And Sammy, only fourteen months old at the time, was inside that ambulance—tiny, strapped in, so damn fragile.

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