Page 2 of Going Down

This is my third winter season at the resort. It’s Sunday and I’m scheduled for the full eight hours of operation. Our normal closing time is six, but there’s always the possibility with the current forecast that visibility becomes nil and the owners shut down early for safety reasons. I’m beginning to comprehend the ins and outs of guest behavior. The crowds are thicker now to get runs in and they’ll disperse as the afternoon wears on, heading for shelter as soon as the snow picks up.

“What did your fortune say this morning?” Chip’s on the resort social media account, poised to type away at the computer keyboard. Everyone knows that fortune cookies are my thing. I’m hooked on the red writer’s opinion on my destiny the way others have to read their horoscope. Chip is waiting for the day it jokes “Help! I’m being held captive in a fortune cookie factory.” However, he’s been using those little slips of paper to increase our engagement and followers and it’s working.

“Don’t post this one.” I hedge. “Make something up.”

Chip waggles his fingers without looking away from the screen. I put the fortune on the counter and he snatches it before I can take it back.

“A beautiful, smart and loving person will come into your life.” He reads the printed words aloud. “This one has possibility!”

“Highly unlikely…And you swore you wouldn’t share the lovey-dovey ones.”

Chip points to the dry erase board on the wall. From smudges and other colors left behind, it looks like the name of my partner for the day changed several times.

“Dash?” I question with a thin veil of skepticism. The name of a new employee this season is written next to mine in red marker. I don’t have anything against Dash per se. It’s that I’ve never paired with him on the slopes and…Well, for as much as all the girls on staff like his smile, he’s a bit odd. For instance, all of Christmas week he skied with antlers attached to his helmet and a light-up red nose on his goggles.

Most everyone considers his antics fun-loving. Except, it’s also obvious when Dash works a shift because the whole place smells like garlic or cumin from his lunch. The poor skier or rider who winds up needing mouth-to-mouth when Dash is on duty will wake resuscitated with lungs full of Panyang or Thai green curry chicken. I’m hoping Dash isn’t a close talker and plan to keep my distance in case he is.

“How about I edit it to: ‘a smart and helpful person will come into your life’?”

“Fine.” I agree.

Chip tosses his chin to the door. “Hey Dash, gear up because I want a pic for this post to show teamwork and camaraderie.” My partner is sauntering in as the clock strikes on the hour.

Dash has on an Army/Navy store parka with fur-lined collar and trimmed duck boots to match. But it’s what he’s not wearing that makes the biggest impression. Dash seems to have forgotten his pants and is on sub-zero walkabout in a pair of thin black long underwear.

I can’t help staring when he unzips the camo green jacket. Over the top of his long sleeves is a second shirt with a skier plunging from a lift and the words: Ski Patrol. You fall. We haul. The tee is funny, but neither cover his firm spandex-clad assets—front or back—making it hard to look away. I push the wide headband I’ve been using as a neck warmer over my face, pretending I need it to keep my braids out of my way. I hope neither of them notice the small flames escaping my collar.

“Got it.” Dash drops his gear in the middle of the commercial-grade carpeted floor and rummages for the red coat that matches mine. “Inside or out?”

“Pose over by the exam table. The flakes outside will obscure the shot.” Chip directs us, clearing his throat.

“Kat, we’re finally doing this together. I’m stoked!” Dash glances at the scheduling board, giving my hand a firm shake before he puts his long blond hair up in a man bun.

How Dash wears his hair on-duty became the subject of an online poll after a female guest commented about how when it was pulled back it made it easier to get lost in his crystal blue eyes. He shrugs on his jacket and I stand a safe distance from him, trying to find a bright side. Snapshots of Dash get about twice the engagement as my fortunes. It’s because no one can smell him over the internet.

His huge arm comes around me and he tugs me closer. I guess personal space isn’t his thing. I’m hit with minty-fresh breath as he smiles and relief washes over me. That is until Dash starts talking about the two hours until lunch and offers to share his Chongqing Chicken.

“What’s that?” I ask, hesitant.

“Poultry with dried chilis, ginger and Sichuan peppercorn. I also have Tabasco Red Currant Brownies fresh from the oven this morning,” he says like they’re a delicacy.

“Thanks, but I’ll stick to a bacon cheeseburger from the snack shack today.”

“Offer’s open if you change your mind. Let’s do this, Kat!”

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Accept something that you cannot change and you will feel better

“Last bite.” Dash pushes a small square in front of me.

I look up from the final get-well postcard I’ve been addressing to a visitor who came into First Aid last week.

Since the single team Chip managed to scrounge up for coverage was Dash and I, we’ve been lucky we haven’t had many serious calls. It’s been a slow morning. The impending weather has kept the number of guests skiing and riding down. Here in First Aid, our goal is for the resort guests to follow the rules so they come back all season long. It’s not just a money-making thing. They’re here to have a good time and we want to enjoy the snow alongside them. A day without incident is only boring if you let it be. If the sun were out, I’m sure my partner—who is a rather interesting character—would have us outside waiting on a call. The wet heavy snow solidified our decision to stay inside and tick the more mundane tasks off the list so our co-workers won’t be stuck with them another day.

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