Page 4 of Going Down

When the backboard is reattached to the sled, Dash pulls our patient down the mountain. I ski at a safe distance behind, trying to keep the rest of the kids who were with her from following too close and causing another accident. I’m glad he took point on this call.

The teens groan like I’m a substitute teacher when I instruct them that they can’t follow us into the building. They’re now waiting outside while their friend is lying on the exam table. I feel bad she’s alone and I hold her hand as she shakes. Even if she was a little cunt, I don’t wish a visit here on anyone. Dash checks her vitals and I ask her a few basic questions like her full name and birthday for the incident forms we have to fill out.

Then comes the moment of truth. Dash is as gentle as he can be pulling the girl’s boot off. Her gray face goes ashen at the pain, making the contrast of her dilated pupils and deep brown of her eyebrows stick out in comparison to her blanched face. Her jacket is off and her sleeve is still rolled up from the blood pressure cuff. I rub my other palm over the goosebumps that have broken out on her arm.

I’ve seen enough people pass out from the pain at this point, but it’s rare when someone remarks, “I’m going to throw up” the way this patient does. Her response catches us off guard as she rolls and gets sick down the front of Dash’s black snow bib style ski pants.

Both of their eyes go wide.

“How about you clean up and I’ll take it from here,” I say offering the girl a tissue for her face and taking shallow breaths through my mouth.

Even though he’s stuffed up and suffering from a cold, Chip gags spreading sawdust on the floor to soak up the liquid.

Dash doesn’t come out of the restroom until the teen’s parents are notified and the ambulance has left. He’s barefoot and back to wearing his tight skivvies with a fresh baby blue shirt that says “ride like a girl”. It seems exactly like something Dash would have in his dresser drawers.

“I’ve gotten puked on before, but…Ugh, there were chunks in my ski boots!” He walks over to the desk and takes the lid off of Chip’s industrial-size hand sanitizer slathering it up his forearms to his elbows.

“Nice shirt.” I laugh a little but give Dash the sympathy he deserves.

“My sisters bought this for me. They didn’t think I’d wear it. No offense.”

“None taken. I’m not the one who fell.” I shrug and finish spraying disinfectant on the exam table.

He pulls on his green coat and baby pink three-fingered trigger mittens. The image screen printed on the back is a hand flashing the bird.

I raise my chin. The gloves aren’t exactly work-appropriate.

“Yeah, these too. They tell me it’s payback for when we were young. Jokes on them. They’re super warm. Here try them.”

I do and he’s right. I make a mental note of the label in case I want to get myself a pair before giving them back to Dash.

“You two.” Chip hacks and opens a window, letting the chilly air vent out the strong scents. “It’s almost closing time. Dash, I was going to offer for you to hit the slopes, but you can’t go like that, man. Your balls will fall off.” This is Chip’s nice way of telling Dash to put on some clothes.

“My board is in my vehicle along with an extra set of pants.” Dash won’t let the opportunity slip by. “Kat, you up for a run?”

“Sure.”

Dash is back in record time. He’s put on his spare snow pants in the parking lot. I cover my eyes they’re so bright.

“Are those from your sister too?”

“Nope. I found them on sale. Picked up a yellow pair too.” He tugs at the fuchsia fabric. “Come on, the lift’s only operating for another ten.”

We’re an interesting sight slogging toward the chairlift. I’m feeling corporate, official, next to Dash who looks like a vagrant surfer on a ski trip, but I stop worrying about appearances and fall into an easy banter laughing at Dash’s jokes.

We get in one run before close and hitch a ride back up a second time with a heavy machine driver, breaking a million safety rules. This time at the top we opt to head for the terrain park. I weave in and out of the obstacles while Dash glides over the boxes. Approaching the last one, I twist my hips and pull my skis up sliding across the railing and landing in the opposite direction.

Dash hoots and claps for me. “How long have you been skiing?”

“Since I could walk. Started boarding when I was a few years younger than the girl we brought in. How about you?” I lift my goggles and remove a glove to scratch underneath my helmet where one of my braids is pushing into my scalp.

Dash touches the rough, bleached ends. He inspectsthem for a minute. When he looks at me the heat trapped by the layers I’m wearing has escaped, rushing to my cheeks.

“Broke my leg the first time out when I was seven. The medics at that mountain were awesome. I’m not sure I had the chance to get scared and, by the time my cast was off, I’d decided I was making skiing my bitch. After that, whenever my parents asked where we wanted to go on vacation, I found a new mountain to conquer.”

“Hero worship is how you got into Ski Patrol?”

“Partially, yes. I teach during the weekdays.”

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