Page 101 of Damaged

“Well. I know where I’m going,” says James. “Alex, last one to the bottom buys dinner.”

“You’re on.”

The two start ferociously planting with their poles towards the start of the slope.

“Wow, look at those titans of industry go,” Hailee says, and I laugh.

“Boys are boys. Always.”

James and Alex’s banter begins to dim as they descend the mountain.

“Are you comfortable with the blue diamond?” Hailee nods at the start of the slope.

“Is there an easier slope?”

She bares her teeth in lighthearted apology.

“Okay. I can do blue.”

“You can always just scoot down on your butt for a bit if you need to. I had to do that a couple times in Washington when I got in over my head. But trust me. You’ll be more in control than it looks.”

“I might just do that.”

“Alright. Let’s hit it!” Hailee starts to make her way to the slope entrance.

We wait for a pack of snowboarders to go, and then we go over the point of no return.

We build speed, and Hailee is solidly in front of me. She keeps an eye over her shoulder to make sure I’ve got the hang of it. And I do, albeit I’m going a very responsible ten miles per hour or so.

I’m cruising, not racing.

“Give it a little gas! Trust me!” Hailee shouts back, and I oblige.

I open my legs more.

“French fry or die, bitches!” Hailee yells, and I’m smiling. She really does come more alive on the mountain, and I can see why.

I begin to build speed. Pretty soon I’m racing. I test my steering and veer right and then left. Perfect. Controlled. I can do this, easy peasy.

Pretty soon the little pit of fear in my stomach has turned into pure elation as we glide down the slope.

We’re hooting and hollering, and I’m even making sharp enough turns to send up waves of snow. But as we descend some, the fog is back, and visibility is somewhat limited to maybe a hundred yards or so. That’s about as far ahead as Hailee ends up. As much as I let loose, she is still a multitude faster. Maybe on the next slope, I’ll be comfy enough to match her speed.

Soon she’s gone completely, and so is everybody else. I’m alone on the mountain but not scared. It’s nice just hearing the slice of my skis. Smelling the fresh air and the trees.

The slope’s route is obvious—there’s a highway of ski tracks in the snow. But as I get farther down the slope, something is wrong. The slope seems to end at a big wall of snow, but I’m not at the bottom of the mountain. I can’t be more than halfway down.

Are we supposed to jump over it? I wonder, but the snow is rough and high and not rounded like a jump would be. By the time I realize that the slope cuts a very hard right, I have to move my legs too quickly.

I feel gravity win. I lose control. I turn my left ski too hard, and it’s not positioned correctly to help me turn. I start to fall. I brace myself, ready to break my back, but inside I slam into the wall of snow with a soft plump.

I blink for a moment, trying to feel if anything is hurt. But I’m fine. The most discomfort I have is some snow falling down the front of my ski jacket.

“Oh!” I say aloud, sighing in relief. I look back up the empty slope from where I came. “Thank God no one saw that.”

“I did.” I hear a voice on top of the wall of snow.

I frown and look up to see James with his goggles resting on his forehead.

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