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Short Story: Lift Ticket for One


Things were fine.  The air was crisp and icy.  If Russell looked down, he could see his skis, red against the treetops.  Everything was in a hush except for the grinding of the lift.


It was fine.  Skiing was fun.


A wind blew and his vision blurred.  The sound of the lift increased, then he was nudged off the seat and onto the snow.  Majesty screamed at him, but he didnā€™t hear it.  All he could think of was the empty spot he had left in the lift behind him.


ā€œLook at this guy, heā€™s just standing there,ā€ the voice was teasing.


ā€œMust be his first time.ā€


They laughed.


Russell gripped his ski poles.  Through his thick gloves, he couldnā€™t feel the bumps of the grip.  He couldnā€™t feel anything.  He was rising out of his body with the steam that rose out of his mouth.  He was melting into the snow underneath his feet.  He was slowing into a glacier, dying and being born.

 


The ski lift dropped off another pair.  A skier in a purple parka slid sideways, then backward.  Russell grabbed her and arrested their mutual descent into a bank of trees.


ā€œAre you okay?ā€  It was the first time heā€™d spoken all day, and his lips felt thick and clumsy.


ā€œUh.ā€  It was a woman with oversized goggles.  Her eyes were wide behind them, her mouth hidden behind a scarf.


Russell waited for her to say that she was okay, but instead, she set off down the hill.  He watched her fall and slide on her bottom until she was out of sight.  ā€œThatā€™s the nice part of skiing alone,ā€ he told himself, ā€œNo one to slow you down.  No one to keep up with.  You just do you.ā€


He set off, gravity pulling him along until he was only aware of the slope in front of him.  Once the ground leveled out, he was numb and ready to board the ski lift again.


It was two oā€™clock when he stumbled into the lodge cafeteria.  Even though the lunch hour was over, there was still a line for the soup bar.  Russell was trying to decide between waiting or settling for a dry looking sandwich when something purple caught his eye.  He turned his back and stared at the vat of cheddar broccoli soup.


ā€œHey, youā€™re the guy who helped me earlier.ā€


ā€œNo, I donā€™t think so.ā€


ā€œYes, you are.  I recognize your hat.ā€


Russell took off his hat and stuffed it in his pocket, ā€œLots of people have this hat.ā€


ā€œIt has flowers on it.ā€


ā€œPeople like flowers.ā€


ā€œI guess.ā€


The line moved forward and Russell took a bowl.


ā€œJeanie,ā€ the woman reached over him and took a bowl.


ā€œWhat?ā€


ā€œThatā€™s my name.ā€


ā€œI didnā€™t ask,ā€ Russell dipped the ladle into the soup.


Jeanie held up her bowl, ā€œAre you here with friends?ā€


ā€œNope,ā€ Russell ladled soup into her bowl.


ā€œWanna sit together?ā€


ā€œYeah.ā€  Mentally he kicked himself.  Things had been fine, fun even.  Now heā€™d have to be careful not to slurp his soup, or fill it full of crushed crackers.  Brad had always hated it when he did that and Chris called it ā€œPU-stew.ā€


He picked up a packet of crackers anyway.  Jeanie was right behind him, snagging two packs of oyster crackers with her skinny fingers.  They paid, gathered their sporks, and settled into a melamine booth.


ā€œWhat was your name?ā€  Jeanie ripped open a packet of crackers.


ā€œRussell,ā€ he dipped the spork into the soup.


Jeanie dumped the oyster crackers into her soup.  Mixing it together, she ate a spoonful. 


ā€œSo you like PU-stew?ā€


Jeanie covered her mouth, ā€œIs that what you call it?ā€


ā€œMy friend Chris used to.  Before he got a girlfriend.  Now they do, you know, couples skis,ā€ Russell opened the packet of saltines.  He crumbled the cracker, watching the pieces snow down on the cheese soup.


ā€œSo thatā€™s why youā€™re alone.  Me, I got ditched,ā€ she stabbed her PU-stew with the tines of her spork.


ā€œYouā€™ll meet up with your friends again,ā€ Russell took a sporkful of soup.  The warmth of it spread through him as he swallowed.


Jeanie frowned at him, her mouth pulled into a tight, upside-down smile.


Since she was silent, he imagined her repeating the last thing she said.  ā€œSo this is why youā€™re alone,ā€ her eyes were hurt, accusing.


It was fine.  He didnā€™t need anyone slowing him down.


ā€œI hope youā€™re right,ā€ Jeanie croaked.  She swiped at her eyes with a brown paper napkin.


ā€œWe can hang out until they do.ā€


No.  Why did he say that?


ā€œI could give you some skiing tips.ā€


No, stop.


ā€œYouā€™re sweet,ā€ she sniffed, ā€œbut I donā€™t feel like skiing.ā€


ā€œWe could . . . spin coins.ā€


ā€œWhat?ā€  There was a hitch in her voice as if she was somewhere between laughing and crying.


ā€œWeā€™ll sit here and spin coins until your friends show up.  Everyoneā€™s gotta eat,ā€ Russell dug in his pocket.  He produced four shiny quarters, enough to run the drier in the shared laundry.


Jeanie snorted, ā€œOkay, but I feel bad.ā€


ā€œWhy?ā€  Russell gave a coin a flick.  It spun like a dizzy ballerina.


ā€œYou came here to ski.  Not to babysit.ā€


ā€œYouā€™re not a baby,ā€ Russell started another quarter.  The two coins circled each other.


ā€œI have a boyfriend.ā€


ā€œOkay.ā€


ā€œI just donā€™t want you to feel like you wasted your time.ā€


ā€œI already do,ā€ Russell spun another coin.


One quarter wobbled in front of Jeanie.  It made a ringing sound, like the chime of a bell.  She slapped it down with her hand, ā€œYou donā€™t have to stay with me.  Iā€™ll be fine.ā€


ā€œOkay then,ā€ Russell stood.  He looked at his soup.  He sat.


ā€œI wasnā€™t saying you had to leave,ā€ she set the quarter into motion.  It skittered across the table.  ā€œJust, you know, you can do what you want.ā€


ā€œI want to eat my soup.ā€


ā€œYeah, me too.ā€


They ate, the other tablesā€™ conversations filling in for them.


ā€œAnd then Steve . . .ā€


ā€œ. . . that one next.ā€


ā€œBut I really like cross-country better . . .ā€


Jeanie finished her soup with a sigh, ā€œNow Iā€™m happy.ā€


ā€œThatā€™s all it takes, huh?ā€  Russell peered into his paper bowl.  There was soup left, but not enough to scoop up with his spork.  If he was alone, he could lift the bowl up and drink it.


ā€œDo you want more?ā€


ā€œNo, Iā€™m good,ā€ he crumpled up his napkin and dropped it in his bowl.  The napkin darkened as it soaked up the soup.


ā€œOh,ā€ Jeanieā€™s eyes widened.


Russell followed her gaze.  Three men tramped over to the cafeteria counter, each grabbing a plastic tray.


ā€œThey all went to college together,ā€ Jeanie clung to the side of the table.


ā€œThey feel like youā€™re trying to break them up,ā€ Russell picked up his quarters, ā€œLike me, they donā€™t want to ski alone.ā€


ā€œNeither do I!ā€


ā€œItā€™s fine though, fun even.  Unless you go down every hill like that on your bottom, then youā€™ll be sore tomorrow.ā€


Jeanie laughed, then her face sobered, ā€œI have to go soon.ā€


ā€œI was leaving anyway,ā€ Russell stood up.  Outside the snow seemed to go on forever, and he couldnā€™t wait to see where it took him.



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