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 didn’t hear it. All he could think of was the empty spot he had left in the lift behind him.
“Look at this guy, he’s just standing there,” the voice was teasing.
“Must be his first time.”
They laughed.
Russell gripped his ski poles. Through his thick gloves, he couldn’t feel the bumps of the grip. He couldn’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.
“Are you okay?” It was the first time he’d spoken all day, and his lips felt thick and clumsy.
“Uh.” 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. “That’s the nice part of skiing alone,” he told himself, “No one to slow you down. No one to keep up with. You just do you.”
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 o’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.
“Hey, you’re the guy who helped me earlier.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Yes, you are. I recognize your hat.”
Russell took off his hat and stuffed it in his pocket, “Lots of people have this hat.”
“It has flowers on it.”
“People like flowers.”
“I guess.”
The line moved forward and Russell took a bowl.
“Jeanie,” the woman reached over him and took a bowl.
“What?”
“That’s my name.”
“I didn’t ask,” Russell dipped the ladle into the soup.
Jeanie held up her bowl, “Are you here with friends?”
“Nope,” Russell ladled soup into her bowl.
“Wanna sit together?”
“Yeah.” Mentally he kicked himself. Things had been fine, fun even. Now he’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 “PU-stew.”
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.
“What was your name?” Jeanie ripped open a packet of crackers.
“Russell,” he dipped the spork into the soup.
Jeanie dumped the oyster crackers into her soup. Mixing it together, she ate a spoonful.
“So you like PU-stew?”
Jeanie covered her mouth, “Is that what you call it?”
“My friend Chris used to. Before he got a girlfriend. Now they do, you know, couples skis,” Russell opened the packet of saltines. He crumbled the cracker, watching the pieces snow down on the cheese soup.
“So that’s why you’re alone. Me, I got ditched,” she stabbed her PU-stew with the tines of her spork.
“You’ll meet up with your friends again,” 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. “So this is why you’re alone,” her eyes were hurt, accusing.
It was fine. He didn’t need anyone slowing him down.
“I hope you’re right,” Jeanie croaked. She swiped at her eyes with a brown paper napkin.
“We can hang out until they do.”
No. Why did he say that?
“I could give you some skiing tips.”
No, stop.
“You’re sweet,” she sniffed, “but I don’t feel like skiing.”
“We could . . . spin coins.”
“What?” There was a hitch in her voice as if she was somewhere between laughing and crying.
“We’ll sit here and spin coins until your friends show up. Everyone’s gotta eat,” Russell dug in his pocket. He produced four shiny quarters, enough to run the drier in the shared laundry.
Jeanie snorted, “Okay, but I feel bad.”
“Why?” Russell gave a coin a flick. It spun like a dizzy ballerina.
“You came here to ski. Not to babysit.”
“You’re not a baby,” Russell started another quarter. The two coins circled each other.
“I have a boyfriend.”
“Okay.”
“I just don’t want you to feel like you wasted your time.”
“I already do,” 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, “You don’t have to stay with me. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay then,” Russell stood. He looked at his soup. He sat.
“I wasn’t saying you had to leave,” she set the quarter into motion. It skittered across the table. “Just, you know, you can do what you want.”
“I want to eat my soup.”
“Yeah, me too.”
They ate, the other tables’ conversations filling in for them.
“And then Steve . . .”
“. . . that one next.”
“But I really like cross-country better . . .”
Jeanie finished her soup with a sigh, “Now I’m happy.”
“That’s all it takes, huh?” 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.
“Do you want more?”
“No, I’m good,” he crumpled up his napkin and dropped it in his bowl. The napkin darkened as it soaked up the soup.
“Oh,” Jeanie’s eyes widened.
Russell followed her gaze. Three men tramped over to the cafeteria counter, each grabbing a plastic tray.
“They all went to college together,” Jeanie clung to the side of the table.
“They feel like you’re trying to break them up,” Russell picked up his quarters, “Like me, they don’t want to ski alone.”
“Neither do I!”
“It’s fine though, fun even. Unless you go down every hill like that on your bottom, then you’ll be sore tomorrow.”
Jeanie laughed, then her face sobered, “I have to go soon.”
“I was leaving anyway,” Russell stood up. Outside the snow seemed to go on forever, and he couldn’t wait to see where it took him.