Chapter 14 #2
I can’t think about whether I’m devastated or not.
The cold keeps me in the urgency of the moment.
I look around, my eyes trying so hard to compensate for all the junk that’s in the way of a clear view that I’m getting a headache.
My eye sockets ache, and every time I blink it’s like a million flashbulbs pop.
But I can still see the difference between the white snow and the dark trees. And that’s going to have to be enough.
I’ll just take my time. No rush. But even though I set off almost sideways, the incline of the mountain has other ideas for my speed.
I sit down twice in about ninety seconds.
I finally manage the first switchback, but heading out again across the trail makes panic fill the sides of my throat.
I keep accelerating against my will, and my adrenaline is shaking my legs so badly it’s hard to stay on my feet.
If there’s anything sticking up out of the snow, like a branch or a rock, I’m not going to be able to see it.
And if another skier comes close, I won’t see them in time, either.
A crash is practically inevitable. It occurs to me that if my school ends up with two accidental student deaths in one month, it’ll probably be national news.
But there’s only one way down. I keep going.
I’ve only crisscrossed twice and my thighs are burning from the tension.
I make the turn and squint, trying to get a sense of whether there’s anything in front of me.
It’s like there’s a TV remote for the whole world and someone has turned the contrast way down.
How can I go slower? I think about turning the points of my skis uphill, but can’t figure out the physics of the consequences.
I definitely don’t want to end up skiing backward.
“Let me be the first to say that you were so right, Hattie. I was wrong. That Dick—uh—Richard Walker is a real gem.”
When Mason didn’t come to my call earlier, I sort of decided I could only see him in my town, in a place we both shared.
So now, having him materialize on the mountain freaks me out all over again.
His ability to be everywhere makes him less real, more like a dream.
Yet there he is, at my right elbow, taunting me.
Whether he’s also skiing or simply floating is somehow impossible to tell, since like everything else in my world right now, he is infuriatingly blurry.
“Jesus. Can you not right now? I’m trying to concentrate.
” I press my lips together and will my legs to do what they’re supposed to do without overthinking it.
The weight shifting for each turn happens faster than I can bear, so each time I feel like I might go spinning away, like a top off a string.
“Yes, of course, don’t let me bother you. I just wanted to compliment you on your judgment. I mean, what a keeper. Don’t let him get away from you.”
Just then an orange snowsuit flies past me, his proximity creating enough breeze to move the wispy hairs poking out of my helmet.
I yelp and fall over. The feeling of the solid ground along my body is actually a relief.
I scooch to the side until I’m off the hard-packed trail and into the soft powder among the trees.
I lie still, my legs sideways to accommodate the skis. Maybe I’ll stay here forever.
“Graceful as ever, Miss Murphy.”
I’m angry now. “I don’t know why you persist in expecting perfection from people, Mason, but it’s pretty unfair.
No wonder you were always disappointed by everything.
You think I should be some great skier?!
This is only my second time. You think I should have been able to read Richard’s mind, see into the future, know what someone I don’t really know is going to do? ”
“Like I said, he’s human aspartame,” he says with a shrug.
I growl. “You are so. Damn. Infuriating!” I want to keep yelling at him, but I can’t because I’ve started to sob.
It’s messy and loud, with lots of chokes and snorts.
I don’t even care that I’m making a fool of myself.
“It’s all falling apart! Everything. Everything is going to hell!
And you’re making it worse!” I feel splotchy and contorted.
Mason’s presence starts skittering around me, hovering over me. “Hey, hey there,” he says, sounding panicked. “I was only kidding. It was a joke. Fuck. Don’t cry, Murph. It’s not that bad.”
“How would you know? You’re not even really here.
” I let the vowels of here stretch out in a wail, like a preschool kid whose mom has just left on the first day of school.
If he were really here, he could hold me while I cried, make me feel better and warmer.
The strength of my wish for that makes my heart hurt.
I close my eyes and try to stop existing.
What have I been holding myself together for, anyway?
I can tell he’s staring at me hard now. Assessing me. “Hey, Murphy, we’ve got to get you down this mountain. You are really cold. Like, hypothermically cold. Let’s go somewhere warm.”
“Nah,” I say. All the crying has exhausted me. “I’m good here.” I’m probably shivering too much to ski now anyway.
“Nope,” he says, all business. “Up you go. Get up. Right now, Murphy. Let’s move.” Weirdly, it seems like he is becoming clearer and more solidly of this earth. Is that because he’s so serious?
“Why should I listen to you? You don’t even wear a freaking life jacket on a freaking lake.
” I am free to say anything I want now. My inhibitions are gone.
I rest my head back in the snow and listen to the rhythmic whoosh of passing skiers, and somewhere in the distance, a generator.
I’ll take a nap here, and I’ll feel more energized to ski when I’m rested.
Suddenly, something is pushing and pulling me at the same time, as if the snow below me is surging upward like a wave, like I’m a paper clip and there’s a giant magnet in front of me. Without making the decision to, I’m standing.
“What did you learn to do when you started skiing earlier today?” Mason says.
“Keep my body weight forward?” I say.
“No. What do the little kids do?”
“Snowplow,” I mumble.
“That’s right! That’s great, Murph. Let’s see that snowplow.
” I start to inch out of the trees, the tips of my skis coming to a point.
“There! That’s great! You’re great at this, Murphy.
Stay right at the edge of the trail and keep that snowplow, just like a pizza slice, push the backs of those skis wider with your heels.
You’re in control now. You’re doing it.”
“I’ll hit a tree,” I protest.
“Nope. No way. I’ll let you know before anything like that happens.”
Somehow I’m moving again, concentrating on keeping the line of trees just to my right and not crossing my skis in the front. Mason is talking the whole time, cheering me on, occasionally giving directions. In fact, he won’t shut up. It’s weird to hear him so full of positivity.
“This peppy vibe is a new look for you,” I get out between chattering teeth.
“Just high on life, I guess.”
“You mean high on death.”
“Semantics,” he says. “Almost there now, Murph! You’re going to make it!”
He’s right. The hill is evening out, the incline becoming more gradual. The lodge is close enough that even my blotchy vision can make it out up ahead. The possibility of getting safe and warm fills me with a final adrenaline rush, and I straighten my skis the slightest bit to pick up speed.
This is a mistake, as two seconds later, I nearly collide with a line of orange barrels.
I’ve tempted fate enough. I snowplow hard until I come to a stop, then I unclick.
I drag the skis to the building and lean them against the wall.
“I did it, Mason. Thank you for helping—” I say, but it turns out I’m talking to myself. He’s gone.