Draft of “Our Last Run”

It was spring break my 8^th grade year. Most of my classmates bragged about how they were getting away from the ice and snow of the Montana winter. Some of them were going to Florida, others to Mexico. Mostly they just all went somewhere warm, somewhere without thick layers of snow covering everything. Good for them, but for me, I had different plans. My friend, Shawn, and I had rented one of the cabins at the Lost Horse Ski Resort. The resort was located in the Rocky Mountains and spanned the Montana, Idaho border. While other people sat sunning themselves on warm sandy beaches drinking out of coconuts with little straw hats in them, we were flying down mountains and weaving through trees.

After a full week of skiing, Friday night rolled around which meant we only had one more day to spend on the slopes. It would be our last major ski trip of the season and we had saved the best for last. We had ambitious plans for Saturday. So that night we ate a hearty meal at the lodge and went back to the cabin early. Before climbing into bed we both put fresh wax on the bottom of our skis in the attempt to defeat friction.

God must have heard my prayers because in the morning a fresh blanket of snow covered the mountain. Despite being anxious to get the day started I took extra time preparing. I wanted to savor every last moment; the cooking of the eggs and bacon, the zipping up of the jacket and the clipping of the boots. As we left the cabin, the only sound was of our boots crunching in the fresh snow. It was pristine.

Along side our cabin was a rough hewn bench next to where our skis stood on end out of a drift. I brushed off the snow from the bench and sat down to clip on my skis. The snow was perfect for skiing, not too dry yet dry enough as to not slow us down. Snap. My feet found their familiar place inside the binding on my ski. The sound of my boots clipping in was all that was needed to get the adrenaline flowing. It was a familiar sound, and every time it told my body. “O.K. now its game time.”

It was hard to contain the excitement as we road the lift up the mountain. Neither of us spoke because there was nothing to say. We had a thirty minute ride to the top, but it would be worth it. Today we were going to go down The Cliffs. It was our favorite run at the resort, mainly because it was the most dangerous. It was called The Cliffs for the exact reasons that one might assume, it was made up of cliffs. There were sheer drop offs and unforgiving landings. The run was located on the backside of the mountain, far away from the Bunny Hill and Southern Comfort. We always saved it for our last run of the day. But this time we had saved it to be our last run of the week, the last run of the season. It was because this was going to be our last run of the season that we were both filled with anticipation. At least it felt like anticipation. Perhaps it was angst. What if the run didn’t go perfectly, what if one of us got hurt? I pushed the thought from my head as we jumped off the lift at the top. We were unbreakable.

“Wow its quiet.” Shawn said and I realized this was the first time we talked all morning.

“Yeah, it is.”

Except for the few morning birds we were the only ones on the slopes this early. But soon bus loads of little children and shouting parents would erupt onto the mountain and kill the silence. Knowing this I savored it before proceeding. There was not a cloud in the sky and the sun reflected off of the snow like thousands of little mirrors.  I slid my Oakley goggles down over my eyes, to shade them from the blinding snow, as I pushed off with my leg, launching my body in the direction of the trail head. Not many trees could survive up this high, and the ones that were up here had grown crooked and knotted. Gliding over the snow I saw a little rodent of some kind scurry into a hole with something clutched in its oversized teeth. As I watched the rodent and wondered what it would be like to live up here, Shawn flew by me and shouted something inaudible back at me. What a showoff. But I didn’t worry about it because I knew that we weren’t racing to the trail head, we would race back down to the lodge. It had always been a competition between us, as most things were, whoever was the last one down The Cliffs had to buy diner that night before we left. It was usually me. But this time would be different, I felt it, I knew it. This time I would be the first one down and he would be left buying me diner.

As I neared the run, little signs popped out of the snow warning me to turn around, warning me that this was a run only for experts. I thought that the sign with a skull and crossbones saying “Ski at your own risk” was a little over the top, but perhaps it persuaded less ambitious skiers to turn around. A quick minute later I reached the top of the run only to have Shawn ask me. “What took you so long?”

“Just enjoying the scenery I guess.” I said looking down the face of the mountain. “It always looks so steep from up here.”

“Don’t be such a pansy about it. We can always go on an easier run if you are going to be a girl.”

“Yeah you are going to be the pansy when I beat you down the mountain.”

“I’m sure you are. Look, since I am such a good friend I will even give you a head start this time.”

For a second I thought about it but then responded. “Don’t worry about it; I’m not going to need a head start today.” A fairly strong crosswind blew in from the South scattering powder in the air in front of us. “You ready for this!” I shouted pulling my gloves tight and getting a firm grip on my polls. I could feel my heart working overtime in my chest, pushing blood and adrenaline through my body. “Go!” The word jumped out of my mouth as I dug my polls hard into the ground and thrust forward with all the force I could muster. For a brief second as I flew off the initial drop off I was weightless, floating in the air thousands of feet above the valley floor. And at that moment, suspended and floating, I knew why I would rather be wet and cold than on a beach in California. But as the ground rushed up at me I braced myself for impact and landed hard launching a spray of snow and ice into the air. The snow covered my face but quickly melted leaving little droplets that make my now rosy cheeks glitter in the sun.

After the initial drop, the slope mellowed out but was covered in igloo shaped moguls. As I bounced over and between the moguls I glanced over at Shawn just in time to see him land a double cross. Show off. He faltered a bit on the landing but after he regained his balance he looked over and flashed me the thumbs up. I threw one back at him. We darted between the moguls for a couple hundred feet until the next drop off. This is where things got tricky. As I flew over the cliff, the ground vanished from under my skis and appeared ten feet below me. Now it was my time to show off. I launched over the cliff and snapped my arms around spinning my body in a full circle causing the colors to blur before my eyes. When I hit the ground I was greeted by a fresh wave of snow in my face and a shooting pain in my back as I landed too hard and slightly cockeyed. I tried to get my balance but my skis crossed forcing me to bottom out momentarily before I managed to regain control. An expletive escaped my mouth and I felt foolish for trying to show of. It only made it worse when I noticed Shawn chuckling a few yards ahead of me.

It had only been a couple minutes but we were already halfway down the run. I could tell we were halfway down because more and more trees poked out of the snow and dotted the mountainside. But I could also tell because the familiar burn in my knees and thighs told me that they were getting tired. At this point the grade of the slope began falling out from underneath our skis forcing us to constantly cut back in order slow our momentum. But even with all the cut backs we were blazing down the mountain. I pretended that we were going so fast that if we had been in a cartoon, the snow behind us would be on fire. It seemed only fitting. And perhaps I imagined what happened next. Perhaps I imagined Shawn’s ski getting caught on a sharp piece of rock that protruded out of the snow like a talon. Perhaps I imagined the pop and crack as Shawn’s ski was clawed off by the rock forcing his knee into an unnatural position. I tried to convince myself that I imagined Shawn’s body skidding off a short precipice and continue rolling down the hill. But I didn’t imagine his other ski snap off his boot and fly into the air. And I couldn’t imagine the crack as Shawn came to a stop with his body wedged up against a small pine tree. He had hit the tree with such force that a few pine needles fell off the tree and sprinkled the snow around his body. He lay with his back up against the tree and his head slumped loosely off to the side. I dug the edges of my skis into the snow and came to an abrupt stop. All I could think to say was. “Shit.”After gathering myself I turned down the mountain toward Shawn and as I propelled myself down as fast as I could I shouted hollow words like: “I’m coming buddy.” And “Its O.K. you will be fine.” But as I reached the tree that had stopped Shawn’s decent down the mountain I knew it wasn’t O.K. His Junior Olympian helmet that he always wore was cracked down the back and his knee was bent out at a 45 degree angle. As I slid his goggles off, his eyes were rolled to the back of his head and his mouth hung limp. I knew I couldn’t move him, but I also couldn’t leave him. So I sat next to him telling him that he would be O.K. and yelling for help. But help never came.

He was still unconscious, or perhaps dead I though, when I left him to go find the paramedics. I knew there was a paramedic’s station at the lodge, so that is where I went. All that I was able to think about was that this shouldn’t have happened, couldn’t have happened. This was supposed to be the perfect run, the perfect end to a perfect season and a great way to cap off our last week. But it wasn’t perfect. Instead Shawn lay broken and unconscious against a tree. That image stayed fixed in my mind’s eye down the entire mountain until I finally saw smoke coming out from the lodge’s chimney. It was like a great signal calling me, telling me where to find help. The next minute was surreal as I came over the last mound separating me from help I saw the parking lot filled with cars and noisy people. A school bus covered in mud and salt was dropping off smiling and laughing students at the lodge. How could they be so happy? How could they be so happy while Shawn was still up there?

 By the time I found a paramedic, tears were streaming down my face and all I could manage to say was. “My friend is hurt.” But that was all he needed to hear. After shouting something into his radio he turned back to me and asked.

“Where is he and how badly is he hurt son?”

The words didn’t seem to be my own but I said. “He is hurt real bad. He was unconscious when I left.” I continued to tell him exactly where Shawn was, and as he turned away I asked him. “Is he going to be O.K?” But I didn’t receive an answer as the paramedic jumped on a snowmobile and sped off.

The next day I was sitting in the hospital waiting room, doing just that; waiting. I was waiting to see Shawn, to see him for the first time since leaving him at the base of the tree. The paramedics had found him still propped up against the tree and managed to get him on a life-flight helicopter to the hospital in Missoula. And that’s where I was, waiting in an unfamiliar place to see a familiar face. The doctors had said that he was doing fine, but they had also said that he was lucky to be alive. They added, he would have been dead had he not been wearing his helmet. He had a severe concussion as well as badly bruised vertebrae and a couple of broken ribs. He had also torn every ligament in his knee and would have to go through intense physical therapy. But he was alive.

In the end that was more than the last run of the season, it ended up being our last run ever. Shawn has not been skiing again because he couldn’t. He was confined to a wheelchair for the better part of a year, and then spent the rest of the next year on crutches. I have not been skiing again because I wouldn’t. I tell myself it isn’t the same without Shawn, but I really know that it’s because I am afraid.  Because I am afraid of reliving that day, our last run.