Page 108 of Even After This
What does he mean, leave a legacy with me? I close my eyes.Please,no.Legacy could imply a number of things, right?
Harlan moves, and I feel his face close to mine. “You okay?”
Swallowing, I nod. “Yeah. We got moving again, and it threw me off.” I grit my teeth, fighting back the tears that will out my lie.
He nudges me off his shoulder and brushes his lips against my cheek. “Well, I need you to look alive, because we’re about to ditch this ride.”
My eyes pop open, and now I’m terrified for a different reason.
Impending doom is approaching.
Maybe it’s not a different reason.
Drawing in a deep breath, I focus on the immediate problem. Getting off the death chair.
Harlan shifts his weight. “Tips up.”
While exiting the ski lift, I veer toward him, grasping his wrist for balance, and almost take us both to the ground. Once our comedy routine of a dismount is completed, I stare at the bottom of the hill with dread.
“Here’s the plan.” He offers me one of my poles. “We’ll stay on the easiest green runs down to the base. Then we’ll meet up with my family.”
When I struggle to loop the handle of the pole around my four fingers, I grunt my frustration. “It’s almost lunchtime?”
“Someone needed extra time studying the chair lift before we got on.” He adjusts his bright red knitted hat.
I shoot him a fake glare. “It wasn’t that long.”
“You’re right.” He leans over and fixes my second pole to my hand. “Only half an hour.”
“You can’t rush these things.” I point to a skier who struggles to stand after getting off the lift. “Which is why I think I need more time up here to observe my fellow Alpine friends before I throw myself down the mountain armed with metal sticks in my hands.”
“You’re going to do great.” Lacing his fingers together, he adjusts his gloves. “All you have to do is get behind me and line your skis up with mine. We’ll take it wide and slow while we snowplow. Just follow my tracks.”
I try to will the zombie apocalypse into coming. That can’t be as terrifying as what he’s asking me to do.
Harlan pushes off, and as I observe his form, I expend every ounce of energy to stay in his tracks. True to his word, we snowplow. And we are slower than Christmas. Which is saying a lot because Christmas is only two days away.
But a small miracle starts to gather momentum. With each turn of our journey, I gain a little more confidence. About threezigzags into our descent, a smile crosses my face. It dawns on me that I am having fun.
This is playful. This is freedom. This. Is. Living.
Five-year-olds skiing without poles fly by me. But somehow in my mind, I am an Olympic downhill skier. There is no stopping me.
However, somewhere during my personal Eddie the Eagle moment, it registers that I should slow down.
Only, I can’t remember how to stop.
We near the end of the run, and my speed only increases.
Even though I’m completely out of breath, I try to call out, “Harlan.” I dig my poles into the ground, trying to gain purchase. They drop to the snow. And now I’m toast.
“Snowplow.” Harlan’s bellow breaks through my panic.
I glance up.
He cups his mouth and yells again, this time indecipherable.
At that exact unfortunate moment, I lose my balance and my skis bump over something, causing me to veer to the left. My arms flail in an effort to steer my out-of-control body.
