The Cubicle Next Door (29 page)

Joe picked me up at 7:00. On the proverbial dot.

He got out of the SUV before he saw me coming out the door. He caught my backpack as I threw it at him and tossed in onto the backseat before shutting my door. Then he got into his own seat. Had the nerve to dimple at me. “You only have to try it once. If you hate it, you can stay in the lodge and I’ll buy you as much tea as you want.”

“Who says I should even try it at all? I’d never be doing this if it weren’t for you.”

“You can thank me later.”

“You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“It! You’re always making me do things I don’t want to do.”

“It’s called having fun.”

“I already know how to have fun.”

“Oh? Then what would you be doing right now if you weren’t here with me?”

I shrugged.

“Sleeping in? Helping your grandmother? Blogging?”

“Blogging?”

“I assume all you computer geeks have blogs.”

“Oh. Yes. Blogs. They’re the way we geeks coordinate our plans to take over the world. Except we write them in code with invisible text fonts so only those in the geekhood can read them. Better be careful…that’s all I have to say.”

Joe grinned. “Maybe I’ll take you hostage. That way I’ll have something to bargain with. I could be the…Geek Consort in the new world order.”

“Ha-ha. So where are we actually going?”

“A-basin.”

“As opposed to C- or D-basin?”

“Arapahoe Basin. One of the first ski areas in Colorado. Ask me why I picked it.”

“Okay. Tell me, Joe, why did you pick Arapahoe Basin as the place we’ll be skiing today?”

“Well, Jackie, I’m glad you asked! Arapahoe Basin sits right on the Continental Divide. It has the highest skiable terrain in North America with breathtaking mountain views. The management company has also undertaken a corporate commitment to care for the environment. They view the Basin as a priceless treasure and intend to preserve it, both environmentally and visually, for generations to come.”

“And we’ll really be able to tell what they think about the environment when we go into the cafeteria and see whether they serve coffee in Styrofoam cups, won’t we?”

Joe shrugged and turned up the radio. It was a country music station.

Close to Loveland Pass, west of Denver, was an adopt-a-road sign. Arapahoe Basin had sponsored ten miles of roadway. Now anyone can adopt a road. But not everyone can manage to keep it clean.

A-Basin had.

Joe didn’t say anything, but I could tell he’d noticed that I’d noticed.

Twenty minutes later, we finally arrived. I put on the rest of my layers and tucked my sunglasses into the pocket of my jacket.

We went to the ski rental shop near the lift where I got outfitted for a reasonable price. Outside, walking around, I couldn’t get used to the boots. Or the idea that once I put on the skis, I would be connected to them at both my toe
and
my heel. It seemed like too much of a commitment. Especially in a sport which involved going down hills at high speeds.

“But if anything happens, if your foot starts to twist at a strange angle, then the binding releases and you’re free.”

“Can you guarantee that?”

“It’s always worked for me.”

Somehow, that didn’t reassure me.

But Joe had been right about the breathtaking views. And I had been right about the sun. But it wasn’t melting any snow. The wind was arctic. I fished the sunglasses out of my pocket and put them on.

“You’re stylin’!”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not. Look. Those are what everybody who’s anybody is sporting.”

What could I say? He was right. Slim chic women wearing coordinated outfits of powder blue and soft pink were wearing the same style of sunglasses I was. For once I was fashionable.

We stood in line for lift tickets. Joe graciously pointed out they reduced prices for carpools of four or more. He also decided I should be confined to the Molly Hogan beginner hill. I was sort of wishing I could be confined to the café.

Lift tickets purchased, we stood in line at the lift.

And I started reading the signs.

“Joe?”

“What?” He’d been squinting off into the distance, but he turned his head to look down at me.

“This sign says that under state law I’m not supposed to ride a lift until I can load, ride, and unload safely. That in case of emergency, the ski patrol will
evacuate
us. Was there some course I was supposed to take before riding this? Maybe I’d better just stay here.”

“Hmm. Yeah. Maybe you’re right. I’m sure you won’t be able to stand up there and wait for the chair and then just sit down on it like those six-year-olds ahead of us. Wow. That requires tons of practice. They probably had to go to school to learn how to do that. Want to duck out?” He was holding his arm out toward the parking lot; his dimples were mocking me.

“No.”

“Good! It’s our turn.”

He shuffled me into place so my back was facing the fast-approaching chair, and then he slipped an arm around my waist and began to speak quietly. “Here’s what’s going to happen. The chair is going to nudge you behind the knees and pause. At that point just sit down on it. Pretend it’s your chair at work.”

I thought about making a run for it, but then I realized I still had my skis on. And then I felt a pressure behind my knees and Joe was tugging me down onto the chair. And we sat there for half a second. I was just starting to relax when it jerked forward. Swayed.

My skis were still touching the ground. I still had time to bolt.

Joe grabbed my hand. “Good job. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He reached up and pulled a bar down over and in front of us.

By the time I was able to nod, my skis were no longer earth-bound.

I tried to do what he had said. Closed my eyes and imagined myself at work, but when I opened them, there was no desk in front of me. No computer screen. In fact, there was nothing at all but air. And we were sitting in a chair that was basically open to the ground below. There was nothing to stop me from standing up and jumping out but common sense. Nothing to stop me from falling should I suddenly go weak-boned and slide right out of my seat.

I dropped Joe’s hand and pressed close to him.

“Scared?”

“No.” Maybe. I was counting on him to just shove me off into the snow when we got to the end because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get off by myself.

I felt his arm come around me, pull me close, and then release me. “I won’t let you fall off. Don’t worry. Look at the scenery. It’s gorgeous. Isn’t this great?”

Great? I had other words for describing this special type of life-threatening insanity.

His shoulder was pushing my face out into the world. I opened one eye. The tops of the trees were at eye-level now. How high up did that mean we were?

There were skiers whizzing by beneath us. There were boys and girls playing follow-the-leader, skiing in giant S-curves down the slope. There were myriad sparkles dancing in the snow.

He took my hand and pushed the bar up with his other. “Ready?”

“For what?”

“To get off.”

“Can’t we just go around again? Get off down at the bottom?”

“No. On the count of three. One—two—”

At three, he pulled me off the chair with him and straight out into the snow ahead of us. Looking back, my chair rounded the corner of the lift and disappeared. I’d probably never see it again. “If I die up here, remind Grandmother I want to be cremated. There’s no point in taking up space after I’m dead. Much less risk of communicable disease if there’s no flesh left to rot.”

“You can remind her yourself. This is the beginner’s slope. No one has ever died here.”

“Yet.”

“Turn around so at least you’ll be headed in the right direction.”

I tramped my skis around in a circle so I was staring down the beginner’s slope. “Are you sure they call this a slope? Because it looks pretty steep to me.”

“Not down at the bottom. See how it tapers off?”

“Is that the reward for surviving?”

“Okay. There are some rules for downhill skiing. First of all, you generally move in the direction your skis are pointed.”

“Got it.”

“Whenever you’re starting out onto a new slope, always look uphill and yield to others.”

“Right.”

“Never ski out of control.”

“That might be a problem.”

“Okay. Ready?”

“For what?”

“To ski.”

“How?”

“You just push off and go. Gravity takes care of the rest.”

That didn’t sound very reliable.

“One—two—three—”

If I’d have known he would push me on “three,” I might have just sat down in the snow right there at the top of the so-called slope. As it was, I screamed my head off all the way down the mountain. Mostly to warn people to get out of my way. I heard it ringing through the air, but the echo sounded suspiciously like Joe’s laughter.

He plowed to a stop right beside me.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“I didn’t give you permission to push me.”

“But you wouldn’t have gone down on your own, would you?”

“I might have. And you didn’t have to laugh.”

“I’m sorry.” He really wasn’t. His dimples told me that. “I just couldn’t believe you’re a screamer. I’d never have guessed.”

I stuck my poles into the ground. Looked around for the café.

“Let’s go back up.” He was already sliding away toward the chairlift.

“Again?”

He stopped. “Think about it. You went down the mountain totally unprepared. There’s no way you can’t do better this time.”

“What kind of warped logic is that?”

“The kind you use all the time. Come on, Jackie. The line’s getting longer.”

That time, I kept both of my eyes open all the way to the top of the slope.

By lunchtime, we’d made six runs. And I was starting to add a little swish to my skiing. On the fifth run, Joe had tried to show me the basics of using my edges and planting my poles to make “C-turns” so I could learn to do some “carving.”

“I’m not a turkey.”

“It’s not like you’re a never-ever. You’re an expert at cross-country. It’s just a matter of time before you’ll be up on the black diamonds.”

“A never-ever what?”

“It’s not like you’ve never ever skied before.”

“And black diamonds are?”

“The hardest, steepest runs.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll just tell you now I’ll never be up on the black diamonds. In fact, that’s
my
definition of a never-ever.”

“We’ll see.”

“We’ll see what? What is there to see?”

“From up there? At the top of the world? Everything. And it’s a thrill you wouldn’t believe to do something your eyes and your mind insist can’t be done.”

“And what if it can’t be?”

“You just have to have faith in yourself. Confidence in your ability to survive…or you die in the attempt. That’s my motto, you know.”

“What? ’Die trying’?”

“No. ‘Live recklessly. Die young. Have a good-looking corpse.’”

“Very noble, Joe.”

He winked. “I know. That’s me: A Noble Man.” He tipped his chin up and turned so I could see his profile.

After lunch, we made three more runs and then I pleaded exhaustion. It was frigid, the wind was howling, and I was tired.

“If I get on the chairlift one more time, I won’t be able to get off. I’m not kidding.”

“Could you give me just a little more time? To ski Pallavicini?”

“Would you like extra cheese with that?”

“Seriously. It’s one of the longest, steepest runs in the state.”

“Go. I’ll be fine.”

“Thanks.”

An hour later, we were returning my skis and boots.

We drove home, stopping in Castle Rock for dinner at a fast-food restaurant. Not my choice, of course, but I had been sleeping when we’d pulled into the parking lot.

I was still feeling dazed as I looked at the menu.

“Just order the super meal. You’ll get fries and end up getting the drink for free.”

“But I don’t want fries and I don’t need a four-liter drink.”

“It’s a better deal.”

“Not if I won’t eat it. Do you know how much food gets thrown away every day? And do you know how many people in the world would love to go dumpster-diving in America?”

“It’s not like you can mail four extra fries to the Congo.”

“But I’m making a deliberate choice about what I consume and I’m thinking about other people when I do it. What if everyone started to do that? I know it’s unrealistic, but I can start making the world a better place if I start with me.”

Joe just grunted. And he ordered a super meal anyway.

But at least he didn’t order one for me.

And he didn’t use a straw.

THE CUBICLE NEXT DOOR BLOG

The way I see it

Have you ever been 100 percent sure about something? Something that defined who you are? I have been. And today, I found out I wasn’t the person I thought I was. It’s embarrassing. Because if I’m not that person, then who am I? If I was so certain about a thing like that, a thing that turned out not to be true, then what other things have I been wrong about?

Posted on January 15 in
The Cubicle Next Door | Permalink

Comments

Statistically speaking, 100 percent is an impossibility.

Posted by:
NozAll | January 15 at 08:19 PM

Who you are is who you will be. Life is in the becoming.

Posted by:
philosophie | January 15 at 08:24 PM

It’s like you work hard your whole life to figure out who you are and then you realize that’s not you at all.

Posted by:
justluvmyjob | January 15 at 08:28 PM

Keep a narrow mind. Things seem to work out better that way.

Posted by:
survivor | January 15 at 08:33 PM

If you’re not that person, could you be Julia Roberts instead? There doesn’t seem to be enough of her to go around.

Posted by:
theshrink | January 15 at 08:35 PM