By Sophia Lashmar & Maude Thorens, Y10
Sitting with my back glued to the seat, I was frozen in time as I saw him fall. Every time I gazed out across the snow-covered valley, all that I could see and remember was him. I hadn’t been able to ski since it happened. I used to watch the slopes lovingly and eagerly; they were a symbol of what I could achieve, of my hopes and my dreams. Now, they seemed cold and frigid like they never had before, representing the void of his absence from my life. Not only had I lost him, but also my love for the slopes; once inspiring peaks now loomed menacing and foreboding.
Nonetheless, I missed the freedom of gliding down the mountain, the adrenaline pumping through my veins and the clouds of snow left stirring in my wake. I couldn’t get him back, so I tried to retrieve my other love which was taken from me. Finally, I gathered up the courage to get out on the slopes. With clear skies and no one around, it was the perfect moment to enjoy a calm and peaceful ski.
Perched precariously on the acme of the snow-capped mountain, I took in a deep breath of air so cold that it burned my lungs. I felt alive again, back doing what I loved. Now was the leap of faith; I needed to let go and confront my fears. What I didn’t expect were the large clouds of fog rolling in, crowding the corners of my vision and blurring my view of my sanctuary. I felt the fear and panic set in, covering up my vision as I slowly edged towards the tipping point.
“Emma. You’ve been staring at the same ball of snow for the past seven minutes. This mountain isn’t going away any time soon, so let’s get going; the fog is setting in,” Kristy shouted over her shoulder before disappearing down the mountain. Kristy was right. If I didn’t get going now, I would still be here in ten minutes and then another ten minutes after that and so on. I didn’t give myself the time to change my mind before digging my poles into the ground and pushing off into the abyss. The first three turns were the scariest of my life. If my boots were any less tight, I would be quaking in them.
The memories came flooding back, except this time, I wasn’t scared to face them. I was able to remember my brother, how he was, not how he died. He loved these slopes even more than I did, and he wouldn’t have wanted me to give them up. After months of inner turmoil, I was able to be at peace with my thoughts. The next turns felt so liberating that I abandoned all sense of reason and closed my eyes, hearing the wind rushing past me and tasting the cool mountain air.
I was disoriented and bewildered; I had no idea where Kristy had disappeared to, and I had lost all visibility due to the continuously thickening fog. However, at this very moment, I couldn’t care less, because I was free and able to enjoy myself. It was futile to deny that I was bawling my eyes out. I wasn’t crying out of despair like I thought I would, but out of immense relief. I was no longer simply surviving: I was living, finally allowing myself to let go like I knew he would have wanted me to. I was too caught up in the moment to realize just how loud I was being, my continuous wailing echoing against the mountains. I spread my arms out wide, poles swishing back and forth against the wind. My helmet was tied around my wrist so my hair could flow freely like a river behind me. In this T-shaped pose, I couldn’t help but think of the iconic scene in Titanic. I was so caught up in the heat of the moment, I foolishly and heedlessly opened my mouth wide and began singing in my very best voice My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion. I began waving one pole in the air, and using the other as my air guitar, strumming wildly, whilst trying to navigate the treacherous piste. Right as I finally reached the first notes of the chorus and raised both poles in the air to start waving them around to the rhythm of the song, a doltish snowball crossed my path. I lost a pole, which was closely followed by my balance and my dignity. I felt myself spin in midair, lost in limbo, with a jumble of skis, a pole, my helmet and my phone orbiting around the flailing mess that was my arms and legs. I landed with a jolt on the glacial and unforgiving snow, and faded out.
I stood at the top of the slope and looked down, expecting it to be deserted because of the fog. Instead, I was shocked to see quite possibly the worst skier I had ever come across. She was making turns as if heavily drunk, poles flailing about in the wind and her helmet dangling carelessly off her arm. I heard a noise, and listened carefully, in case she was in trouble. Expecting a faint cry for help, my ears were unexpectedly assailed by a cacophony of atrocious warbling. It sounded vaguely similar to Celine Dion, but with that voice, I had no hope of being able to tell. Rather bemused by the whole situation, I wondered what to do. There were just the two of us left on the slope, and no one else would be arriving behind us, as the fog had forced the chairlifts to a halt. I wondered whether to ski down and offer to help, but as the skier then stuck one pole in the air and seemed to start using the other as a microphone, I refrained for my own safety. I gathered that she was clearly having the time of her life, and that it would be best to leave her to her own devices. I took my skis off and settled down at the top of the slope with a thermos of coffee to put some distance between us. I glanced in her general direction to observe her latest antics, but she had disappeared from view, and the screeching and squawking had subsided. I then tracked a path, my eyes flitting from a ski, to a pole, to a helmet, to a body. I jammed my boots into my skis and shot down the slope, straight and determined as a bullet. Despite the horrendous singing and her egregious skiing, she needed help, and I was her only hope.
“Are you okay?” Dazed, I opened my eyes to a flurry of snow being showered over me and a flashy pair of skis swerving to avoid me. I was prepared to glare up at the man, but didn’t have a chance to as he continued, “I could see you from the top of the slope and was worried in case you were hurt. Would you like any help getting your skis back or to use my phone to call someone?”
I hurriedly hid my glare, as it was clear that this man was just trying to help me and was genuinely concerned. Admittedly, I wasn’t entirely sure if I could sit up, let alone stand and climb back up the slope to retrieve my scattered possessions, so I needed him. The man seemed entirely comfortable as he sat down next to me in the snow and offered me a miniscule cup of hot coffee. My hero. We talked for what seemed like hours, and he mocked my singing, while I joked about his inability to stop effectively on skis. He helped me to stand up and I stumbled and fell straight into his arms. I looked up into his eyes and said mockingly, “I think I just fell head over heels for you”.
He stared back into mine and spoke softly, “The icy slopes aren’t the only thing I’m falling for”.
