The Boulder

By Magdalena Brynard

The sky churned from golden hues, to amber and drawing to a close in a deep crimson. A steaming mug of coffee sat beside me on the table. I was fond of watching the sun set and rise over the ridge surrounding our ranch. My fingers absentmindedly searched my face as I stared ahead; they stumbled over a small rift in the curve of my chin.

A sudden flash of light engulfed my senses as my mind awoke to a smooth white field surrounding me. Ice cold spittle shot me in the face initiating a riot of sensations I had never felt before. The brisk air was burning my nose and reddened my cheeks a dark rose color. I sped faster and faster on the ice, the ski’s wobbling under my feet. The friction between ice and ski was almost tangible. I could feel the rush of adrenaline as it pulsed through my head and my arms.

Unrelenting thoughts crushed my vision. I tried to focus on the smooth slope, turning my left foot in and quickly regaining balance before the right foot swerved out. The sudden turn took me by surprise; I was able to turn my set of skis for the first time. It felt smooth and even, much like a trapeze artist flying through the air; tumbling and turning to perfection. I was elated to get it right.

I made myself a promise that morning as I stepped out of the lobby into the open air. Today was the day that I was going to prove that I can ski.  I was a freshman and not the most popular at the given time. With an all-star track runner for a brother, life was challenging to say the least

It never truly occurred to me that I have only been on the snow once before, and that that moment might have been the most embarrassing of my sixteen years on earth. I recalled how confidently I put my boots on, testing the slick white surface under the hard outer shell. I tied each buckle of my boots tight enough to secure my foot without cutting off my blood circulation. I remembered my training, making sure I had the correct order in which to secure the buckles. Andre was watching and I could not afford to seem unprofessional. My heart thudded against my rib cage. A small line of sweat ran down the side of my left brow; I ignored it.

I double checked each piece of the ski binding, not wanting to look as unprepared as I felt. I made sure that the heel pieces of the ski binding was in the downward position ready for me to have the outer shell of my boot click fast into position. I aligned my boot with the toe piece of the binding and put it in place. The click seemed to echo over the field. I kept my balance steady with both ski poles as I moved my foot forward and backwards, confident that I knew exactly was I was doing. I lifted my left foot and placed the front of my boot into the toe piece. 

As soon as I pushed down onto the heel piece securing my boot, the unfathomable happened. The movement was so quick I could hardly believe it. My body tried to even out the odd sensation it was not accustomed to, but to no avail. My feet slipped from under me and all I really remembered was the laughter emanating from Andre’s mouth. My first impression was shattered and I knew that he would henceforth never look my way again. This was to be the skiing weekend of my life, a school trip I was never supposed to forget for being a triumph, not dilapidated embarrassment.

I was struck with shame yesterday, but today I was proving my worth on the beginner slope. My own exuberant laughter echoed in my head muffling a distant cry from my brother. Out of nowhere, a giant boulder jumped in front of me. Fear and disappointment paralyzed me. I could do nothing but stare as the boulder grew in size. Again my brother cried out to me to simply fall over, but I froze. It hit me before I knew it. The impact sent me flying. I was lucky not to have made a ballet split at that exact moment; I might have shredded more than just a fragment of bone off my chin.   

Help arrived before I knew what really happened. Everything was a blur, all I remember was the blood on my hands and the broken ski goggles sitting askew on my face. The tear on my chin was awarded seven stitches and more embarrassment than I could bear.

Back in the doctors rooms I expected to see my brother hovering over his little sister, but instead I stared up at Andre. I was stunned. He was the last person I had imagined to see after the most horrific moment of my young life. I felt embarrassed and sore to say the least. I tried to avoid eye contact by pretending to need the nurse, but I failed miserably. I had to look his way at some point. He was smiling, not mockingly but warm, kind and gentle.

I was still giggling to myself when I emerged out of my reverie. I still felt the chill in my bones as I thought back to that moment. It was to be a shift in my life I was not prepared for. I might have a great imagination but the reality of what happened far outweighed the possibilities of a life half lived.

My husband was curious to know what I was thinking, and all I could say was ‘the boulder’. A single word was all he needed to be momentarily transported back in time to the weekend we fell in love; a memory not only cherished, but forever etched into the curve of my chin.