Slipping suddenly to the side
Some of you have already seen this, but it's where my family is
going this weekend, and I like it. Here ya go, guys.
I am sitting on my living room floor in October reading Ernest
Hemmingway. Like the last twelve of his short stories I've read while sitting
there, this one begins without telling me anything about itself. Nick is
jumping out of something, then skiing, then talking to a person named George,
who mentions a run "with a Christy at the bottom on account of a
fence," and I remember that I know something of skiing. The feeling is
described well. I'm interested now, and Nick begins again, and his skis slip—
That catches on something definite in my memory. I can't think of
a time that I accidentally slipped over the edge of something, but that is what
was flagged in my memory. Suddenly slipping to the side and zooming in the
wrong direction… Oddly, there isn't much fear associated with this memory. The
concept is frightening, so shouldn't there be fear? Slipping suddenly to the
side…
--The time I hit a tree! I'm suddenly laughing out loud in my
living room, as I did down the remainder of the run and all the way back up the
chair lift—and as I probably did through the whole crash itself.
It was a couple of years ago—I don't remember exactly. My family
was skiing at Big Mt. in Montana, and we were on Hell Roarer. It was our favorite and we'd been swooshing
down it all day. It's a long run, and goes through all different kinds of
terrain, but none of it black diamond, that I remember. It's a great
intermediate run, with hills and cat tracks and bends, but towards the end you
come down a sort of chute, gaining what seems like way too much speed, then
turning suddenly to the left, going down more narrows, and then eventually
coming to a part that always reminded me of a story book. It's as close as I've
come to tree skiing (which never appealed to me anyway, as I like to have room
to turn); the run isn't too wide, and is dotted with islands of evergreen trees
down the middle. Five skiers take it at once, doing a modified three-man-weave
between the tree-islands, and by this time the youngest, the boy with the
helmet (since he will probably hit trees with his head this year) is in front,
and the mother is in back, with the father and daughters zigzagging in between.
After three or so times down this run, with others taken in between, my father
and I stand at the bottom of the chair lift waiting for the others. We wait a
long time, talking and laughing, wondering what might have happened to them
all, in the hearing of the boy who runs the lift. They aren't this slow. Mama
eventually shows up, announcing that of all people, Andi had hit a tree! Mama
had come down the run last and found Ben picking up mittens and ski poles and
trying to get our sister unstuck from the position she was in, between a small
springy tree and a rather larger one. She'd been following Daddy, who hadn't
known there was a jump there. He managed to recover, barely, with just a yell
as a warning, and it wasn't in enough time. It was non-serious, and funny, but
it shook her up understandably. My missing siblings arrive. The lift boy keeps
glancing at us; we are quite audible. We wind our way up the lift and have
lunch.
Andi is still a bit shaken when we decide to go down again; she is
sitting this one out. It's a warm-for-skiing day; we must have been spring
skiing, since I remember wearing my parka open with just a tank top underneath,
and no hat under my ski goggles. We decide that, casualties or not, it's time
for Hellroarer again. It's a great long run; there's a lot of general skiing
before even getting to that area. It's afternoon, and heavy-traffic areas are
turning to ice, but it's not bad. We make it down safely. We must have, because
I know that all five of us went down it again. I was in the middle that time;
Ben and Daddy must have been ahead. We were nearing the end of the run again;
down the chute, always feeling like too much speed, but it was enough to get up
over the next rise; then down again, a narrow place, then into the cathedral
with the silent evergreen islands. Scarcely any room to turn, and not a lot of
vertical, but the speed we had by the time we got there, plus the ice, combined
with the lack of width to make it very fast. I swished around and past several
of the islands; I was digging in a bit with the tail ends of my skis to take
off some speed, with little semi-Christies. Right-swish, left-swish,
right-zoom, oh god a tree?? How funny! I don't hit—BAM, and I was sliding down hill
on my back, head-first, having no coherent picture of how I'd gotten there. I
slid for a respectable distance, over what seemed to be a tree stump, and ended
up on my stomach with my head down-hill and my feet in the air. I couldn't see
anything from where I was, or really move because of my ski gear. My last image
before the current evergreen was one of my hands hitting a tree trunk, and then
one resembling what a camcorder would tape if you drop-kicked it. The whole
thing was hilarious. I kept thinking, "I don't hit trees! Ben had a
helmet, I don't even ski black diamonds, what is this?" I was giggling.
Andi was behind me, I knew, and so was Mama. I thought I was probably just at
the end of the island and they'd see me when they passed. I think I tried to
yell to Andi but I know she didn't hear me and she didn't see me either. It was
all still very funny but I was going to need help getting out! In between
laughing I tried to yell "mom" in a way which said both
"help" and "don't panic, I'm not dead." It must have
worked; I could hear her skiing, then hear her stopping.
-A call through the trees: "Natalie?" -Still laughing:
"I hit a tree!" Pause. "-Where's your other ski?" "I
don't know!" -I hadn't even known that one was missing. I managed to turn
over and stand up, and she found my missing equipment. She also found the
scrapes on the tree truck where my ski came off; I had hit the tree and gone
past it, sliding down the middle of the island into a sort of hole, in the
underbrush. My sister wouldn't have noticed me there unless I'd been on fire.
With directions I managed to stand up, still laughing. Hike, hike up the hill,
attach skis, find poles, slide down the rest of the run in a tuck, giggling, to
where three family members are standing at the bottom of the lift, talking and
wondering what's become of us. Man, I hope the lift boy thinks this is as funny
as I do—this funny family with their goofy girls… My voice comes out wobbly
from laughing as I yell, "Hey, guys! I hit a tree this time!"
My back was sore where I slid over a tree trunk and I had a
wood-and-mud-streak there to show for it, but that was the extent of injury. I
laughed all the way back up the lift and most of the rest of the day and I
found the story funny in telling later. In seventeen of his short stories, this
was the first time that Hemmingway had made me laugh.