Big White

I’m sitting in a memory. Warm foam coats my lips as I gaze out the window. I watch as the flakes fall from the clouds and pile to the sky, powdering trees and eyelashes.

A toddler is gripping the metal frame, running in place, as his mother guides him around the ice, careful to avoid the figure skating preteens. I watch as a father and son go through hockey drills. “…push with your right, now cross over, and watch my feet…” I don’t need to hear their voices. Perhaps it’s an afternoon of bonding, perhaps vicarious dreams fuel the intensity.

It’s been over a year since I’ve been on this mountain. I have so many moments, so many memories… so far away. I’m selective; I only recall the ones that make me smile. I wonder where my friends are. Transient towns lead to transient friends. I hear the occasional update… off on new adventures, home in Oz… I hear random stories. But here, this season, I doubt many of my friends returned to Big White.

A young couple is sitting nearby. They hold hands over coffee and talk quietly. The occasional laugh draws my attention. With her free hand she plays with her blonde hair. He hasn’t stopped smiling. He’s in love. I can’t see her face. Suddenly I’m lonely. It’s a beautiful dream, and a lovely moment. I see her face as they walk away. She’s in love too.

The afternoon is fading. A kindergartener is pouting, frustrated with her skis. Kids are growing weary and hungry, reluctantly dragging their boards behind them. It’s that time of day. I know I need to drive down the mountain soon. I have to get ready for work.