Nearly a Dream

It was 5:00 am when the alarm woke me from a bed that wasn’t mine. We were on winter break from school, I was 15 years old, and staying my friend Jennifer’s house. The house felt bitter and outside you could see the snow that had adorned the road overnight. It was a just like any other morning, perfect. Jennifer and I had started snowboarding about 5 years prior, and got up at 5:00 am at least 4 days a week, or as often as possible, to go. This day was no different. Quickly dressing, we put on our warmest socks, followed by our long johns, under shirts, jeans, hoodies, and shoes, before meticulously doing our hair and makeup. In our shared backpacks we shoveled in 2 pairs of snowboarding pants, both of our jackets, 2 pairs of extra gloves each, our favorite scarves, best looking sunglasses, goggles, extra socks, cameras, and last but not least our wallets. Before we knew it, there was a honk from the driveway, and with a bag on my back, a very used snowboard under my arm, and boots in my hand, I made my way to the jeep where our two “friends” Josh and Jordan from the neighboring town were climbing out to help us.

After driving the hour drive, we arrived at the familiar ski resort. Well, pulled on the rest of our apparel, began the hike across the parking lot, and within ten minutes were seated on the icy lift headed to the top of the mountain. There’s nothing better than cruising down a mountain and snowflakes stinging your face, and it was as if almost no time at all had passed before we were breaking for lunch. Over warm bowls of clam chowder, the four of us decided that after a morning full of tree cruising, mogul dodge, and ski passing, we’d make our way to the other mountain to hit a few jumps.

Three ski lifts and a couple of runs later, we made it. The first few jumps are always risky because you never know what the conditions may be, so we started out slow. Over and over, we’d make our way partway down the hill, carve to catch speed, hit the jump, land (or crash), snap off our board, and hike back up the mountain to do it again. After an hour or so, we came across a new jump none of us had seen. As Josh investigated the legitimacy of it, I sat atop the hill ready for the go ahead. Before I knew it, I had the “All clear!”. Like usual, I began making quick carving movement to gain just enough speed to be able to control myself as made the jump. But as I approached the ramp, I noticed to right of the center of it was the peak of a huge cider rock, covered in just enough snow to camouflage it. I leaned on my heals to turn me to the left hoping to avoid the rock, but was a second too late. Just as my board grazed past it, it caught a rough edge, splintering my board and sending me flying up into the air, to belly flopping (or face planting) into the snow.

And just like that I was back at Jennifer’s house. Unable to remember my parent’s cell phone number, I waited for them to return home because I couldn’t think of anything to do and Jennifer knew that house number.

And just like that I was being aroused out of sleep from my own bed, in my own room, in my own house. My mom was standing over me spouting questions a million miles a minute. “Krista, do you remember me? Krista, how’d you get that bandage? Someone had to take your pants off to put that on you, do you remember who it was? Krista, what do you remember? Krista, why weren’t you wearing your helmet? Krista, did Josh take you to the medical center on the resort? Krista, can you tell me how you got off the mountain?” “I don’t know.” was all I could say.

To this day, I do not remember more than what I’ve written. I do however, have three very comedic friends, a very old, attic residing, much too little, splintered edged snowboard, a nasty scar, and a blood stained shirt to remind me of the details that are nothing but a story to me.