Black Diamond, Chapter VII

Running against the clock—always. Between slow race times and all the years lost, the failure to perform is the expected result. Except from the dark cracks a budding new relationship grows.

Back on the line.

Ski tips hovered over a white sheet marked by staggering track lines as I awaited the green light. Set for my second run.

My perspective narrowed to a bird’s eye view. Each movement smooth as the most basic of thoughts. Natural. Easy.

Then the switch.

In a final, desperate shot to better my previous time I placed too much emphasis on each turn, which, instead of subtle strokes, were made either too early or too late. Making my passes mechanical at every bend.

Frustration only mounted from there. I soon became flustered. Tense.

Two times too many my arm caught the gate, nearly uprooting the flag as I came barreling out onto the straightaway. Like being whisked upon an avalanche. Jerking left to right—in long exaggerated swoops with the irreverence of a mad violinist’s bowstring.

Overall, a lackluster performance of hopeless determination. Coupled with careless execution which ended in Coach Price’s wrath. His voice loud enough for the whole mountain to hear.

“Again. You’ve spent the entire first stretch not carving anything that wouldn’t be implicit if you’d just start transitioning your turns. A hindrance which only adds seconds to your time, doing you no favors. Control requires calculated awareness. Apply the absence of which to your entire run, or practice for that matter. Turn after turn and only for the worse! Any slight rotation in the upper body means you’re banking every one of them. Again, must we establish the inefficacy of this technique? Time and time again I censure you for the same behavior exhibited on your previous run. Not to mention that poor tucking is a blatant refutation of what I taught—but not the only problem here. Skis should be parallel and vision forward—always—with your ankles, knees and hips flexed, your back flat or slightly rounded while hands and elbows stick in front of your chest. The movement from low tuck to high tuck is in the hips, not shoulders. Tucking is never a static position. I’m rapidly losing patience. And don’t even get me started on those gate passes like we’ve spoken about. A waste.”

With no excuses left for me to give, I nodded all the while.

When I first signed up these comments cut to the core. I’d stand there all dry mouthed with palms sweaty before even being mentioned. Holding out hope to hear some positive feedback that never came. He thought my runs were torturous? Coach’s critiques were like an endurance test filled with the same long-winded tidbits I’d heard a million times. My skin slowly turned rubbery from the constant chewing. Up until his bite became toothless altogether. Rendering the profound rumbling of his tirades to nothing more than short-lived eruptions. Like having shoveled too much coal into a poorly ventilated furnace.

Not only had I repeatedly failed to make it to the final round, but seemingly regressed. Like a knife dulled before ever honing its edge.

Once we had finished racing parallels, Coach Price, with a sad shake of his head, began to address the entire weary, worn-out group.

“We’ve still got a long way to go from what I can tell… Short,” he directed his focus on a sunken figure with high shoulders whose stubby arms hung in a forward slant. “You’ve got bad balance on the middle section and will continue to unless you start unweighting prior to a turn. Flank,” his piercing gaze sought out a squashed face to the side which glowered with bored complacency, “And Round, you both can’t get the narrows straight whereas Shank—not you, the other one—you’re turning too broad. Subtle strokes make smooth passes. For the most part, however, we saw significant improvement today.”

His eyes fell on me. I shifted nervously away. Knowing these words didn’t apply to me.

“Call me pedantic, but always tuck arms tight with a straight back for a better crouching stance. Bear in mind that the tuck position sacrifices athletic freedom. This goes for each of you. It’s imperative we make use of whatever time we have left before our first event come mid-December.”

I expected Coach Price to circle back and drill me on a couple additional fine, technical points but I was saved by a name I had never heard before.

“Ah, and before I forget—Offal!”

Coach Price scanned over the team. Once. Twice. A twitchy nose poked through the row of squared shoulders from the back. Out emerged the previously unregistered face of a fellow teammate who got dwarfed in relation to the rest.

“Ah, there you are. Hidden away in the back. No need to break your starting stance until you’re coming out the starting gate. Remember what we discussed before. We need the ferocity of a bloodthirsty warrior. Understand?”

The soft-spoken, nearly imperceptible voice peeped back in response.

“Sorry, couldn’t hear—you said?” Coach Price boomed back.

“i, erm, yes, Coach.” Offal spoke up in a shrill voice that got quickly overtaken by Coach Price’s return echo.

“That’s more like it. This is what I expect from everybody. OK?” He started up again. He must not see the glaring obstacle standing before him or know that my failure to perform was predestined.

While Coach Price expounded upon his point using more detailed terminology I couldn’t grasp, I dismissed his latest tangent in favor of observing Offal. This unmarked anomaly who had practically disappeared amongst the rest. Previously unnoticed; I made a habit of never taking a sidelong glance at my competitor as if I were skiing against myself. Now, without any blinders setting my sights ahead I could plainly see what I had missed.

My skull hummed to the tune of a thousand questions: Who was he? Was he part of the team? Our team? How had I failed to notice? Almost a month of training together and I couldn’t recall a single encounter with him ever occurring, on or off the mountain. Yet who knows how many times we raced each other.

Offal’s focus remained skyward. If not staring at his skis when personally addressed. His presence withdrawn until Coach Price gave a directive for him to follow.

“With one more practice to go, nothing shakes my confidence moving forward into next week’s ski camp. As always when traveling abroad, Carbonado shows up to compete first, celebrate second. That said, I’ll remind everyone here that each of us bear the burden of representing the Academy standard. They say it’s lonely at the top, which I propose is a good thing. Never compromise your character or personal integrity from the model we uphold. But above all, I want to see your best marks up there. Now then, I’ve got an important conference call this afternoon, which, much to your dismay, brings today’s practice to a close. Enjoy the extra hour of daylight.”

By the end I was grappling to comprehend the origin of this character so cloaked in mystery. But the news of a ski camp I never knew of came with a renewed sense of dread. Coach Price’s words becoming another one of those itches I couldn’t scratch.

One by one, everyone dispersed off the mountain in uniform fashion.

I hung around to smoke a cigarette and watch the smoke tangle with their descending figures as they drifted downstream the snowy current. Becoming smaller with each bob until disappearing altogether over the final mound.

My throbbing head ached. Unable to be laid to rest. I defaulted back to brooding over the day’s horrible performance. The only worthwhile aspect to it was the opportunity to observe skills and tactics to steal from the others. Yet, rigid with impotence from my feckless disposition, it didn’t take much for me to resign in utter despair.

To avoid from yelling out I held a generous inhalation of smoke captive in my lungs. Letting it stream from my nostrils in weaving ribbons when a small voice broke me out of my petrified state. Causing me to choke.

“erm excuse me, sorry but uh, smoking’s not allowed on the slopes.”

It was startling to hear another voice up here. Like being answered by the subconscious.

But such critical, albeit miniscule, words were passive enough to be disregarded. Even his delivery lacked conviction. Almost whispered in a tone which hung around as if too timid and unsure of where it originated or where it wanted to go.

Right away I knew whom it belonged to. And that he remained rooted there all the while, benign and unthreatening, too stuck to flow along with the rest.

“OK,” I said at last, seeing no harm in demonstrating my compliance. But before I dropped the unfinished cigarette into the wet snow, I had one burning question to ask him after feeling static in my process for so long.

“But first, one thing before you go,” I cleared my throat. “Why do this?”

He shifted. Becoming visibly more uneasy the more I responded to him. As if he may not have expected the questions to persist.

Still looking down, the cigarette burning, he replied. “what?”

“Why are you doing all of this?”

“because smoking isn’t allowed.”

“No, not that. What are we doing to ourselves up here practice after practice, day after day?”

“skiing?”

“Not just skiing. But yes, that too.”

He shot me an inquisitive look which asked: what, then?

His eyes darted back to the cigarette still smoking in my fingertips.

“Oh, I’m sure you know what I mean, entertaining this endless charade of having to practice for a base competition where we compete against one another and ourselves. What for?”

This response left him reeling far worse than before. As if brimming over with excitement.

“i do it because skiing is my life,” he spoke slowly, as if ensuring the words were uttered correctly.

“But we can ski any time we want. Why bother adhering to the paradigm of a strict ski racing program?”

“i-i guess i love to compete, i mean, i haven’t officially done it on an international level, not yet- there’s still a lot for me to learn. to optimize is key, so says Coach Price, anyways,” he sounded more and more deflated than a balloon by the end, his sharp breaths laboring to intake air.

His facial features, small and refined as they were, practically gave the appearance of a caricature with his oversized ski goggles. Comparable to the bulbous lenses of some flying insect. And his nervous feet told me what he couldn’t face to face.

I’ve encountered these characters before. And they were always the same. Solidified in their steadfast belief as if it were a birth right. Indoctrinated by a culture which rendered them too meek and fearful to achieve lives of great import. They were microscopic to the naked eye, if not invisible entirely. Completely frozen to a standstill. However long they dedicated themselves to their noble cause was case by case, but for some, will surely last a lifetime. They were essential parts to the slaughterhouse mechanics of everyday life, filling in the cracks like mortar for the frivolous leaders who care little for what they dispensed of greatly.

There might be a tendency to pity the Offals of the world. But there was nothing to feel sorry about. If anything, I’d consider myself lucky to have a modicum of the courage they possessed. Although unassuming at first glance, they often concealed an unmarked brilliance within them. Like a snowflake, each being unique, yet indiscriminate unless viewed from up close. Or a buried jewel one had to painstakingly dig up depending on how introverted they were. Which, such excavation efforts were usually met with significant pushback.

In many ways I could see myself standing there, gawking back. One of the forgotten ones. Deviations from the norm. The left behinds relegated to the fringes of regular life. Those incapable of wearing a proper label. Therefore, shunned on the grounds of being misunderstood altogether.

We might’ve been standing on the same mountain together, but the reality was that we couldn’t be more set apart. Stranded on either extreme of which constituted an average, except Offal was defined by moxie that I’d never have.

“Tell you what. It makes perfect sense to me. And I’m right there with you.”

I openly laughed at the prospect of being too petrified to race due to our unrecognized potential.

“r-really?” He piped up. Half-concealing a toothy grin.

“Absolutely. No use trying to hide it. Right—sorry, what’s your name again?”

“offal.”

“Why go by your surname?”

“that’s how it’s always been.”

“To be perfectly honest, Offal, I’m not prepared for any of this either. Everyone here’s committed to a discipline I haven’t got the most basic experience in. Little fish get swallowed in a pond this small. Except staying out of a bigger fish’s stomach is sometimes less trouble than avoiding shiny hooks.”

“i don’t know about that. yes, i’ve raced my entire life since the DEVO program, and most of us here went to mountain school. but that doesn’t make me any better for it. my dad was racing FIS by my age. like he says, impossible is but one possibility. as it should be.”

I trailed off in thought before breaking our silence again. “Another question, and here’s what I believe to be the crux of it all: without being conditioned as a child to ski, would you still love it?”

This last one clearly set him back. His noticeable struggle to respond confused his already screwed up aspect. His gaze leveled with mine for the first time as he continued, carefully mulling his words over as they formed on his tongue.

“of course i would, i mean i love to ski. really, more than anything else i do and will continue skiing until i’m–well you know—dead!” Ending with a shriek, he drooped down as if drained from this spontaneous spurt of excitement. His arms wrapping around his sides as if attempting to fold into his wiry frame as he withdrew.

“But are you one-hundred percent sure?”

I wanted to press him further. But after noting his efforts to recoil from the matter altogether I coaxed him back into comfort.

“Look, I’m not judging one way or another, I’m only asking if given the opportunity, how else would you spend life’s precious moments?”

“i don’t think i understand,” offal receded deeper into his jacket until only his ski goggles and helmet protruded from its folds. “skiing is my life. ok? i was born for it. plus, smaller skiers are most aerodynamic.”

I dropped it at last. Having nearly forgotten about the flaming tar-stained filter in my fingertips I discarded it altogether.

“Sorry. I suppose we’ve all got to be a little crazy or why else climb up here time and time again to meet the same challenge? Too bad we can’t all be perfect like our inimitable team captain.”

“from what i hear Drake has less friends on this team than you. oops—sorry, i shouldn’t have said that.”

My eyes grew to be the size of dinner plates.

“Really? Says who?”

“well, to be fair, he was homegrown like the rest of us here at Carbonado Ski Academy, but rumor has it that he didn’t make the cut for any Western Region Projects due to a banned performance enhancer—but you didn’t hear it from me.”

“And now he’s looking for a clean slate.”

“maybe i uh- i really shouldn’t say more, i should probably go.”

“OK. Last thing, I promise. What’s all this talk about ski camp?”

“good one. you heard Coach, see you bright and early Sunday morning.”

He bounded off like a spooked bunny down the groomed slope. I waited all the way until he disappeared down and over the ridge with the others before sparking up another cigarette.

There you have it.

A fellow unknown skier whose legacy was no more than being a placeholder in the club. We were the failed matadors. Too foolish to die from our mortal wounds, we become martyrs to our inner calling for greatness. I didn’t know when I’d see him again. But he’d surely be there, every day. Like an island of rock. But even the most resilient objects eventually gave way, crumbling at their foundation until swept away by a much stronger force. What we shared most in common was that we’re utterly convinced we had no choice otherwise.

Best of luck to us both.

We sorely needed it.

At the plaza. Fiending for another burn in my chest. I searched my pockets for the lighter I must’ve left on the mountainside when a snowboarder came bombing down the slope. I would’ve thought nothing of it except they were beelining straight at me.

Right before making impact they abruptly skid to a stop. Covering me with a sheet of fluffy snow and causing me to fall backwards.

I attempted to grapple with what had transpired while the still-standing figure, slightly bent, eclipsed the radiance of the sun so I needn’t shield my eyes to gaze upon her like a fiercely blazing star I recognized immediately.

“Looks like we ran into each other after all.” I lamely broke the ice, seated ass-down in a soft snowy patch.

“You never came back to the lodge. And smoking isn’t allowed except in designated areas.” She helped me to my feet, buying me time to search for the words I’ve been wanting to say since we first met, but were now slippery as wet fish in my mind.

“But I won’t say a thing if you let me bum one.” She pointed to my soggy, limp cigarette.

“Lead the way to one of these so-called designated smoking areas.”

She unstrapped herself from her bindings then led me to a secluded area behind the ski rental shop. The rain gutters lined with dripping human-sized icicles.

Once hidden within our enclosure she handed me a tiny pink lighter. I pulled out two cigarettes from my pack.

She shivered, stepping closer.

“It’s freezing.”

“Here, put some fire in your lungs.”

Her face lit up with a soft orange glow as I used my hand to shelter the tiny flame from the wind.

She kept the fiery brand pressed to her lips and coughed. The tall-tale sign of an unseasoned smoker.

“What?” She said. “Do you have something to say?”

“No. Nothing. Just that I remember my first time smoking is all.”

“Oh, stop it. I’m not used to these.”

“What do you usually smoke?”

“Menthols.”

“Never been a fan. They taste too sweet. Like smoking candy.”

“That’s why I love them! I’ve never heard of Parliament. Charcoal filtered, huh?” She examined the white cigarette pack with the blue square and silver trim.

“The only sound investment in life is in good smokes.”

After weeks of cold contact this conversation was firing on all cylinders.

And the questions kept coming.

“And why’s that?”

“The best insurance for killing time.”

“What a peculiar way to look at things! What are you still doing here with your skis?”

“Oh, you know, trying to get a confidence boost before the coming race season.”

“Have you thought about a haircut?”

I was speechless. Here she was busting my balls worse than my closest friends and I struggled to think of a comeback so I switched subjects instead.

“How late are you hanging around here, anyway?”

“I agreed to switch shifts for a friend last week but remembered maybe an hour ago. Good thing I’m always late.”

“Consistency is clutch. That and a manager who looks the other way.”

I imagined him lurking somewhere around the corner, searching high and low for us to listen for us with a strained ear.

“Oh, he’s not that bad. Just a little petty, jealous, and over-protective, is all. So do you train with Coach Price?”

“Uh, yeah. You’ve heard of him?”

“That’s like asking if I’ve heard of the Academy. I can’t believe you train with Carbonado’s best.”

“Try not to sound so surprised. Although I was a bit of an afterthought to the team.”

“Sorry if I don’t stroke your ego. But you don’t strike me as the type.”

“Because I’m not.”

“Prove it.”

“I’m not sure if we have the time, but it would be easier if I had your number,” I spit it out at last. More than ready to draw a straight line to my intentions.

But I was left more tongue-tied by what she said.

“How ‘bout I take your number and I’ll reach out if I feel like it?”

“Deal. So uh, how’s the resort?” I’d already reverted back to dreaded work questions. Apparently with nothing better to ask while I inputted my number into her cellphone.

“Meh, pretty slow. But who knows what madness the season will bring once we open to the public. My boss is projecting an uptick in tourism for the coming years.”

I could only gaze back in wonderment whether she spoke. She came from the same world I did and our little heart-to-heart far exceeded my wildest expectations as if the stars were crossed and planets aligned.

But even that one security had its fatal drawback: she knew more than I did about every upcoming competition.

“Are you ready for ski camp?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be. If I don’t eat shit on the first run, there’s always the next one.”

“Stop. It’s not like it’s going to be your first time.”

I blurted out a readymade response. But the damage was done. Beneath my clothes roared a burning furnace. The polar ice caps couldn’t squelch the flames fanning out from them. Why lie? I wasn’t sure. The sequence of events happened so fast that I panicked. The situation was dire when the path of least resistance was swearing a solemn oath to the story you told. Taking her silence as cause to elaborate, I fumbled over the most generic nonsense that could be said. Like so many beds I made in the past, my only choice was to sleep in yet another. I never enjoyed speaking openly about my passions. Doing so was more shameful than committing a cardinal sin. But she seemed less concerned about the events of the past than the coming future.

“Don’t make that face—you’ll do fine! Let me know how it goes. The Intermountain Cup is coming right up.”

“What’s that?”

“Only the most important start to your season. Don’t worry, though. It’s still over a month away.”

“Which leaves plenty of time to disappoint.”

“You’ll be fine! You’re with the Academy, right? My dad raced for Park City. Same with all my brothers. I even got to travel the world with them so I’m the black sheep working at Carbonado. No less, being a snowboarder.”

“I can relate. I prefer to have no one rooting for me in the stands.”

“Oh, I’ll be there.”

She nearly silenced me with her toothy smile.

“Really?”

“Of course. I’ll be working,” she said, pushing the hair off her forehead. “Done with that cig?”

“Kill it.”

“Oh shit. Never mind. My manager messaged that I’m super late. Thanks again.” She dropped the cigarette butt in the snow before the last drag.

I remained held in a trance until she disappeared with a little wave around an icy snowbank and out of sight. For once I seemed to respond well to the challenge and I couldn’t be more elated to see her again—and I still didn’t know her name!

It wasn’t until she was fully out of sight that any clarity returned. Along with all the anxiety gifted by her presence. Who knew when our next chance encounter would be.

There followed a buzzing in my pants pocket. I unlocked the screen to read the following texts:

hey hey

it’s Sophia ;)

All the pieces were falling into place. And with minimal effort involved.

The surprise come up felt like a delirium. Lasting the whole drive home where all of the familiar elements grounded me once again. As if coming out of the stupor this whizzing blur of practices left me in. And given the many driving forces that filled me with bottomless dread, today’s terrible performance plagued me by far the most.

Once more, black storm clouds formed over me. Like the inversion which had settled in the city. Trapping it beneath a lid of car exhaust and industrial smoke in which there was no escape. On really bad inversion days you can feel the pollution enter the body. Invading the cells of the tissues and so on.

My aching exhaustion got countered only by restless frustration. Leg muscles burned as I became stagnant. Smoking back-to-back bowls to still my pacing mind.

I wanted nothing more than to collapse into the comforts of my bed. Except my growing discontent goaded me from behind. Pricking my brainstem where something primal stirred so I left the house once again to consult the crystal ball sky.

Ever-swirling.

Upon sidewalks spun with webbed sheets of cracked ice. The black dog and I walked in tethered steps.

Alternating between brooding plods and bursts of renewed vigor I plodded along, vying to surpass the dual thoughts which switched between past and future. Both leading nowhere, while never fully in the present.

Reflecting upon these weeks of training with the Academy, I soon became buried by an avalanche of all the events prior, ending with Coach Price’s unending criticisms of my abject failure to perform. Testing the nylon leash which kept hold on the beast’s savage whims.

Tug­. Tug. Break. We’d come to a dead stop at random. Pausing for an indefinite amount of time—only for me to be pulled back forward with practically no progress gained.

The black dog was on the prowl. Head bent and walking with the gait of a caged animal. Its scraggly tail wagged as we tread through dark snow. I began to ruminate over the newfound information I received today. Ski camp? Yet another variable to fear in which every unknown outcome struck me down like lightning. At least I was being spared Thanksgiving dinner with the family. A mundanity punctuated by answering the same questions about what my life plans were while suffering through the same anecdotal tirades of a loudmouthed uncle. Even my older cousins who were starting new families left me alone for the most part. Avoiding me as if they had me pegged one way or another.

Moving forward these thoughts of mine swarmed in a ceaseless drone. Humming for hours with no sting. More jarring distractions to prevent me from taking responsibility.

Our staggered steps lasted the recently plowed stretch to West Temple. A street which eventually led straight to Temple Square. Where the friendly denizens of this city constructed a giant middle finger to the idea of the separation of church and state.

Turning left, the same push/pull tempo ensued. Lonesome ones; every step a struggle to move forward from what I was leaving behind. I looked back for some solace but received none. Only a playful squirrel scurried along the low-hanging power lines strung through a chestnut tree to a fury of bird chatter.

Against the backdrop of a setting sun, the strip of business offices continued to buzz with traffic. It was the inability to escape people that sent me up the mountain to begin with.

I looped back down 2100 South and slogged on. Fuming blacker than the hollow, rotten center of my intent to go on this nightmare jaunt. All while trying not to fall into the depths of icy pools along the way.

And to think it had once been likened to a dream.

Up and down the block there loomed a large expanse of white. Blinking under an oceanic veil of gray. The sight affected my companion, who excitedly hunched back its shoulders and would have bounded off if not for the leash which tethered beast to man. Using most my strength to pull back, the strain lasted all the way until we reached what was formerly an enclosure of green space during the warmer months of the year.

Far below; an interior shift. An unsettled notion. Insatiable as quicksand. I wanted nothing more than to leave for a couple days. Get a fresh start. But that entailed doing what I actively avoided.

Half-bent, I unclasped the metal hook from the dog collar.

It merely stared up at me with slight confusion. Upon receiving my nod of approval, it spun circles around while bucking its back legs out with each twist.

I threw some broken sticks for the black dog to return but it only ran amok as if wanting to be chased. Any attempt to catch it, however, got thwarted with every pass as the feral beast stopped just long enough to sprint off to the side as you were about to lay a finger on its mangy coat. Who was tiring who? The human? Or the animal inside?

The day grew too late for play. Something which I’ve done most of my life. And I may have paid the ultimate price for never taking it seriously enough.

Somewhere overhead the zoom of a jumbo jet droned out all the noises. Too tired to go on, I retired onto a long concrete curb and lit new cigarettes whenever they died out.

I remained there smoking. Dead in my tracks.

I faced a whole new perspective from the other side of the street. With my back to the mountains which had towered over my entire life.

The skulking beast panted with exhaustion before collapsing in a heap at my side. A pent-up wretch could only run itself ragged so long.

Slowly, it dropped its ghastly head between two massive front paws. Its crocodile eyes snapped shut. Loud, raspy snores creaked into the darkening void. Remarkably brazen in their attempt to fill it.

I pulled out my cigarettes. Tapped one of the filters out of the pack and pulled it out with my mouth. It wasn’t until after the first couple drags that I stopped to consider the tiny pink lighter in my possession.

Sophia—I nearly forgot about this chance encounter altogether and this little sparking mechanism was what I needed to break up my gloominess with a brilliant flash. Forget practice. Forget Coach and his cutting feedback. And forget Drake and his drooling minions. I had something which I haven’t had for a while. A chance at something new.

With nothing better to say than some lame apology for stealing her lighter, I hoped for the best after the message sent.

My shoulders grew tense. I couldn’t relax. But before I could finish my cigarette, I received her response.

thief! lol jk what u doin tonite?

Not just friendly conversation—but an open invitation! Amazing how it was the little things in life which often altered one’s destiny. Like leaving my lighter behind on the slopes…

I looked back. The reddish alpenglow on the summit of the eastern mountains contrasted sharply with the pointed shadows cast from those in the west. It was in the throes of that moment I realized I’d have to take my shot. While the pathetic animal lay resting in its snow bed. Completely still except for its deep, laborious breath.

I broke away from the hapless creature altogether.

Overwhelmed by a pure mixture of horror and disgust. I could no longer bear to harbor such a grave responsibility any longer.

I hustled against the blustery wind. Returning home purged of the usual woes that once gnawed my insides raw with sharpened teeth. I dragged down the slushy concrete back to my humble abode which vented dark swirls from the rooftop. A smile on my face.

But before I could rejoice too much the floodgates of worry began to crack open.

What was I to say? Suppose I did succeed in hosting Sophia a couple hours, my current state of affairs was in shambles. It would require an altered state of mind to even entertain the idea of inviting a girl over to my place. That, and ample party favors.

Nothing could make matters worse. Then Lefty called.

I let it ring through to voicemail. Thirty seconds later, the phone rang again. The next call was just as expected.

“Hey Niko.”

The deep grunt answering me from the other end indicated he was on the line.

“Your dad decided to let you out of your cage today?”

“I got in an argument with my brother and he told me to leave. You home? I’m fixing to drink some cold ones this fine frigid eve.”

“Just walked in the door.”

“Be right over.” A man of few words, nothing more needed to be said.

There went my hopes for something special tonight; squandered.

And like clockwork, the nightly visitors began reaching out to pick up a sack. By the time Lefty and Billy got there I was a nervous wreck attempting to tidy things up. Even they took note. But promptly dismissed the matter in favor of something about sports.

I wrenched open the freezer door to work out the knot between my shoulders. The sub-zero liquor cabinet yielded a half-empty ice tray, half a bag of frozen vegetables, and five unfinished whiskey bottles of variegating brands, the glass rimed over, which I combined into the decanter from an old crystal set on the kitchen table.

One whiff of the questionable elixir made my stomach turn. The voice box instantly seized by the liquor’s mixed coolness when it touched my throat. Burning taste buds in a wildfire which spread from tongue to esophagus. Spilling down to form a molten metal casting of my chest cavity.

It was nice to take hits I actually enjoyed for a change. Especially after a long day of being pummeled on the slopes. I drank with the ascetic devotion of a mystic searching for divine enlightenment. None came. Which only reassured my current position.

I only needed to reach for the bong to have something with regards to nothing. No performance needed for this fleeting sensation.

Some residual anxiety and dread continued to nibble away. But no more than usual. All it took were more spliff bowls and sharing in some much-needed laughter to set things straight.

Lefty entered the kitchen and returned with a large wine glass full of brown liquor.

“I made myself a cocktail too,” said Lefty. “Hope you don’t mind.”

The ice cubes in his drink rattled like a diamondback as Lefty sat back, bringing the concoction to his lips. Even for a seasoned drinker of harsh whiskeys this foul potion offended the palate, and to stomach it brought about an unmistakable pained expression.

“What is this? I know I’ve had it before but can’t put my tongue on it.” He gave it a good long swish, followed by another gulp.

“I’m surprised you can’t remember…” I choked on my words in attempt to conceal my laughter. “5 Seal bourbon, or was it rye? Some selected blend or other that’s advertised as a special run.”

“Oh yes, good ol’ 5 Seals. Of course I’ve heard of it. And what a lovely burning sensation it puts in the stomach too.”

“A good bottle rarely eludes any afficionado worth their salt,” I said, taking great pains to sip it with a straight face. My chuckles got instantly checked by gut wrenching pain as my little conceit nearly revealed itself.

I had to turn aside to hide my grimace while snatching at the only means available to subdue this infernal pain. If I ended up puking after my bong hit then so be it. It’s not like I had practice in the morning or any other place to be.

Every so often I stole away from the group to continue drafting my response to Sophia.

Having been so long since someone showed any interest, I was hesitant in trying to connect. And if skepticism was a discipline, I’d already be an Olympic athlete. Being reclusive was my only prerogative. But this recent breakthrough simply couldn’t be ignored.

The irony of being an unapologetic abuser of every substance available was that it fed into the One Love stoner stereotype I hated. But the fact of the matter was that I woke to get stoned. Ate. Got stoned. Dressed. Got stoned. Nights and weekends were spent pairing highs with hits from the bottle for an added buzz. I feared what Sophia’s reaction might be to this lifestyle of abject disregard towards anything which resembled a healthy lifestyle.

And beyond her pending approval of my healthy appetite for drugs, alcohol, and whatever else afforded a cheap sensation, I was faced with the most glaring oversight of all—accounting for those who didn’t hold themselves accountable whatsoever. Somehow this one-bedroom arrangement didn’t serve me alone. It was offered freely to a collective group with little to no restraint. Take Lefty, for example. Like any friend with no filter everything with him needed to be taken with a grain of salt. If not the whole shaker. Nothing felt more vulnerable than introducing someone to your friends. At least on dates there’s a level of remove from all that’s personally damning or too close to home. Even if you happen to survive a few of them, dreadful as they were, if uncouth behavior or the rabid consumption of drugs and alcohol hadn’t sent them running out the door, such visits quickly turned stale. And to bring anyone home and meet this band of misfits was saying a lot. But this was my house. To live and do as I please—or why else was I paying the rent?

So I figured what the hell and invited Sophia over.

She asked me for the address and when to drop by. All I had to do now was break the news to the guys.

“So everybody knows,” I said, “I’m inviting someone over for the night.”

“Yeah, OK, sounds good,” the room replied without one puffy red eye glancing my direction.

“She hasn’t been here before so I expect you all to be on your best behavior.”

“Wait,” Lefty began with a start. “What do you mean ‘she’?”

“I mean she’s a girl.”

“Atta boy!” Billy thundered, clapping his hand on my shoulder.

In one respect, the announcement successfully motivated some stoney campers to stir and collect their belongings. Only one party remained wholly unconvinced.

“Who is coming over, exactly?”

“Her name’s Sophia. But don’t worry, Lefty, you don’t know her.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Do you like her?”

“We just met.”

“You must if you’re bringing her home.”

I had no response. But he wasn’t done yet.

“Can we even smoke bowls?”

“That remains to be seen. Who knows how she’d react to such brazen displays of debauchery?”

“For all that I do around here I reserve the right to smoke when I want, and now you’re telling me to behave?”

“Got a problem? Leave. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve asked you to leave my place of residence.”

“God damnit.” He folded his arms at last. Knowing full well there was nowhere else from him to go. “When she coming over?”

“Anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour so load your last bowls now. Then you can help me clean.”

“No thanks. I’ll leave when she gets here.” He grabbed for the bong.

I sipped at my tasteless swill when a new thought began to burn worse than my screaming esophagus—what about the house while I was gone? Without wishing this treacherous trash heap onto even my worst enemy, I had to look no further than those at hand.

“There’s something else to discuss. I’ll be gone for a couple days,” I started, slightly distracted, cutting back into their conversation. “A week to be exact, and I’ll need the house watched over, you know, for safekeeping. Since you’re here every day we’re practically roommates already.”

“Yes.”

“Yes? I haven’t asked anything yet.”

“We’ll watch it for you!” Billy cried before excitedly planning out the week without one consideration as to where I’d be.

Only Lefty was too astute for such vague subtleties.

“Wait—where you going?” He asked.

“Park City.”

“For the week? That’s a long time.” Billy mulled it over. “I’ll lend you my flask. It’s sure to get you out of trouble in a pinch.”

“That’s unnecessary but much appreciated,” I accepted his kind gesture. Sticking it into my back pocket.

“What’s the occasion?”

Lefty just couldn’t leave it alone. I hadn’t planned to broach this subject with them. Not before tonight. But already being placed on the spot I downed the rest of my drink before obliquely mentioning that it was for ski camp. It didn’t go unnoticed.

They looked back stunned before chastising me over how long it took to tell them.

“Alpine ski racing?” Lefty laughed. “So that’s what you’ve been up to these days.”

To which, Billy added: “As in training to race other skiers?”

“That’s the idea,” I said.

“We didn’t even know you skied! I’m sure that’s costing you sorely.”

“You have no idea.”

Like that, my secret was out. That shameful dirty little thing I couldn’t bear to expose to the public was presented for all to see.

I never told my friends about it because I never expected them to understand. Let alone support it. It seemed to be the forces of nature molded you into the person you were, and none of my life experiences thus far resembled that of a competing athlete.

“Does that also mean you need help with the business?” Lefty asked, practically licking his lips.

This had been the arrangement in the past. But I wanted to take more than the week off from business as usual. I wanted to terminate it for good.

“I might sell out my stash and get out of the game.”

Lefty nearly choked on his bong hit. I attempted to explain myself: “I don’t want to sell pot my entire life.”

“Why say such a terrible thing?”

“It’s a recession for one.”

“Which is when the black market thrives!”

“Let’s be honest, there’s far more toil for what it reaps. Especially when not a single waking day was your own. I’m small scale in the grand scheme.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. We’ve always been there to help you stay afloat.”

“That’s the problem. Add the daily intrusions plus the countless hours wasted—I can’t do it anymore.”

Slowly, the horror sunk in. “But who will I buy from?”

“Thorny. Start buying in bulk. Maybe you can play the drug dealer for once.”

“Spencer Thornton? He never answers my calls.”

“For having all the connections, your rapport seems to be lacking.”

“I’ve got a couple contacts for whenever you don’t come through, believe me. Except I prefer to support my friends. It’s a privilege that I buy exclusively from you.”

“The same a parasite gives their host, I imagine. Only I could do without daily dimes on the front. You must have expected this day to come.”

“On the contrary. I’ve always seen myself as a fully functioning addict dropping by for a bag until early retirement. Besides, no one’s got a problem with you benefitting on the side.”

“Excepting federal law. But I digress. Sorry I’ve got plans of my own that don’t cater to your design.”

He studied me over. Then to my surprise, he chuckled, saying, “I don’t know why I worry when this is like the last ten times you’ve threatened to go straight.”

“What do you mean?”

“Only that we’ve heard it all before.”

“Where’s Niko?” I changed the subject. “I talked to him hours ago. Also, it’s time to put the bong away and help me clean up.”

No longer taking any calls, the last to pick up eventually came and went. The house cleared. Leaving my thoughts obscured by clouds of smoke as I remarked how easily the two who remained made themselves into permanent fixtures. Like furniture. Except recliners don’t hold arguments with the ottoman.

All was going according to plan. But still no knock upon the door.

After the first hour had passed, I nearly broke and busted out the bong. I sensed the smug gleam in Lefty’s eye glowing brighter. But I refused to give him the satisfaction by staring straight ahead.

Nearly two hours after her last message and I was practically on Lefty’s side. He knew it too and was starting to joke again when a sudden tapping caused the three of us to bolt upright. The sound of a metal ring on a glass pane.

The light step on the threshold and sound of talking voices instantly gave me rise. Fearing the worst, I took a cautious approach to opening up when I got met with a welcome change of spirits.

“We made it!” The girls burst with laughter, derailing from whatever conversation they were having to regain control of their giggling.

Sophia entered first followed by her friend who was slightly shorter with a white ribbon in her long, plaited hair. Her distinctive smile radiating the same brightness as her bubbly personality.

I shot a sidelong glance around the room. Billy shrugged his shoulders.

“Sorry. We do that sometimes. And sorry for being so late­—we were at a friend’s house and lost track of time.”

“It’s not like I was sleeping soon,” I said.

“It’s not that late!” Sophia’s eyes flashed with the same dark glint as the jet beads on her necklace. “Also, I should’ve mentioned I wasn’t alone. This is my second half/partner in crime and absolute best friend in the whole entire world. We don’t do anything without each other.”

“Hi! I’m Chase.” She introduced herself with a wave and a smile. “Thanks for having us over.”

More giggling.

I rubbed my eyes to see more clearly. Despite hardly drinking I seemingly beheld the same image as if in double-vision. Both of them were practically the same height and wore knitted sweaters.

“The more the merrier.” I said while looking for somewhere to put their coats. “Allow me to introduce you around: the degenerate with an unlit ciggy in his mouth is Billy.”

“Hi Billy.” They said in unison. Speaking together was another one of those quirks of theirs I was to shortly learn about.

He tipped the brim of his fitted cap.

“Evening, dolls.”

“And this degenerate heathen is Lefty.”

Lefty yawned with disinterest. Still seated on the couch.

“Can I interest you girls in a drink?” I asked.

“Don’t worry, we come bearing gifts.” Sophia said with a pearly smile. Her purse unclasped to conjure up a liter-sized bottle of cotton candy-flavored vodka, mostly finished. “Do you have any mixer?”

“I’ll have to check. Two drinks coming right up.”

“Better make that three if there’s enough,” Billy said. “Otherwise, I’ll settle for a Manhattan?”

“Ooh sounds fancy.” The girls said. “What’s that?”

“A whiskey martini,” I said. “Want one?”

“It has a lot of alcohol, right?”

“That’s basically all it will be.”

“I’ll take one!”

“You got it. Chase?”

“Ditto.”

“Three Manhattans it is,” Sophia laughed with glee. “Unless Lefty wants one too.”

Lefty merely scoffed in disgust to the side.

My fears subsided as they took their seats side-by-side on the two-cushion couch. There was no cause for worry—so far.

With no time to chill glasses I filled plastic cups with ice to pour out the cocktails. I nearly started to relax when the girls became mobile again. And by the time I realized they were headed to the bathroom it was already too late.

No more than five minutes and they visited the worst room imaginable.

I waited with bated breath.

Listening fearfully for their inevitable return until the door opened again and they both popped out. I expected the worst when Chase took me by surprise.

“First off, we think your home is amazing!”

“We really love what you’ve done with the place.” Sophia added: “It’s just so, quaint.”

“And cozy.”

“It certainly has charm.” I handed everyone except Lefty their drinks.

Then Sophia dropped a bombshell.

“How about the rest?”

“I’m sorry.” I about spit out my drink.

“Of the house, silly.”

“You want to be shown more?”

“We’ll take the grand tour, please.”

Lefty couldn’t roll his eyes further back at such demands. Let alone my eagerness to perform backflips for them. However, no amount of cleaning could fully remove the hardened grime which coated every surface.

Even after all of my planning and preparation I didn’t think about every room. The kitchen floor remained sticky. Its sink over-flowing in dishes. The bathroom smelled dank and moldy. No need mentioning my trash heap of a bedroom. These subpar conditions functioned as the basic amenities for one to be isolated in quarantine. Any unforeseen oversights wouldn’t be just typical, but expected.

I mean, what was more intrusive than granting full access to your living space? If left unsatisfied, they’d only want to invade and inspect the deepest darkest recesses and corners.

I responded at last with a nervous chuckle. Like laughing in wait for a hallucinogen to rear its ugly head, and put on my best smile despite the awkward fit.

“Shall we begin? Here through the hallway and past the bathroom we’re taken to the disaster zone I call my bedroom. Complete with messy bedsheets and a box mattress.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad. You should see Chase’s room.”

“Umm excuse me.”

They burst into a fit of laughter.

Awkwardly, I continued on: “Don’t mind the clothes crawling back out the hamper upon your exit, they’ll be washed someday­… out through the adjacent door and passing through the living room we find ourselves back in the kitchen, and yes, that’s the swamp cooler in the window. You’ll also find the average appliances here like the microwave, coffee pot, and Billy at the bottle as you pass. A familiar spot for him.”

“Because it makes me easy to find.”

“Hey Billy!”

“Hello again, darlings.”

“Down the stairway to the landing we have the backdoor to my backyard,” I stepped into the white-squared enclosure so they could better view the back parking lot of an auto insurance office with the apartments behind it.

“What an adorable yard.”

“So tiny and cute­. It’s perfect!”

“Not much to look at, really,” I said. “Tenants of the apartment don’t take kindly to us playing soccer at midnight, and understandably so. Sometimes I’ll grill out here too.”

“Soph, how fun does that sound?”

“So fun. Like for hamburgers.”

“And for hot dogs! We’d love that.”

“­Erm—moving on down we come to our final stop. Every castle has its dungeon.”

I led them down another flight of stairs to an unfinished shelf basement filled with the storage of needless clutter which also doubled as the laundry room.

“And yes, that’s a solid crack running through the foundation there.”

“Don’t you get lonely living by yourself?”

“It can get pretty cramped for a one-bedroom.”

“You’re too funny. Chase and I are all about the vibes, you should know.”

“Literally.”

“And?”

“This house is too charming. We love it!”

Although hesitant to add any grand sweeping statements, I felt comforted nonetheless to overhear their perceived enthusiasm regarding there being “lots of opportunity” here.

Back upstairs. Lefty still pretended not to notice the new company. After checking his phone, he yawned and asked, “anyone know what Niko’s up to?”

The door gave way to an icy blast. Flung wide as if kicked open. In its frame there stood a dark figure.

“Speak of the devil!” Lefty shouted over the whistling wind as I jumped to shut the door behind our untimely visitor.

“How you living, Niko?”

“Swell.”

He came dressed in his usual articles of gloom with dark strands of hair hanging slick against his face. His face wound up in a maniacal smile that was as preposterous as the Old English font spelling out REBEL on his all-black hoodie.

“Doesn’t seem like it.” Billy remarked upon the latecomer’s face which got twisted as if sprung from a broken cog.

“Where you been?” Lefty persisted.

“Had my first indoor soccer match tonight. We won. 8-nil.”

“Congratulations. Ladies, I’d like you to meet the missing link,” I tried segueing back to Sophia and Chase. But showing up in rare form Niko could’ve cared less or, at least, seemed to take little notice.

He bantered on.

“Good to meet you and whatnot, but first things first I gotsa littl’ present for us…” He fumbled within his backpack, nearly dropping it more than once, to withdraw a square bottle which he held up like Excalibur to the light.

Its liquid was deceptively clear. Like an arctic spring. And as unassuming as the missing label was, the contents were of an unknown proof.

“Ooh what’s that?” The girls moved in for a closer look.

“That right there’s a game changer!”

“It’s only moonshine, Lefty,” I attempted to explain. But as with any truth, he was quick to contort it fast.

“No. It’s Mediterranean goat milk. Tseek-oo-dia.”

“Don’t say it like a Mormon.” Niko cleared his chest with a loud belch. “But I had to dip into the ol’ family reserve for this.”

Lefty caught a whiff from the uncapped bottle.

“It’s nearly half-finished­—you were driving with this?”

Niko’s skeletal face cracked up into a grin that screwed up his deranged features even more.

“Is that what your dad makes?” Billy asked.

Niko nodded. “But it’s illegal so we don’t talk about that.”

“For Billy, drinking and thinking never go hand in hand.”

“Shut up, Lefty.”

“Care if we have a taste?” I said.

“I’d care more if you didn’t.” Niko said, pulling on the bottle again before thrusting it into my hands. Frosted over, the bottle was cold enough to be chiseled from out of a glacier. The result of spending the day chilling in the trunk of his car.

I poured out shots for everyone.

“How strong is it?”

“Who knows? 150-proof maybe,” he added with a lazy shrug. “Like snowflakes, no two bottles are the same. But it gets you stone-cold drunk 100% of the time. Don’t believe me? Here’s the proof.”

“Ready?” I asked the girls, who remained seated. Watching over the proceedings in wide-eyed wonder.

“Ready as we’ll ever be.”

Sophia, Chase, and Billy lifted their shots.

I raised mine to be greeted by the burn of singed nose hairs. Not daring to know what possessed him to bring over this vile poison, I shut up tight and braced for impact.

“Aspro pato.” Niko said cheers in Greek.

Our shot glasses clinked.

As if distilled from the tears of a phoenix, or the grapes of Dionysus himself, the intensely fragrant and fiery spirit sparked my taste buds before dousing my innards with gasoline, sending signals of agony to my screaming brain. My throat closed in on itself but I forced it down nonetheless.

“Did you siphon this from a diesel tank?” Billy gasped, searching around for something to chase the burning sensation with. But nothing mitigated the firewater’s wrath.

Everyone followed suit to find chaser. Except for Niko who calmly breathed out after another long pull off the bottle.

“Might be the best batch yet.”

And here I was worried about Lefty’s potential actions. What a tragedy being pushed to drink alcohol to the point of numbness by a family who provided it. I’ve learned long ago that following the advice of your elders could wind up being more detrimental than good to one’s well-being. No one was better at exploiting your weaknesses for personal gain than those who raised you.

Chase answered Niko with a loud belch.

“Excuse me,” she said. Her ears reddened.

“Oh my, and who’s this lovely lady?” Niko reacted to this interruption as if noticing the girls for the first time.

“Are you brothers?” Chase asked us flat out.

Niko rocked on his feet as Chase centered into his drunken view, dumbfounded by her. But not for long.

“You could say half-brothers. But only from the waist up.” It was the shine all right. Niko wouldn’t dare to talk to a girl otherwise. But with liquid courage flowing freely through his veins he was in his element where every one of his jokes landed.

“Now that you’ve formally met Niko,” I began. “I think what he’s trying to say is we’ve heard that before.”

Sophia was intrigued.

“Twins like us!”

“So, who’s the good and who’s the bad one?” Chase asked the more serious question.

“That’s for you to decide.” A deviant smile spread across Niko’s face.

Having all convened in front of the TV, our talk progressed as we took rounds of shots. Everyone obliged except Niko who preferred pulls straight from the bottle.

All I had to do now was ensure glasses were filled and let the shine do the rest.

Every so often Sophia let out a quirky laugh that only added to her easygoing appeal. I also noticed, while she elaborated on more personal tidbits, that she consumed a lot of alcohol, even by our skewed standards, and tore through drinks fast enough to outpace even myself.

Lefty strolled back. Talking nonchalantly as if mid-conversation with God knows who and a newly cleaned bong dripping in his hands.

I froze with horror as it unfolded. Before he could load a hit, I lit into him through grit teeth.

“The one thing I asked you not to do.”

“Shit, sorry, I completely forgot, honest.”

“What’s going on here?” Sophia said, starting to connect the dots.

I came clean with an excuse for the bong which caused her and Chase to laugh even harder.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You smoke too?” I felt exasperated. “I never know when I should say so. One doesn’t casually bring up their drug use. Recreational or not.”

“Not to mention a drug dealer.” Lefty pitched in. Before I could react, they set on me again.

“Is it true?”

“I can help out friends in need. Yes.” I ended. My cheeks flushed.

“We know who we’re buying from now.” They laughed again.

I almost waltzed over to plant a kiss on Lefty’s forehead. But I reached for my smoking paraphernalia instead. Which so happened to be located on the other side of Sophia.

Then the unthinkable happened.

“Can we maybe partake?” She asked.

“I’ll load you up first. Thanks for cleaning the bong.” I snatched the bong from Lefty who sank dumbfounded into his seat. “And have as many as you’d like.”

I laid it on a little thick knowing this common link made it worthwhile. But first I had to give the true disclaimer: “I should also mention that we load snappers here. We also spliff our bowls—but I could load you straight green if you’d like? I only need to grind up another nug.”

“Spliff bowls?” They asked, intrigued.

“Tico. Mokey. Mole bowls. Doo doo bowls. Poppers. Whatever you want to call them.” Lefty said, not even bothering to conceal his agitation.

“Does it matter?” I shot Lefty a dirty look.

He merely shrugged.

“Here’s what I’m working with if you need a visual aid,” I showed them my card.

“That’s not even close to enough spliff,” said Billy, showing them his own. “What ratio are you working with?”

“Fifty-fifty. All you need is a bit to take the edge off, beyond that is filler.”

“Pssh you all spliff like pussies,” Lefty butt in next. “I take plain tobacco rips all the time.”

He proceeded to demonstrate it by loading the bowl purely with tobacco from his cigarette. He began to sweat and violently cough as soon as the vile yellow smoke reached his lungs.

Sophia and Chase merely looked at one another. Their eyes wide open.

“What do you think?” One asked the other.

“I think I want my own snap.” The other one answered.

“Me too.”

“And spliffed.” They both said at the same time.

One look at each other and they broke into hysterics again.

“Sorry, this always happens with us.”

I mused over how laughable my fears once were while grinding up a large enough nug for all of our bowls. I thought I’d be driving these girls off and they partied like we did.

I could only admire how well this was going. Lefty and Billy spouted their typical one-liners while Niko spilled over with personal anecdotes, oftentimes repeating them. I even got a couple words in edgewise while cracking the occasional joke to tie off another’s thought.

Another couple rounds of shots and the girls nestled deeper into our personal lives. “So tell us how you know each other?”

“We grew up together. Going back to Sunday school. Except for Billy. He’s a remnant from the Delta house.” Lefty said, leaning over for the bong again. Both girls looked at me as if to validate the claim.

“More or less. We’re from the Greek community. But I didn’t know who Lefty was until my senior year.”

“Greek community? As in the Row at the university?”

Lefty scoffed. “We’re talking about the old country.”

“Niko too?” Chase asked, gazing up at him with her lips slightly parted.

“Of course! You should see my Greek dancing.” Niko said.

“Greek dancing?” Sophia and Chase asked at the same time.

My cheeks flushed crimson. “There’s an annual festival at our church where we put on costumes and dance like clapping monkeys. But not anymore.”

“Speak for yourself,” Niko turned up his chin.

“We love it! That’s so awesome.”

“How about you?” I said, twisting the questioning back onto them. “Have you been friends for a while?”

“Basically. We go way back.”

“Yup. We’ve been friends for like, forever.”

“At least since junior high.”

“Back when Sophia was a blonde!”

“Oh shush, they don’t need to know that.”

I attempted to wrap my head around what she was saying. “That’s not your real color?”

“Nope. If you must pry.”

“And you’ve always dyed it? Sounds like too much trouble.”

“You saying some trouble isn’t worth the hassle?”

“Oh no,” I backtracked. “Only that I’m sure you’re just as fine natural.”

“Yuck. I hate it. Everyone always seems to treat you differently being blonde. I would permanently change it if I could.”

It was hard to fathom her being hung up on physical appearances. But unsurprising given that society’s influence reinforced many unhealthy views of perfection.

“So, Niko,” Chase inquired with two big doe eyes, “You said you’re a dancer?”

“Obviously. It’s not something I brag about. But I’ve been on the cover of magazines.”

“One issue. Different copies.” I said.

“Wanna show us something?” Chase cooed. Egging him on.

“Show you something, huh?” He looked around the room before disappearing into the kitchen.

He returned holding an empty wine glass. Its skinny stem propped between his sausage-link fingers. He took a final swig then poured the bottle’s last drops into the glass.

“How ‘bout I do a trick on this bottle?”

“Please!”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s supposed to be reserved for performances…”

“It would mean so much to me.” Chase batted her eyelashes for good measure.

“OK. If you insist.” He stumbled forward and placed the empty bottle upright on the ground, “But I’ll need a steady hand.”

Lefty jumped right to his aid.

“Not you.”

I stood up and grabbed a dishrag for him to hold for support. Sophia was ecstatic.

“The real trick is to put all your weight square on the balls of your feet.” He placed one foot on the bottle and attempted to stand but it shot out from under him.

“This happens time to time, but believe me, never on the dance stage with a proper audience.”

“Is that meant to be an insult?” The girls goaded him on.

“I was talking more about my support.” He glared my direction.

“Thanks,” I said. Ready for him to finish his routine already.

“Let’s try this again. Right-o.”

Niko kicked the bottle over again.

“Mind holding me a little tighter? I can’t balance all on my own.” After the third failed attempt he picked up the fallen bottle and stormed onto the kitchen floor. “The damn carpet is mucking up my routine. But place it on a harder surface and bingo!”

He stuck out his leg and with a steel focus lowered his torso to meet his outstretched foot, his back straight, he brushed the tips of his toes using his free hand.

“OK. There it is, you can hop off,” I said but Niko tucked beneath his arm to turn a full circle.

The adoring crowd cheered him on as he completed a pass, rose back up and leaped off with a slap of his back foot and a backwards spin to complete the act.

Thinking that I was off the hook I attempted to return to my seat beside Sophia when Niko downed the remaining moonshine in the wine glass.

“Next, the wine glass.”

“You can’t be serious,” I said.

“Take my hand, malaka.”

With little choice to be had I offered my support once again.

The wine glass trembled under his immense weight as he stood upon it. Slowly, he began to drop to his toes.

Midway he began to uncontrollably shake.

“Ah shit,” He started to pull on my hand.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

“I’m getting a leg cramp.”

“Stop shaking. I won’t be able to hold you.”

“OK, I’m coming up.”

But before he could make it up all the way the wine glass slipped and shattered under him. He dropped, splayed out on his back atop the broken glass shards.

Niko screamed in agony. His right arm streaming with blood.

“You poor thing,” Chase ran up to him after grabbing the roll of paper towels from the kitchen counter. “Hold this there and apply pressure. It’s a good bleeder.”

“That’s nothing. You should see me dance on top of a chair.”

“I’m stepping out for a cigarette.” I said, unable to bear more.

“Me too.” Lefty replied.

“Care if I join?” Asked Sophia.

“Not at all.”

“Never mind.” Lefty sank back down.

“Is it OK I step outside?” Sophia asked her friend. “Yah!” Chase answered, tending to the open wound on Niko’s arm by applying pressure with a blood-soaked rag as he explained how the recessed filters of his Parliaments were revolutionary for fishermen because they didn’t get soggy.

“I was hoping we could share one,” Sophia’s gaze locked with mine. “Too bad you’re leaving Sunday morning. Have fun and please try to be safe.”

“Does that mean we’re doing something when I get back?” I asked.

“I was trying to find tickets for the university football game, but no dice,” her bright eyes fixed on mine. “Maybe we can watch it together?”

“We can do it at my house. Watch the game, that is,” I said, knowing I could only feign interest in a sporting match for so long.

“You mean it?”

“Beats cheering out in the cold.”

Her eyes sparkled in the dark night.

“It’s a date,” she’s said, wrapping her arms around me.

Between the good company and liberal flow of alcohol, the worse of my fears had all but dissipated by the time we reentered the house.

We carried on with our drunken revelry. The flowing conversation smoothed over the most belligerent of Lefty’s eyebrow raising comments. And when the girls had to leave, I loaded them each a parting bowl before they pulled us close for goodbye hugs. Niko was left ruddy-cheeked and swooning as the door shut and they drove off together. His mouth pursed as if parched.

Moonlight mingled warmly with the unforgiving frost. The black streets abandoned. Iced over in uncanny silence. Only the scent of their sweet-smelling perfume stayed behind.

Of all my failed relationships, one occasionally came along to fill in the blanks. But as much as I enjoyed her visit, I couldn’t fully relax until it had ended.

Next morning came ushered upon the footfall of stampeding hooves. A painful reminder of last night’s drinking.

That and I couldn’t get Sophia off my mind. Our plans for the following weekend were too far away which made me curse the timing even more. After a furious internal debate, I decided not to push my chances for fear of pushing her away by accident. How many times had that happened before?

This didn’t stop her from texting me later that day so I invited her back over and was soon smoking her and Chase out for the night. Then the following night after that. And so on.

Ski camp remained forever away and my whims were cast aside like tumbling dice.

My plan was to get a nice weeklong break from smoking weed to disrupt my daily dependency on it. Then come back and get a job. Something reputable to pay the bills while I continued down this path of no return. That, and I needed a break from sitting around packing bowl after bowl. Besides, the true silver lining would be ending in the positive after having paid the $1,900 I still owed Coach Price.

The house became flooded with nearly my entire contact list the night before leaving to Park City. Including Sophia and Chase. All of them babbled from one topic to the next in mind-numbing proportions. This was how I planned to sponsor the trip. At three-hundred dollars an ounce.

By the end my supply had been reduced to a single lumpy nug.

The howling wind picked up all night. Too wired to sleep, too exhausted to stay awake, my dreams plagued by every conceivable outcome with not one of them being in my advantage.

A faint scratching at the door could be heard throughout.

5 AM—I swung my legs out the warm bed into unforgiving cold. It was the morning of the trip and I still needed to finish getting ready for it.

Foggy footsteps led me onto the cold linoleum tile towards the kitchen where I switched on the lights, waterlogged, groggy, and non-committal to fully waking. I searched for the biggest glass available; nearly falling asleep again as I stood there until the water brimmed over.

Terrible late-night decisions dictated there’d only be enough time to switch out the coffee filter to brew a fresh pot, pack my old black gym bag with the torn zipper, and smoke my remaining stash. The best way to quit was getting too high for comfort. Knowing that reality would hit me full force later on.

I hitched my bag of unforetold encounters onto my shoulders along with the rest of my ski gear. Helmet. Chin guard. Ski goggles and gloves. Two types of ski poles, specialized ones with an aerodynamic bend in the shaft to curve around the body and minimize drag for speed disciplines, as well as straight ones for slalom with pole guards. Arm guards. And my trusty carbon sticks.

All but the street lamps still slept when I left home. We were told to meet at the park and ride no later than a quarter past six. Anyone even a minute late would be left behind. Coach Price’s orders.

Every effort to make up time on the road got thwarted by poorly shoveled roads, road construction, and the wreckage of a near head-on collision. I was more than halfway there when I realized my freshly brewed pot of coffee remained untouched on the kitchen counter.

When I pulled into the ice-covered parking lot there was a line of three buses left running whose high beams cut through the thick exhaust. Coach Price stood beside the other ski instructors from the program as they spoke. Silhouetted in black against the bus which belonged to the Academy’s women’s program.

I parked my car feeling wired and frazzled already. A month in and I still hadn’t adjusted to the routine or stopped pulling these late-night shenanigans.

Out of mind. Out of sorts. These bitter ruminations brought to mind how much I resented never getting to enjoy my coffee.

My head already rang from the earful I was sure to receive as I approached the idling chromium beast. But Coach Price was too distracted to harp on my arrival with mere seconds to spare.

“Glad you could join us,” he said. “We’re a little behind schedule but I can stow your gear if you want to board with everyone else. We’ve still got the open road ahead of us. If only someone could communicate that to your team captain… ah! and there he is now.”

As he spoke a snow-white Subaru WRX with bluish beams swept the lot.

One of the souped-up editions with a ski rack on top and murdered out black rimmed tires, it had practically every feature of a luxury vehicle. Any parent who trusted that much wealth to the reckless handling of their kid was beyond me. As if being needlessly expensive were prerequisite to any good investment.

“Fashionably late, per usual.” Coach Price said. “But imagine if he didn’t show.”

© 2025 [R-Complex Press]