The tips of my
skis glided through the delicate pure snow as I peeked to my left to keep tabs
on who was going to be aligned with me on the triple ski lift. A green jacket
with a scruffy beard for a face, and a younger version of him coated in black.
Next.
Ski up all the way to the line. All right. Now sit down.
We
all plopped down with a thud and a lingering ring and embraced the cold, stale
silence. The man in black turned to his friend and began to speak of sports and
such but slowly the conversation gravitated towards a more somber subject.
I
really do miss him, man, Lance used to love hitting the slopes here. The fresh
air, the music, this mountain was Lance.
Green
Guy solemnly shook his head and I saw the glare of a ray of sunlight reflect
off the solitary tear rolling down his cheek.
We
rounded the top of the mountain and Green Guy turns to me and says Have a nice
run.
They
go right and I go left, and I rolled down that mountain like the tear down his
face.