The Ylem (11 page)
“Let’s do it.” I said.
Why not?
“You’re gonna love it.” He smiled.
Ski Apache had a large parking area, dotted
with several ponds of melted snow. Ticket booths, rental shops, ski
schools, bars and sport shops crowded the edges. Blue and yellow
gondolas moved up the colossal Sierra Blanca, drawing black rails
against the white snow on the mountain.
Many skiers were already leaving, which meant
it was definitely a good time to do this. At least it was until I
spotted a sharp orange car near a snow bank. My breath caught in my
throat. The sight knotted my stomach in thousand sturdy loops.
“No way,” I whispered to myself under Dean’s
loudmouth music. “No way.” It had to be Tristan’s. There wasn’t
another car like his around here—or anywhere for that matter.
Dean parked five spaces away from it,
boosting the heartbeats in my chest. The dearth of snow adventurers
made the probabilities of an uncomfortable encounter likely. That,
plus my one-million-dollar-worthy luck.
“Let’s go and take out the sleds,” Dean said
and climbed out. “We have to hurry.”
“Sleds?” I shook my head in confusion and
followed him. My worry was now in full bloom. “I thought we were
going to use tubes.”
“No.” He pulled open the trunk’s door. “It
would be too eye-catching.” He gave me a black plastic seat. “This
is better than a tube if you’re going for deep slides. Besides, how
were you planning to break?” He twisted the sled to show the steel
brakes underneath.
“Good point,” I admitted.
We headed to the blue chairlift, my boots
sloshing through water, until a thick layer of snow welcomed my
soles. A few skiers were still snaking down the trail on my right.
None of them Tristan. Maybe the stars were shinning on me and he
was on the other side of the mountain.
“Hey man, what’s up?” Dean said, slapping a
guy’s hand in a manly gesture.
The deal guy, I supposed.
“Cool man. Going for a slide?” he asked Dean,
looking at our sleds.
“Yeah, we’re going to use Elk line and…”
Dean’s voice faded as I turned my head and focused on my
surroundings. A glossy black snowboard with a bright green pattern
stood out in the middle of the snowy field.
Cool board.
I lifted my eyes to look at the person
holding it and…I couldn’t believe my eyes. I just couldn’t believe
it.
It was Tristan, walking down to the parking
lot, looking like a snow-god. He glanced at me, as if somehow he’d
felt my gaze, and paralyzed me for a second. Then, face
expressionless, like a slab of ice, he looked away and headed to
his car.
He was gone a few seconds later.
I turned back to Dean, disturbed.
“—so don’t use the other one.” The guy was
advising Dean about something. “I'm stopping the lift after you, so
you better get going. The others have stopped already.” He pulled
up the safety bar of an awaiting chair.
“Sure,” Dean said, beckoning me with his
eyes. “Thanks, man.” He tapped the guy on the back.
I followed and sat on the icy surface.
“Have fun,” the guy said, pushing down the
frosty bar against us.
The deserted slopes looked freakily steep
from the chair, and every inch we moved up, the idea of sliding
became less appealing. But I knew a good adrenaline injection was
what my body needed in that moment.
“Ready?” Dean said, hauling up the safety bar
once we reached the top.
I nodded nervously.
“Go!” he shouted. We jumped off with the
sleds under our arms and ran to avoid the chair’s rotary
motion.
I stopped a few feet away, still standing. “I
didn’t fall,” I panted, amazed.
“I told you.” He smiled, dropping the plastic
seat on the snow. We walked uphill for a few minutes and stopped in
front of a trail. The view made me feel like I was standing on the
top of Mount Everest. “This is the intermediate one, right?”
“Yep. The four slopes next to this one are
black, and one of them is closed because of the rain the other
day.”
“I guess it washed out the snow.”
“More like it softened and then became hard.
It formed an icy cover. A fall could be really dangerous. But this
one has a good cover of groomed snow.”
It did. The snow was deep enough to cushion a
fall. It looked like a soft downy blanket. We sat down on the sleds
with our feet anchored on the sides to block our motion. My heart
was already sprinting down the vast trail ahead.
“Do you see that other blue terminal at the
bottom?” Dean asked, pointing his finger to the distant lift
line.
“Yeah,” I said, anxious.
“Once we finish this slope, instead of
keeping straight, we’re going to turn right before the terminal.”
He waved his hand in the air, as if tracing the path to follow.
“And that trail is going to end up next to the Elk Liftline, the
one we took.”
“And that other trail is…”
“Intermediate, too.”
“Great.” I said, relieved. “And how do you
steer this thing?” I looked down at the plastic sled, which was
looking more unsafe than ever.
“With the brakes. You just need to pull
softly on one of the red handles. Like this.” He pulled up his
right handle. “And since we’re turning right, you just have to pull
the left handle. If you pull the right one, you’re going to turn to
the left.”
Ugh. It sounded like driving lessons. “Why is
it so complicated?” I said, wrinkling my forehead.
“It’s not. Just keep in mind to pull the
opposite brake to the direction you’ve chosen.”
“What if the brakes don’t work? How will I
stop? How will I turn?”
“You can use your hands but…since you don’t
have gloves…it’s not a good option to do it at that speed—or you
could throw yourself out of the sled if you want to,” he added,
eyes amused.
I gulped.
“Don’t worry. That’s not going to happen.” He
laughed.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“Okay.”
“To the count of three, then. Put your feet
inside and push the sled with your hands. Stay behind me.” He moved
a few inches from me. “Ready?”
I pulled up my hood, breathing hard.
“Yeah.”
“One—” Adrenaline boosted through my entire
body.
“—Two…,” My hands trembled.
“Three!” Dean yelled, tugging his legs inside
the sled and urging it forward.
I pulled my trembling feet inside and
propelled the sled down in the same direction. I was gaining a lot
of speed so I pulled both handles to reduce the pace, one harder
than the other, and the sled suddenly turned right, taking the
opposite direction.
I was sliding perpendicularly to the
trail.
I started to hyperventilate, my hands, feet
and lips tingling. I tried to veer again, forcing all the strength
I could into my wobbly hands, when a barricade of threatening pines
showed up and pushed me to take a new direction—the black slope.
The soft rubbing sound of the snow underneath turned into a grating
noise, warning me to stay away. But I couldn’t. I was being dragged
like a magnet by the desolate hill.
And then…everything turned ugly. The sled was
quaking uncontrollably on the hard icy surface. I pulled the
handles so hard that my head scraped the ice. The brakes didn’t
work. I spread out my legs to lessen the speed with my feet, but
they just slid along the sled, on and on and on.
Help!
I thought to myself. I couldn’t
scream. My throat was clogged by a massive lump of fear. I didn’t
know how, but in the blankness of my mind, I thought about Dean’s
alternative option. I threw myself out of the sled and landed on
the rigid surface. But I kept falling down the slope, scratching my
palms on the burning ice.
And I was heading straight to another dense
wall of pines.
Panic slashed my breath. My chest ached. My
entire body froze, blocking every motion. I couldn’t avoid my
course. Everything was over. My shaky peripheral vision faded into
a tunnel-like image, with the tomblike pines at the center. I
closed my eyes, waving my arms over my head, and listened to the
hasty beat of my heart, perhaps for the last time. In that split
second, like in the movies, memory flashes beamed through the
darkness, announcing the irrevocable arrival of death. But one
image yanked me from the stillness, as if my muscles had been
suddenly awakened by a sharp bolt of electricity—my dad’s face.
I couldn’t give up. I couldn’t leave him
alone. I didn’t want to erase that smile from his face. And I’d
promised him…I’d promised I would be careful.
I shoved my hand against the snow, ignoring
the bone-searing ice, and pressed it hard, hard enough to veer my
direction. My feet found a bump and jostled my body upward. I
landed on my chest and my lungs compressed against my rib cage. My
breath stormed out from my mouth. I rolled and rolled, my eyes
closed, until I finally stopped, one side of my face burning on the
snow.
Everything went quiet. Darkness was the only
image in my mind. A heavy darkness. Cold darkness.
Darkness…
“Kalista,” said an echo.
It took never-ending seconds to finally open
my eyes and come into the light. Tristan. He was kneeling close to
my side, his face a few inches from mine. And in the middle of the
haziness, something caught my eye. His eyes looked surreal, with
streaks of silver, like beams of light over a gray ocean. The green
haunting the depths an electric emerald.
“Oh no,” I sighed, pushing up myself with my
weak elbows. “I'm dead.”
He chuckled, relieved. “No, you’re not.”
I stared at him, mystified. He had to be an
angel…and those eyes. “Then why are you here?”
He didn’t say anything and only kept staring
at me.
I noticed an acute pain pulsing in the right
side of my forehead. I ran my tongue over my bottom lip and tasted
blood. I realized my whole body was in pain, especially my chest. I
couldn’t be dead. Heaven wasn’t supposed to be painful. “I'm not
dead, then,” I whispered. “What happened?”
“I was hoping you were the one who was going
to tell me. I just found you here.”
I shook my head and saw the pines next to us,
just a few inches away. “I fell from the sled and…I was about to
smash against the trees when I—when I bumped into something and
started rolling until I stopped.” I looked at the pines once more.
“I'm safe.” I said in awe.
Another silence fell upon us.
“I'm sorry I didn’t come on time,” he finally
said.
I turned to look at him. His eyes were
closed, as if he was in pain. To my surprise, I wanted to comfort
him. I wanted to tell him that everything was going to be okay.
But, “Wait a minute—” I said confused, “What are you doing
here?”
His eyes snapped open, hesitant.
“Snowboarding.”
I looked aside and saw his fancy snowboard
burrowed into the snow. “How did you get here?”
“On the lift.”
“The lift is not running.”
He leaned toward me, his eyes—now normal,
maybe I’d imagined them—close to mine. Really, really close.
“You’re not the only one who has connections over here.”
My heart began to pound. “Um…” I forgot how
to speak. “I-I don’t have connections. It’s Dean.”
“Right.” He said in a low, sharp voice, still
oh-so close to me.
“I saw the liftline stop,” I insisted.
He held the close distance between our faces
a few more seconds and then leaned back, face tight. “It
didn’t.”
My face flushed to a deeper shade. “Are you
saying that I'm a liar?”
“More like a space cadet,” he said, a smile
tugging up one side of his mouth.
Why did everyone keep telling me that? “I
wasn’t spaced out.” I tried to get up, hot fury infusing strength
into my tremulous body. I placed my hands on the frosty surface for
support and grimaced. “Oww,” I looked down at my stiff hands.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s my hands.” I said, fighting to stretch
my fingers. They felt heavy, like rocks. I couldn’t close them.
They hurt in a strange way.
“Let me help you.” He held out his palm to
me.
I leaned back. “I'm perfectly capable of
standing up by myself.” I knew I looked pretty weak, but I wasn’t
some damsel in distress. I didn’t need a guy to help me.
“That wasn’t what I meant,” he said with a
warm smile.
My icy bravado melted. He was so beautiful
that it was a felony.
Okay, maybe I was weak.
“Can I have your hands?” he asked in a
courteous manner. I gave them to him without thinking, hypnotized.
He smiled and held them softly. His hands were warm. The contact
with his velvety skin—even over the numb surface of my rock-solid
hands—sent tingling waves to my arms. I hadn’t noticed how
beautiful his long fingers were, like pianist’s hands.
“They’re frozen,” he said, looking down at my
hands. “It’s like I’m touching a corpse’s hands.”
The word 'touching' shot a flock of
butterflies to my stomach. “What are you trying to do?” It looked
like he was doing something strenuous.
“A heat transfer.” He looked at me. “Your
hands need to gain thermal stability, or you might lose them.”
I widened my eyes in shock.
“I'm not going to let that happen.” He
smiled.
He seemed an entirely different person from
the one I’d seen these last couple of days. It was like he’d never
stopped talking to me. Maybe Owen was right. Maybe he was bipolar.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked, lost in his beautiful face.
He locked his intense eyes with mine. “Why
shouldn’t I?”
I tried to give an answer, but his strong
gaze made me lightheaded. I lowered my eyes in a flush of
embarrassment.
“Are your hands feeling better?” he asked.
And strangely, in that second, my hands started tingling with those
same dots of electricity in my fingertips. I could feel them
again.
