Skiing - Fast

Today I went skiing with my father at Mary Jane - one of my brother's favorite places to ski (the other and more favored being Copper). My father and I hadn't skied together in a long time. For sure, it had been at least three years (as skiing is prohibited while prego and difficult when breastfeeding and cranking out babies) and it definitely hadn't been just the two of us in many, many years.

It was relaxing to be able to talk with him alone - not worrying what my children were sticking in their orifices - the younger one in his mouth - the older one in his nose or ear. It was wonderful to be outside, free and skiing fast - no matter how cold it was.

Wes loved to ski fast. The concept of turning was alien to him. What he lacked in grace and style he made up for in confidence, aggression and common adolescent boy stupidity. The only goals being speed and air.

I'm trying to remember the last time I skied with Weston. He must've still been in high school. Unfortunately, if the last time was the day I remember, it was a day that ended with a tift between us. Wes, for the first time in our lives, threatened to hit me. I remember he was upset about something and I felt he was overreacting. I'm sure I said something snotty and provoking.


We were passing one another - one going up the garage stairs into the house, one standing on the landing, going out of the house. He put his face in my face - nose to nose and drew back his fist. He was shaking he was so irate. I had seen my brother angry - but not with me - well, not this angry anyway. But somehow I wasn't scared - it never occurred to me that he would actually hit me.

I don't know if that was based on faith or ignorance. The result of weighing Wes' sweet, sensitive side against his emotional, out of control side and knowing my brother could never hit me or of not being around enough (I was visiting from Rhode Island at the time) to know the extent of Wes' anger and actions or just being naive enough to think I was immune from his explosions.

I don't remember how it ended - what if anything was said - only that I didn't get hit. He controlled himself, dropped his fist and walked off, probably punching something inanimate along the way.

For no particular reason that I can think of, I've been thinking about my brother a great deal lately - the good and the bad and the missing of our relationship. Trying desperately to remember and learn anything I can about him. But usually the memories come back at odd times. I hear a song, stumble upon a family picture, smell a hair product, see someone I think looks like him.

Today was a day for remembering. It was 4 degrees at the base of Mary Jane - so at the top of the hill, with the wind chill factor, it was probably 20 below. Brrrrr!

On our last run we decided to go down Sleeper. There had been enough snow during the day that it would not be the usual crusty icefest. As we started out on the trail, I was following a good, confident skier dressed in a coat from the early 90's with stripes of neon pinks, yellows and greens waking up the blackness of it. It was similar to a coat my brother used to ski in.

As I followed this anonymous skier through the woods, I thought to myself "I miss Wes, I miss skiing with Wes. When will Wes be back?" At that moment, it just felt like Wes had moved away and that one of these days he would be back to ski with me again - fast and free.