Skiing and Drinking
The morning of Jan 12th started quietly, like a rising sun. It ended brutally, convulsing like a sinking ship in the midst of raging pacific. The story captures a group of young friends in the throes of their own nature. Succumbed to their darker desires in the dying light of the morals and reason.
It was a bacchanalian affair. 4 bottles of Fireball, because it was cheap. 4 bottles of wine, because they were adulting. A row on the slopes, under the fiery bombardment of alpine elements to feed their adventurous spirit and a round in the confines of a wooden brew house, to catch the latest affairs of the mountain folk.
They were split in two pairs. Not as lovers, but as partners in crime. Some would see two men who darted from the city to ski and two women who followed, swooned by promises of fresh air, blue skies and fresh snow. Others would see the same entourage and detect a man and woman who used to be romantic, but cooled and preference of dynamic friendship over lust and then another pair not yet romantic, but ever more aware of each others magnetism. Like a sampling in proximity to a fire started by idle teenagers in the woods.
There was another, who joined in later and would come and go into the story. He held friendships with Paolo, one of the men, but crossed the mountains for a different affair. He found his original destination, a feast and theater on a level that he was not ready to commit to, both from the perspective of his constitution, as well as self respect and moral values. This sidenote doesn’t serve to paint the main heroes of this story as neither boring, nor too avant garde. Simply, put we had more reason to our madness. Or so we thought.
For those who’ve tasted alpine air and hiked sheer cliffs, in search skiing as to make wind rush wildly through your eardrums and let adrenaline surge unfastened, you know the feeling of inebriating exhaustion and the trap an afternoon cocktail holds in store for weary bodies on the mountain.
At first we were drunk for the joy of the adventure, the promise of a grand journey, regardless of the destination. Soon we partook in the madness that is friendly competition. Chi skied like a champion, with grace and energy of effortless mastery. Paolo knew his way around a snowboard, but has challenged his wits on skis because a man who doesn’t constantly learn a new trade grows frail with the natural decay of existing talents.
Diega, the youngest in our group rode a snowboard. Her youth was jovial and cool. She embodied the hip hop culture of the new generation and so lead the way in the secrets of the freshly minted times, of which, we the elder were too old, boring and morose to be on top of. Our personalities clashed on the slopes in a whirlwind or snow, ice, scattering children and shocked parents.
As the last racers halted to a full stop at the base, unstrapped and bared their faces from under the masks and helmets, the noon was growing fat and saw was our hunger. We saddled ourselves at the bar, consumed finger food and drowned it all in a few pints to celebrate the falls, the conquered mountain tops and the colorful locals who mingled in our presence. Alas, one of us had to drive home, since the local hotel rates were for the newly rich and a few miles of icy, snowy, though plowed mountain road separated us from the isolated piece and glowing warmth of our cabin.
We got to our lakeside cottage and collapsed across couches, chairs and floors. Industry was looked down upon, at this point in time, elevation and mild intoxication. We were tired because we were Olympians. We were starving because we gave it our best. We weren’t sober, because that would be a sin. No intellectually stimulating, frequently risque row with your friends can be done on a stomach empty of protein and malts.
Paolo and Chi would chop the greens and the poultry. Diega would keep our wine glasses to a respectable level and I kept everyone abreast of the latest development of the sporting event on TV. Bautiste just returned to our cabin from the more aggressive merriment of our city neighbors and swore an oath never to return to that heaven place of devil worship. We were content to hear compliments to our level intellects and emotions, as well as alcoholic and pharmaceutical restraint. We poured more wine, shared story of the now shadowy and freezing mountain and took turns describing the jolliest moments of our alpine race to the base.
As the evening grew darker. So did our senses of humor, our stories and references. Emboldened by the well earned liquors and strengthened by the aperitifs and several main courses, we played card games where wit was followed by raucous laughter and knowing the dirty mind of the person next to you helped one to emerge victorious. You were right if you were rude and dirty. You were funny if it was wrong. As cards against the humanity piled on the table next to empty wine bottles, we became fearless, familiar and bold.
Paolo mentioned his conquests of the past, since we were on the topic of proper closing of old romance in the wake of a rising one. Diage was slurring a little, when she didn’t get her way with a dirty spin or a previously shady remark that I proposed in response to Chi’s ill concealed attempt to cheat at cards. I was laughing so hard that my stomach churned. Bautiste found our shades of grey highly reasonable and in fashion. We ordered a cab to the local establishment to share our wit and virtue with the local progeny. We would bring them to light, or fall into darkness trying.
Darkness was vast and pulsating when we returned home for the last time. Someone performed yoga and other forms of acrobatic dancing for show. We massaged each other to sooth the sore muscles from the mountain. Clothes were lost through game of cards, or may be just for show. We had a hot tub and fireball. We used both. Nobody had bathing suits, but nobody cared. I found myself alone with Chi. We embraced, trying to find answers to eternal questions in each others eyes. It was a lost cause, but for now, in this void we found each other. We didn’t know where anyone else was at this point, besides the shrinking moon over our heads. How long are you supposed to stay in a hot tub?
No doors were open, or sounds were made, as we sauntered our way to my bed. The sun has long set. The moon was bright against the dark maroon sky. The mountain watched over us in the shadow.
