Ski club was the best. Every Friday afternoon, we would all gather in the gym and walk down to the ECC, piling into busses that were lined up by grade. The TVs on the busses usually play cheesy Disney movies, but that was ok. Everyone watched them anyways. It was almost dark when we arrived one Friday in late December, and the sun sank down in the cold air over the trees as we pulled into the mud-filled parking lot.
As usual, an undeniable feeling of excitement hung in the air, and everyone chatted happily. The bus creaked to a stop, and the entire middle school group waited anxiously. Suddenly, the doors opened, and we all tried to rush out at the same time. Once my friends and I had grabbed our gear from the stow away under the bus, we started towards the mountain.
“which run should we go on first?
“what do you want for dinner?”
Pieces of other conversations and my friends voices around me sucked me in. I grabbed my board, cold and lifeless under my fingers, and headed for the mountain. The metal edges cut into my numb un-gloved fingers.
The mountain was a beautiful sight at night, and the snow gleamed under the trail lights. The dark patches swayed like sea grass in the wind, and down at the very bottom, the warm lights of the lodge drew me in. There was music playing somewhere, and skiers and snowboarders were everywhere. I stepped inside and rushed to get changed, but not before throwing my board onto one of the metal racks set up outside the lodge. Once everyone was changed and had met up outside, we headed for the lift. The lift was powered by big, rusted gears that hung above our head, shooting the creaking chairs up the mountain. As we got on, I noticed that part of the chair cushion was missing. The lift took us, and off we went. Once we got relatively far up the mountain, the noise receded and the only sound present was the creaking of the chair. Every once in awhile a skier or snowboarder would come down the trail below us, the metal edges of their ride scratching at the ice beneath.