Saturday, December 29, 2007

For Jay

Like many of the good people raised in Calgary, I am a skier, well, that’s not entirely true, since I haven’t skied in at least 15 years, but I used to ski a lot. There have been some bad runs, like when I wiped out, bouncing over moguls, skis and gloves trailing behind me, screaming “DADDY!!!”, while my brother and father nervously giggled below, relieved that I was finally moving forward, and not still standing at the top of the hill crying. There have been some good runs too, like when I finally managed to get off the chair without having a panic attack and needing the lift operators to slow it down, or the joy I felt when I realized that I could navigate on my new 180” s.
I started in the days of safety straps, with bindings so tight that the strong men I would ask to help me, visibly struggled to get them undone, “well, little girl” they would grunt, “those really are some tight bindings”, I was about 7. As I grew and moved from snow pants to stretchies and safety straps to brakes, I also became a better and braver skier. In part I have my brother to thank, we were on a run one day, and I was rallying for yet another hot chocolate break. Al wanted to continue skiing, and we weren’t allowed to separate. His argument was compelling, although at the time I pretended it repulsed me. He suggested, that someday a cute boy might ask me to go skiing, and I would be sorry if I didn’t know how. Simple, powerful and effective.
My junior high winters were all about skiing. Every Saturday I went to Norquay, famous for it’s black diamond run, The Lone Pine. Apparently someone once hit THE lone pine and died, which is pretty weird, because it really is the only tree on the run, and you would actually have to try to hit it for that to happen. Norquay is a second rate Banff hill, tied in its relative mediocrity with Fortress, the hill I went to on Saturday’s when I was in elementary school. Lake Louise and Sunshine are the diamonds of the cluster, but at least I wasn’t going to Paskapoo or Shaganappi, which any self respecting Calgarian knows are a joke, they’re within city limits and in those days consisted of rope tows.
I went to Norquay on Norm’s ski bus, which was organized through Norm’s Ski Hut, a store in the mall. Norm’s chartered a few Saturday buses, I was on “the Jewish bus “; go figure. The Steinberg’s chaperoned, and our bus was loaded with loud Hebrew school kids in turtlenecks, it was THE place to be for any young snowbound Semite.
It was necessary to wake up at some ungodly hour, to be at the bus before the sun rose. The Greyhound buses would idle in the parking lot, melting the layers of ice on the asphalt, kids tumbled out of wood paneled station wagons and Jeeps, dragging poles, skis, hats, goggles, comic books, and Walkmen, sleepy parents chatted while drinking coffee, still in their p.j’s. Every week I tried to get away with faking sick and sleeping in, and every week I was rudely forced out.
I was glad once I was on the bus, as is the way with most things in my life, if can just get out of bed to do it, I’m usually happy that I did.
Riding up to the mountain sitting with Danielle listening to ‘ Our Lips are Sealed’ or rocking out to ‘Pass the Dutchie’, I would mentally prepare for another ski day.
The day was divided into lessons and free ski, or if you were Danielle, Julie or I, free ski and free ski, with breaks for applying Lip Smackers, drinking hot chocolate and eating sour cream and onion rings.
One Saturday after we arrived at the hill, I spotted two cute boys from another bus, tall, blonde, adorable. I caught one’s eye, giggled, turned purple and then looked away. The other girls on my bus noticed too, they were after all, not blind.
Someone eventually spoke to the cute boys, and found out their names were Jay and Mark, it was probably Julie, she was good like that.
Did we have lunch with them? I’m not sure, it’s a blur, but what I do remember is Jay offering to carry my skis at the end of the day, I almost passed out. I was shy, and was emerging from a seriously awkward, awkward stage. I was used to boy’s attention coming in different ways, like stealing my pencil case and writing on it in liquid paper, making fun of my knees, snapping my new bra or laughing about how pale I was.
Jay carried my skis for all to see, and put them underneath the bus. Then he did something even braver, he asked permission for he and Mark, to ride on our bus back to the mall. This beautiful, polite, thirteen year old boy was definitely into me!
The Jewish Bus however, was not into Mark and Jay; they upset the fine balance of the ecosystem. My new love, Jay, sat in the back and he and Mark, were cross -examined as though they were absolutely without question, Hitler youth. I sat in shock, unable to mobilize and stand up for my ski-carrying hero. The boys definitely handled it well, but I am pretty sure it was not what they expected (or wanted) when they got on our bus hoping to mack on some nice uncomplicated girls.
I never saw Jay again and I hope that he and Mark weren't scarred by the experience. I strongly suspect they have recovered and are still out there opening doors, and carrying skis for all to see. Jay was the first boy to confidently show that he liked me, and for that I will always be grateful, and after 25 years, I still think of Jay and smile, that's pretty cool, right?

2 comments:

Unknown said...

Hey...so where's Jay when we need him?
A lovely story...well written.
Thank you!

Al Silverman said...

Your blogs are so amazing and inspiring.