Alone at the Top of Shawnee

"Not a chance!"

My friend Dave calls up to me. He's fifteen feet back, and I'm sixteen years old.

"The snow's too deep! There's no way you'll be able to ski down this!" He's exasperated; chasing me up a neighborhood road. Feeling invincible, I yell back, "Fucking watch me!"

Dave was kind. He moved to the neighborhood about a year prior. He was tall. Really, really tall. He was a loner, and I don't think he had any other real friends. But, I think he found a best friend in me - even though I swore a lot.

"Fuck! My socks are all wet!" My feet sink deeper. The powder soaks into my Airwalks. I put a gap on him, and his heavy breathing goes quiet. I keep running. Despite his long stride, he isn't able to keep up.

I reach the top of the tallest hill in the neighborhood - Shawnee Drive. The moon is low, but I'm on a high - a kid in a teenager's body. Twinkly Christmas lights, muted by flakes, cast the only light on Earth. I turn my head toward my lumbering friend. He's far down, but I hear a faint laugh. My cheeks sting and slowly melt the snow caught in my hoodie. The cotton lets it in. I'm wearing irresponsibility.

There's another laugh.

He was two years older than me; a senior - my brother's age. I wasn't sure where he came from, but I knew he was different. Different like me.

I grew up playing in the woods - climbing, swimming, running and swinging. Doing things my parents told me not to but knew I would anyway - jumping on boulders, tripping and falling, always and intentionally getting lost in the dark. I'd crash through tree branches like an acorn and hit the dry summer ground with a thud. Through a bleary haze, I'd see a friendly hand reach down for mine. I was always back for more.

Dave stumbles at the top and lands in the soft winter snow. I reach out my bare hand, expecting him to shoot up his large black mitten. He looks up, his hands still on the ground. He doesn't move. "I've never been on the ground without having someone kicking my ass."

I never said anything in response. I didn't know how. I just waited for him to grab my hand, and eventually, he did. He was too tall to pat on the shoulder, so I just stood there quiet and looked down the hill. I wish I could have given him some of my memories.

He breaks the silence and suggests racing to the bottom of the hill - he running and me skiing. I tell him it's on.

I squish my shoes into the bindings. Maybe this won't work, I think to myself. My poles pierce the powder and strike the pavement below. I start pulling and build a little speed. I keep digging, but the snow is too deep. My loose shoes aren't helping. I'm out front, but I expect him to stride past as fast as I can turn around. I do, but he's not there. I look up the hill. He's not moving - just alone at top of Shawnee. A couple minutes pass, and I see him start to walk down in the low moonlight. My high, now gone - a teenager in a teenager's body.

I always wonder what he was thinking about up there. Whatever it was, I think he truly found something for the first time that night.