gold rush

double vision in a rose blush (part 2)

The blush was nearly permanent in the wintertime.

When he removed his ski mask at the snowy lodge, his face was so incredibly flushed pink that you wondered if this is how he saw you. In fact, you'd die to know how he saw you, how he considered you in the ebbs and flows of his life.

You skied with a group of his friends, since they always seemed to be attached at the hip with him when you were anywhere near school grounds. Of course he was a racer, and of course he was good at it. You could match him on a good day, but like all things, it seemed to come easily to him.

"My dad used to take me skiing," you overheard him explain to a friend after your first run. The friend proceeded to tell everyone and it wasn't long before everyone was talking how good of a skier he was. Most of the things you knew were things you overheard. You hovered near him, always around but never asking.

What was it that kept you two together? The fact that he was the only person that cared about your eating disorder? The honor you felt for being the first person to talk to him in August. You felt to yourself, truly, that you were the person who cared the most about him. Everyone, all the girls and boys on the ski team, saw him for a pretty face, but you knew there was more. You just knew it.

Whatever it was, he always kept worming his way back into your life. He showed up most days on the second half of lunch, sliding silently in the chair across from you. At the table you always sat at. You weren't sure if he knew how much it killed you, the anticipation of double takes and the seething disappointment on the days he didn't show.

You wondered if there was a girl as obsessed with him as you were now in the old town he lived in. Most likely. You'd be shocked if there wasn't. His beauty was all natural, and he must have grown up with the world bending to his will.

One frigid night, you'd come in a disastrous second place and you'd never felt more tired in your life. On the walk to the bus, one of your skis unlatched and one slipped to the ground. Then you tripped over nothing and your poles clattered to the ground as well. You felt like you were going to burst into tears.

Silently you watched as a familiar mitten rounded up your skis and slung them over his shoulder. Hands shaking, you gathered your poles, the metal clanking like sharp bullets bouncing around your head. At least you could blame it on the cold this time.

"Hey," he said quietly. He had placed first. New kid, and he'd blown away the competition. How did you deserve to stand beside someone as perfect as that?

"Are you upset?"

You sighed, your breath steamy against the ice of the air. "Of course I'm upset. This is an easy school, and I lost to a sophomore."

"I heard their girls team is really good, though. The boys are kinda shit, but there are some really good racers on varsity."

"You know I can't help but beat myself up."

You followed him quietly onto the back of the bus and took his friend's seat, leaning your head against the cold window. You heard him whispering an explanation when Trey showed up later, but you couldn't feel it all past the overwhelming disappointment you felt in yourself.

The post race dinner was held at an Asian buffet, and the seat next to him was empty. A rare occurrence. "Can I take this?" you said quietly.

He smiled at you. "I don't see why not."

It was ironic, however, that that quiet, static night after the worse race of your life was also one of the most defining nights in your analysis of his character. Some of his friends who also did Model UN and debate were discussing a presentation that they were preparing to present in the following week. He chimed in from time to time, until they reigned him into the conversation and then it got heated.