Winter and Ross

 I looked fat in my ski suit; unattractive, chubby, gross, embarrassing. I felt like I had rolls of fat spilling over my waist line and hanging down to my thighs. My butt looked flat, my boobs deflated. I was the definition of ugly. And, to make matters worse, I was laying on the side of a mountain, in a snow drift, my skis and poles no where to be found. I should have been worrying about getting myself up with all my layers on, finding my skis and putting them back on, or trying not to cry; yet, here I was, worrying about people thinking I was fat.

Today was my first time skiing and my whole family was here to witness it; my Mom and Dad, my two aunts, their husbands, and my cousins.

We owned a house in North Carolina; a nine bedroom masterpiece carved against the side of a mountain. We spent the whole summer there; we swam in the creek, played truth or dare in the basement, ate sweets until our stomach hurts, jumped off the tops of waterfalls, fished at dawn, and hiked until our feet bleed and our stomachs were empty. We also spent a week of our winter break in our family mountain home, and, most of the week, everybody skied; my aunts - Jenna and Mary - their husbands - Sal and Jace - my Mom, Dad, and brother - Bretta, Josh, and Neville - and my cousins - Candace, Ashlyn, Waylon, Bella and Anthony. My cousin Deacon - the littlest of the bunch - was the only one that did not ski...well beside me.

I was the oldest cousin and the lamest. I preferred books and video games, cooking and netting scarfs. My cousina forced me to participate in the outdoor summer activities, and I complied, stretching my comfort zone, but I always had fun. Skiing, however, was a different story. They never pressured me to do it, but, today, they made me. They were simply tired of watching me spend my winter break sitting in front of our fireplace, T.V whispering in the background, something to occupy myself in my hands.

In all honestly, I had been skiing before. I was five, Candace was four, and Neville, Waylon, Ashlyn were almost three; everyone else had not been born yet. Our parents took us to Sugar Mountain - the place they learned to ski. My mom and aunts strapped skis on us and pushed us down the tiny hill that was the Bunny Slope. Candace, Neville, Waylon, and Ashlyn loved it; I cried. 

Now, at nineteen years old, I was skiing on good old Sugar Mountain, wearing a lopsided yellow helmet on my head, a ugly plum purple ski suit, and huge ski goggles suctioned to my face.

It was my cousins and brother who took me up the slopes. My parents were skiing the black diamond slope with my aunts Mary and Jenna, and Sal and Jace were in the lodge's bar that over looked the slope; drinking crown and coke, watching us come down the mountain, and hanging out with little Deacon, who was playing his DS.

The adults trusted my cousins and brother to take care of me and I thought the stern talking to they gave to them before we went up the ski slope would make sure they did not abandon me or put me in harms way. In context, I thought that meant they were going to take me to the same bunny slope I tried when I was five years old. They didn't. They took me to the Blue slope to start off. Not the Bunny Slope or the Greens, the fucking Blues; the third hardest slope! I almost peed myself going up the ski lift - sandwiched between Bella and Candace - I fell getting off the ski lift - Neville and Anthony laughed at me - and then Waylon pushed me down the first hill because I refused to go down it - I screamed and then crashed.

Now, I was laying in the middle of the slope, alone, cold, skis and poles gone. To make matters worse, people were dogging me on skis and snowboards, telling me to get the hell out of the way.

I could not believe my cousins left me up here. They helped me up the first three times I crashed but I guess they grew board of lugging my uncoordinated body out of the snow. Now, they were no where in sight and I was pouting, tears pooling in my eyes. A huge drop was standing in front of me, laughing at the fact that I was trying to find a way down it without killing myself.