Après-ski

Bundled like mummies, they remained a mystery. What treasures, I wondered, lay beneath the hillocks of padded nylon? In my youth, girls were my entire world. In Wisconsin, in the winter, each faraway planet (be they blonde or brunette) bore many layers—crust, mantle, outer core—hiding their innermost hearts. Sheathed like astronauts in coats and snow pants, mittens and scarves, their alien visors blinded me with the sun.

I’d get lost in little details—chapped lips and fogged-over glasses—fixated on hints of a bigger picture.

I’d ponder the mystique. What lies beneath that balaclava? Beauty or the Beast?

I remember those days, my boy-boner hidden in winter paraphernalia, the bumps on the school bus threatening to make me cum. Someone drew tits in the fog on the window with their fingertip. With our hot bodies crammed inside, the cartoon boobs reemerged like the holy ghost.

Heaven, I’d wager, is something like après-ski, languorous and eternal. Valhalla, I’m certain, is a place with hot chocolate, warm fires, and teenage ski instructors removed from the cold, extracted from each facet of The North Face. Winter in Wisconsin ain’t easy, but there is glory to be found beneath the ice (no, I am not talking about ice fishing).

Winter is a gem that outshines other seasons, an icy diamond worth more than brazen gold. I remember it fondly, even amid the blustery chill. There were flowers under the mounds of snow. I loved everything about skiing but the skiing.

Spring revealed buried secrets, memories bobbing on the currents of snow-melt. Curbs caked in salt. Cigarettes. Discarded Starbucks cups.

They found her after the snowbanks receded, naked except for her ski boots. She had blue lips and white, frosted eyes. In death, she was the embodiment of winter.

BIO: James Callan lives and writes in Aotearoa (New Zealand). His fiction has appeared in Apocalypse Confidential, BULL, Bottle Rocket, Reckon Review, Mystery Tribune, and elsewhere. His collection, Those Who Remain Quiet, is available from Anxiety Press.