“Ew! Nasty!” said Drew, backing away.
“All right, just give her a sec,” came another voice. The pink slowly started separating, the trees were turning green again, the snow, white. And now I felt someone gently easing me back down to the ground.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
“Sure,” said Eric. “You want to just sit here for a bit?”
It was too late. The orange men were here.
“Hey, how’s it going? You take a spill?”
“What hurts?”
“Anything hurt?”
“You know what year it is?”
“Who’s the president?”
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
The two of them talked so fast over each other that I felt dizzier than before.
“That’s okay, really, I’m fine,” I said, when they both paused for a breath.
“Okay.”
“All right.”
“You sure?”
“She said she was fine.”
“All right. But if you need anything, just give a holler.” And they sped off.
Whew. Now all I needed was for Drew and Eric to follow them.
“Hey, guys? Thanks for stopping by, but really, I think I’m okay,” I said.
“You sure?” said Drew, still staring at the spot where I had thrown up in the snow.
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Feel better!” I heard him call before he took off. Jerk.
Eric squatted back down next to me.
“Sorry, I know I’m not your favorite person, but I’m not leaving so fast,” he said.
“Really, I’m fine.”
“I promise I’ll leave you alone once we get down the mountain, but first let’s just stay here for a little bit, okay?”
I didn’t really have the energy to argue. Plus I wasn’t quite sure what would come out of my mouth if I opened it again.
So we sat. The cool air felt good now. I was mostly just spacing out, trying to make the trees calm down and stand straight. A couple of times I heard the whoosh and whir of skis coming down the slope behind us, but Eric always stood up and waved his hands, directing people out of the way before they got near us. I guess most of the people who tried Devil’s Canyon were more experienced skiers.
I don’t know how long we were there, but at some point I realized that my butt was getting really soggy and cold.
“Hey, I think I’m ready to get going,” I said.
“You sure?” asked Eric.
“Yup. Yeah.”
“Okay, well, we could either call to get you a stretcher, or we can walk down the rest of the way,” he said.
I shuddered. Stretchers terrify me.
“It’s not that far from here, but I don’t know how steady you feel.”
“I’ll walk,” I said.
“Okay, let’s just take it slow.” He wrapped one arm around my shoulders and rested the other on my waist, pulling me up slowly, carefully.
“Is that okay?” he said quietly.
“Yeah.” I really meant to say, “No, thanks,” but at that moment I was so grateful to have him there. He was strong, too.
“Anytime you need to stop and take a break, just let me know, okay? Easy does it. And here we go.”
His hands stayed securely attached to my shoulder and waist as we shuffled forward. It took us a year to get down the rest of the way, I swear. Eric was doing most of the work, steering me cautiously, thoughtfully. He told me stories about all of his injuries on the slopes. He had broken his nose three times. Two times on trees. Once on his own knee. I started to laugh, but it hurt my head too much when I did.
Just past the chalet where we got our lunch and rented skis, there was another wooden hut with a red cross on it and a shuttered window. I had never noticed it before. There was just one room inside with a cot, a chair, a desk, and a counter full of bottles of antiseptics and cotton balls. A sweet-looking older man sat at the desk in a white lab coat over a thick green sweater. He had a gray beard and reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, and he was very intently filling out a crossword puzzle when we came in.
“Took a spill, huh?” he asked with a warm smile. His voice sounded like static on the radio, deep and crackly.
“Yup,” I said.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Wasserman.”
“Sam Levy.”
“You mind if I step out for a second and get someone to help me find your dad?” asked Eric.
“That’s okay, you don’t have to.”
“Good idea,” said Dr. Wasserman at the same time. Eric left before I could protest.
I explained what happened as Dr. Wasserman sat me down on the little cot and checked the back of my head for any lumps or bumps. Then he pulled gingerly on all of my limbs.
“You stop me if anything hurts,” he said. He touched my glands, massaged my stomach, listened to my chest and took all my vitals. He shined a little penlight in my ears, my throat, my eyes.
“Anybody home?” he said with a gruff laugh. He smelled like cough drops.
Just then, Dad burst through the door. “Oh! Sammy! You okay, sweetie?”
“I’m fine, Dad. I’m fine.”
He rushed in and kissed me on the forehead. I could see Kathy behind him, nervously craning her neck.
“Are you sure? Are you sure?” Dad was asking, frantically running his hands over my face, my neck, my arms.
“She’s gonna be fine,” said Dr. Wasserman.
“Oh, sorry,” said Dad. “I’m Judd Levy, Sam’s dad.”
“Eugene Wasserman.”
“And I’m Kathy,” I heard. Good job. No further explanation needed.
Dr. Wasserman turned back to me. “Well, the bad news is, you took quite a spill. The good news is, I think you’re gonna live. You probably have a mild concussion. I could send you over to Burlington General to get a checkup, but there isn’t really much they can do for you except tell you to rest. Or you could just go back to wherever you’re staying and put your feet up by the fire for a day or two. What do you think?”
“I can take you to the hospital if you want. I’ve got the truck,” said Eric. I had forgotten that he was still there.
“Oh, you’re staying at Phil’s place?” asked Dr. Wasserman.
“Yeah,” said Dad. “Listen, Sam, we can go to the hospital if you want, sweetie.”
“Whatever will make you feel better,” Kathy chimed in.
“Well, you’ve got a big fan club here, huh?” said Dr. Wasserman. “What do you think, young lady?”
“I think sitting in front of the fire sounds good,” I replied.
“You sure?” Dad asked.
“Yeah.”
Dr. Wasserman told me to get in a lot of clear fluids like broth, and if I threw up again or felt really dizzy to give him a call. He helped me off the table and gave me his card.
“Seriously, anytime. My usual activity for a Wednesday night is to watch water come to a boil or time the traffic lights, so don’t hesitate to get in touch with me.” Then he turned to the three faces in the doorway.
“Now, who is going to take this lovely lady home?” he asked.
“I will,” said Dad and Eric at the same time.
“It’s okay, I’ve got her,” said Dad.
“Really, I can take her, Mr. Levy,” said Eric. “You guys only have a few days left on the slopes. Why don’t you finish your afternoon?”
“No, no, no, no, no, I’ll take her.”
“It’s no trouble. My truck’s parked right over there.”
While they were talking, I took the opportunity to lie back down on the cot. My limbs were so achy and tired. So were my eyes.
The next thing I knew, Eric was easing me off of the cot, and we were saying good-bye to Dr. Wasserman. Dad and Kathy were going to find Jeremy and return all of our equipment.
“So, I guess I don’t qualify for the Super G, huh?” I said as we walked slowly to the parking lot.