The Quiet Between Turns The sky was the color of clean linen when they arrived at the mountain.
Not blue exactly,
More like a pale promise of blue,
Stretched thin over the peaks.
Snow lay everywhere,
Soft and complete,
Smoothing the world into something simpler than it had been the day before.
Mara parked the car and turned off the engine.
The sudden quiet felt ceremonial,
As if the mountain itself was asking them to pause before stepping out.
Well,
She said,
Exhaling,
Here we are.
Evan nodded,
Already reaching for the door handle.
At nineteen,
He moved with the impatience of someone whose body still trusted itself completely.
He had his headphones around his neck,
His gloves tucked in his jacket,
His board already leaning against the car,
Like it had been waiting.
Mara stayed seated a moment longer.
She rested her hands on the steering wheel and let herself feel the altitude,
The cold,
The faint hum of anticipation mixed with something else,
Something quieter.
She hadn't been snowboarding in years,
Not seriously,
Not since Evan was small enough to sit in a backpack carrier while she and his father took turns on the slopes.
Life had rearranged itself since then,
Folding into responsibilities and routines,
Into years that passed without ceremony.
This trip had been Evan's idea.
Just one day he'd sit over dinner a few weeks earlier,
Before next semester starts,
Like just us.
She'd agreed before she could talk herself out of it.
Now,
Standing in the parking lot,
She pulled on her gloves and stepped into the cold.
The air smelled like pine and distant wood smoke.
Somewhere up the mountain,
A chairlift hums steadily,
Carrying people upward in a slow,
Patient line.
They walked toward the lodge together,
Boots crunching in the snow.
Evan talked easily,
About school,
About a class he liked more than he expected,
About a friend who kept insisting they all go somewhere warm for spring break.
Mara listened,
Nodding,
Smiling when appropriate.
She liked hearing his voice like this,
Unhurried and unfiltered.
At home,
Conversations were often brief,
Caught between obligations.
Here,
The mountain seemed to stretch time open.
Inside the lodge,
Warmth wrapped around them.
They sat to strap in their boots,
The familiar clatter of gear filling the room.
You okay?
Evan asked,
Glancing over as she tightened her bindings.
Just remembering how this works,
She said.
My body might file a complaint.
He grinned.
I'll wait for you.
She laughed softly.
You don't have to.
They stepped back outside,
Boards under their arms,
And they made their way to the lift.
Snowflakes drifted lazily now,
Just a few,
As if the sky were testing the idea.
On the chairlift,
They sat side by side,
Feet dangling,
The world falling away beneath them.
Trees rose up in quiet rows,
Their branches heavy with snow.
The sound of the lift faded into a gentle rhythm.
Mara felt something settle in her chest.
Not sadness,
Not exactly.
More like recognition.
I used to bring you here when you were little,
She said.
You don't remember it,
But you loved the gondola,
Thought it was magic.
Evan smiled.
I believe that.
They rode the rest of the way in companionable silence.
At the top,
The mountain opened wide.
Trails curved away in gentle arcs,
White and inviting.
Evan pushed off first,
Gliding easily,
His movements competent and smooth.
Mara followed more carefully.
The first turn felt stiff,
Unfamiliar.
Her knees protested,
Her balance hesitated.
She breathed out slowly and let herself adjust,
Letting memory and muscle meet somewhere in the middle.
By the second run,
Something clicked.
She wasn't fast,
She didn't need to be.
The snow accepted her board with a soft hush,
Each turn carving a quiet line through the surface.
Cold air brushed her cheeks,
Sharp and clean.
Halfway down,
She stopped near the edge of the trail and looked out.
The valley below was layered in white and shadow,
The town reduced to tiny shapes.
The world felt distant in a comforting way,
Like worries left behind at the base of the mountain.
Evan pulled up beside her.
You're doing great,
He said.
Don't sound surprised,
I'm impressed.
They continued down together,
Not racing,
Just moving in parallel,
Sometimes close,
Sometimes drifting apart before finding each other again near the bottom.
They took the lift up again,
And again.
By midday,
They sat outside the lodge with cups of soup,
Steam rising into the cold air.
Snow fell more steadily now,
Softening the edges of everything.
You know,
Evan said,
Stirring his cup,
I was nervous to ask you to come.
Why?
I don't know,
I didn't want it to feel forced,
Or like nostalgia bait.
Mara smiled at the phrasing,
It doesn't.
He nodded relieved.
They rode once more in the afternoon,
The light beginning to shift,
Shadows stretching longer across the slopes.
The mountain grew quieter as some people left,
The trails opening up.
On their last run,
They took a slower path,
Winding gently through trees.
Snow muffled sound completely here,
Even their boards seemed to move more quietly.
Mara felt an unexpected swell of emotion,
Not overwhelming,
Just present.
She realized she was savoring not the activity,
But the being there,
The shared cold,
The easy silence,
The knowledge that this moment existed,
Complete and unremarkable and rare.
At the bottom,
They unclipped their boards and stood for a moment,
Neither in a hurry to leave.
Thanks for coming,
Evan said.
Thank you for asking.
They packed up as the sky dimmed,
Clouds deepening into soft gray.
As they drove away,
The mountain receded in the rearview mirror,
Patient and unchanged.
Mara rested her hand against the window and watched the snow fall,
Feeling quietly full.
Not everything had to be held onto forever,
Some things were enough just to be lived once,
Fully together,
Before gently letting go.
And that is the end of our story this evening.
Until next time,
Sweet dreams.
You
