Christmas With My Ex (Stuck For the Holidays)

1. Rives

ONE

Rives

So this is Christmas / And what have you done?

Saturday, December 23, 2023

Telluride, Colorado

10:12 am

The snow is flawless—untouched, sparkling in the light, and stretching out like a blank canvas in front of me. This is nature's perfection on full display. A paradise for a true powder whore like me.

There’s something magical—and yes, I know, risky and dangerous—about skiing alone; this is the kind of solitude that makes you feel like you own the whole mountain. I carve through the fresh powder, each turn sharp and smooth. My body is in sync with the rhythm of the slope.

The cold air bites at my cheeks, but I barely notice. I’m too focused and in the zone. This is what I love—no distractions, just me and the mountain. I was born for this. Every twist and turn, every leap, every second flying through the air, this is where I feel alive.

The world around me is a winter wonderland. Towering pines, their branches heavy with snow, frame the narrow path I’ve carved for myself. The horizon is bright blue…

The clouds haven't started rolling in, but I know they are coming. This is the proverbial calm before the storm.

That's why I had to get out here today. To take advantage of this, even though Bethany's flight was canceled. Despite my love for solitude, I wish she were here with me. She is my favorite ski partner. We’ve been planning this Christmas trip for months. It’s our big holiday getaway to two of our favorite places—the Rocky Mountains and the quaint town of Telluride, Colorado, for après-ski.

The storm is still hours away, so this is my last chance before the dump comes and the temperature drops. Hopefully, it will leave behind several more inches of snow as our Christmas surprise for Bethany and I to attack. But I have to seize this moment now.

Not to mention, I couldn’t wait to don this amazing new ski suit I got for the trip. It’s all white with pink, yellow and blue stripes up the side and a hot pink belt. I feel and look like a million bucks, if I’m being completely honest.

And goddamn, I love this shit! Every bit of it.

We've been all over the country skiing, and Telluride is hands down our favorite spot. When we were at the University of Colorado at Boulder, we would make weekend trips here during ski season and ski the back country for hours. Those were the days.

We were both on the ski team and are alpine skiers. She was number one in slalom and I was number one in the super-G. We’re self-professed ski bunnies to the core. Friends first but still competitors through and through. That is one reason I need her here; she pushes me and always makes the trail that much more fun.

Last I talked to her she was hanging on hope for a flight tonight, but with this storm… And Telluride isn't the easiest airport to fly into, so she might have to rent a car or hire a car service from Grand Junction to get here, if the roads aren’t too bad.

The last resort is Denver Airport, but that is a seven plus hour drive in good weather. I’m pretty sure if that is her only option, no matter how much she says she’s coming come hell or highwater (or blizzard), I know that won’t happen.

Either way, I can’t sit in the hotel waiting for her.

I know I shouldn’t be out here by myself. Backcountry skiing solo is one of the biggest no-nos, but I’ve done this a hundred times, and it’s a perfect day. What could go wrong?

I push off harder, the thrill of the speed rushing through my veins. I catch a small jump, the kind that makes my heart skip as I hover in the air for a brief, weightless moment before landing with a satisfying crunch of snow beneath my skis.

The mountain feels like it’s mine today—no other tracks in sight, no noise but the swoosh of my skis cutting through the powder. The isolation is intoxicating. Just me and the crisp, clean air.

You wouldn't know there was the promise of a storm on the horizon by looking at the beautiful white snow against the bright azure sky.

I breathe in deeply, the fresh smell of pine and snow fill my lungs.

This is what freedom feels like.

Then, in an instant, everything changes as I come down.

I hit a patch of ice hidden beneath the powder. My skis catch, and before I can even process what’s happening, my body is yanked off balance.

I’m flying through the air. But this time I'm not in control, nor am I graceful. I slam into the ground hard. The impact rattles my bones.

Pain shoots through my leg, sharp and immediate. I gasp, the wind knocked out of me. For a moment, I’m stunned, just lying here, blinking up at the sky as tiny, delicate snowflakes start to fall.

Then reality sets in—the reality that I'm stuck out her alone and things might be critically wrong with my body—and panic rises in my chest.

I blink up at the sky, the snow starting to fall harder now, swirling in the wind. My head is still spinning, but I grit my teeth and push myself to move.

My left leg screams in protest, but I don’t have time for pain. I have to get out of here.

I try to stand, leaning on my ski poles for support. The moment I put weight on my leg, a sharp, searing pain shoots up my entire body from my knee, and I collapse back into the snow.

Dammit.

I sit still for a second, breathing hard, trying to process the situation and figure out how I am going to get myself out of it. Maybe I just need a moment. It’s in shock.

I’ve been doing this long enough to know this isn't a simple injury, something is wrong with my knee or ankle or both. Really wrong. I can't tell which because both are throbbing.

Whatever the problem, my left leg won’t hold me. I glance around at the trees, the silence pressing in, and realize just how far out I am. Miles from the lodge. Miles from anyone. Suddenly, the solitude isn’t so amazing.

This was stupid. I should’ve stuck to the main trails. But now I’m here, alone, in the middle of nowhere, with a leg that won’t work. I pull out my phone from the breast pocket of my ski suit, already knowing I won't have any service, but I am hoping against all hope I'm wrong.

Fuck. Sure enough, zero bars. I dial 9-1-1 and hold my phone up in the air, but it’s hopeless.

For a second, I think about trying to ski down on one leg. I shake my head at myself. That’s ridiculous, Rives, even for you. There’s no way I’d be able to control my speed or navigate the steep turns. I’d probably end up making things worse, careening off into the trees or down a ravine.

Trying to crawl down, dragging my leg behind me, seems equally absurd. But I’ve got to do something.

I bite down on my lip, the fear creeping in. No one knows I’m out here. It’s times like these when the memory of my mother consumes me. It’s been almost four years since I lost her and when I get in a tough spot, my mind always turns to her. Not that she could help me right now if she were alive, but still, times like this are when the pain of her loss hits me more than ever.

I have no choice but to wait and hope someone else is out enjoying what started out as a perfect day.

As the wind picks up, swirling the snow around me, I realize the truth. There’s a good chance no one will come through at all.

11:01 am

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, but it feels like forever. The sun is almost directly overhead. My lips are getting chapped, even through the fleece gator covering my face.

I glance at my phone again, just in case, by some miracle,e a signal has appeared. Nothing. Same as the last ten times I checked. The little “No Service” icon taunts me, and I shove it back in my pocket with a frustrated sigh.

With a shaky breath, I reach into my jacket for the protein bar I stashed earlier. I tear it open, chewing slowly as I scan the horizon. The snow’s picking up now, soft flakes falling steadily, but the sky is still bright blue above. But I know the increased snow means the storm is getting closer.

I take another bite, trying to ignore the ache in my leg. The pain isn’t overwhelming when I’m sitting here, but the few times I’ve tried to put weight on it, it just gives out.

My body feels colder, even though my gear should be keeping me warm. It’s the kind of cold that creeps up on you when you’re sitting still for too long. I’ve inched down about a hundred feet using my arms and legs, but I know at that rate I wouldn’t get down before nightfall, long after the storm descends.

I look up at the trees, hoping to see movement—any sign of someone, anyone. A skier, a hiker, someone who might stumble upon me. But the woods are quiet. Peaceful, even, in that eerie way that tells you that you’re completely fucked.

The wind shifts, a little stronger now, and I feel a sharp edge of panic threatening to rise. Calm down, Rives. You’ve been in tough spots before. You’ll figure this out. “Please, God, don’t let this be the end,” I yell into the vast emptiness of the snow-covered mountain.

My eyes drift back to the horizon, scanning the ridge, praying for a miracle. Because that is what I'm going to need at this point.

11:13 am

I almost can’t believe it.

The familiar sounds of this solitude are suddenly cut by the sound of skis cutting through the snow. This is by far the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. A rush of adrenaline consumes me and almost brings me to tears.

I can barely make out two figures coming down the mountain through the trees. They are moving fast, scissoring through the powder in my direction. Praise my guardian angel! A wave of relief washes over me, and I raise my arm, signaling them, waving and yelling like a crazy person.

"Help! Over here!"

One skier, a burly guy in a red jacket, turns his head to me and beelines it over here. He reaches me first, pulling to a stop with an easy, practiced motion. I recognize his clothing as being an employee of the mountain.

He immediately starts scanning the area, his sharp eyes locking onto me. He has a "GUIDE" printed in large, red letters across the back of his jacket and a red arm band stitched on one arm with a red cross.

The second skier joins him but stays quiet as the guide starts asking questions. He is probably scared shitless seeing this woman crumpled, alone in the snow, with my pathetic trail behind me revealing my scoot.

“You okay?” the burley guide asks. His voice is calm and clipped as he kneels down next to me. His helmet and goggles obscure most of his face, but I can see his full strawberry blonde beard peeking out. The professionalism in his body language tells he’s trained for this and has done it before.

I pull down my neck gator and push my goggles up, grateful for the rush of cool air on my face. “No. My leg... I can’t stand on it.”

“Is anything else hurt?” He’s already checking my posture, his hands hovering near my leg without touching it yet.

“My leg, that’s it. I hit a patch of ice and took a bad fall.” The words come out quickly, but I try to keep my voice steady. “It won’t hold any weight when I try to stand.”

He gives a sharp nod and radios in, informing someone on the other end that they’re heading back down with an injured skier. His movements are efficient, professional, no fuss. “Okay, let’s get you down before the weather turns.”

The other skier shifts behind him, silent, looking like he doesn't know what to do. I don’t pay much attention to him, too focused on the pain and the humiliation of being stranded out here.

The guide removes a lightweight sled from his pack. "Do you mind helping me transfer her?" He asks the man behind him.

"This is a toboggan designed for backcountry rescues," he explains calmly. I've seen them a hundred times. I've just never had the pleasure of knowing them personally. "My friend Nicholas here is going to help me lift you onto the sled. Stay as still as you can.”

I brace myself as they shift me, the sharp pain in my leg flaring up again. I bite down hard, trying not to make a sound as they gently maneuver me into the sled. It’s fast, efficient, just like the guide promised. I barely register the second hot guy’s hands as he helps, his touch careful but distant.

The guide secures me with straps, making sure I’m stable. I just want to get this over with. I keep my eyes fixed ahead, ignoring the awkwardness of it all.

“You’re going to feel a few bumps,” the guide says. “But we’ll go slow and steady. We’re about thirty minutes from the bottom.”

I nod, the words barely registering. I’m too focused on getting off this mountain, getting away from the cold, the pain, and the embarrassment.

The second skier, the one who’s been quiet this whole time, moves to ski alongside the sled. He doesn’t say anything, just positions himself near the guide.

They start down, the guide taking the lead while the other guy keeps pace beside me, his movements smooth and controlled. I close my eyes, willing the throbbing in my leg to dull as we descend.

Just get me off this mountain.