Maybe one day

It was finally getting toasty inside the big ford SUV. The sky and the white varying mountains peaks flew by as the tires made ground on the icy road. “ The airport traffic slows us till were still..” the music was echoing, staticy, but resonant through the car.

A jolt hit Peters face as he slowly turned his tired head into a smile, and his eyes surged with the brightness that comes with youth. He joined the radio now.. “ Turn the radio down leave one hand on the wheel” He started singing slowly, almost in a quiver, but by the time David Nail and the chorus of the song “Clouds” came through the speakers, it was a harmonious and loud duet between Peter and David. Peter singing with the fullness of a voice not usually obtained by him on these early morning strolls to work, found a comfort growing warm within him that today was at least starting off well. He was also very excited to get on the slopes today. Yup, he had a good group this week for ski school, and with the Christmas holiday here, the whole town of Steamboat Colorado was whimsical and alive. Peter from his rearview mirror saw a glistening light beam off of the glass that caused him to squint and look away. He smiled again; knowing that today he was beating the sun. Beating the sun, yup,.. Making good time.

The wheels screeched as he turned into the parking lot just outside of the ski school. Now the sun was a quarter of the way up in the sky, and the snow sparkled and highlighted off of its reflection. So far, in spite of it being the middle of December, and predictions of one hell of a snowstorm this week, the views of the mountains, and town and overall atmosphere resembled a spring much more than winter. The sky, which when Peter woke was gray and misty, had turned baby blue without much of a cloud in sight. The fog was almost non-existent. Yup, Peter thought to himself Todays gunna be a good day. He entered the instructors locker room, which was clean, but had a smell that hinted at a musty presence. Basically, at least for the most part, every ski instructor knew every other ski instructor on at least a nodding of the head basses. There were the ones you liked, loved, didn’t like, and the ones you’d finish your day with at the pub drinking beer and embracing the warmth away from the cold Colorado December. Peter entered the room, leaving his skis and poles outside by the bench. He was carrying under his arms a purple bag filled with his ski outfit and other essentials for todays work. The locker room was split into three rows of lockers with benches on both sides of each row. In the back there was the showers and bathrooms and sinks with the mirrors that were non-transparent due to the hot steam the room seemed to always exude. Peter hated the back with the showers and bathrooms. Not that it was bad, and not because he had a specific reason.

Peter saw his friend Jerry come out of the back with a long white towel wrapped perfectly around his waist. Jerry was and walking toward him. Peter couldn’t help to think about both college and a kid camp he used to go to that was called Greenway. When he was in college his freshman year, the dorm he stayed in was like most dorms with the regards that it overall had pretty sucky conditions. Forty-eight kids in his hall shared six showerheads, and the tiles in the bathroom almost resembled the more clean ones that Jerry had just walked out from. Peter than began to think about how when he was a kid at Camp Greenway, which was a children’s camp set up at a girls only high school during the summertime. He hated the showers in the locker rooms by the pool. When Peter was a kid, he loved to swim but hated it in public pools. His neck would cringe and his toes would curl every time he entered the locker room or had to walk on the pool ground. He would just picture his toes rubbing up upon the most nasty and vial thing imaginable; Toenails, loose hair, and Band-Aids. ESPECIALLY those band aides. … Peter blinked rapidly a few times

“ Uh, sorry Jerry. I was zoned out. Long night last night! Haha… what’s up?”

Jerry smirked and rolled his eyes, “Ah Peter, What did I tell you about those Thursday nights my man! If you can’t handle the morning after don’t hang out the night before.. Unless you swig some before work to get the headache off of ya! “

Peter chuckled; he loved people’s sense of humor around here.

Peter was about to go over and say hello to the rest of the folks already jamming into the place when a hand fell hard and firm around his shoulder.

“ What’s up dumb ass!”

Peter spun around; already knowing whom it was by the remark. His eyes came to see a man with piercing blue eyes and a square jaw, whose graying hair still didn’t hurt his youthful look, standing right in front of him.

Peter smiled, “Mike! Long time no see man!”

Mike, whose hands were placed on his hips, let off a bravado that was so funny and coined by him that it was almost palpable.

“ I never thought Id see the day where you became one of us!” he poked Peters blue and white Ski Instructor uniform for added emphasis, “What, was it only yesterday I had you in my classes, making your dumb ass jump off of rocks and such as my test dummy?” Mike was smiling now, “ Good to see ya bud.”

Peter still couldn’t believe that he had been working here for over three weeks now and hadn’t run into his old ski teacher. Peter had been coming to Steamboat on vacations ever since he was three years old skiing in a one suit and diapers. But Mike was his ski instructor when he was in the teen groups and that part of his life clung to him the most heavily out of all his experiences up here in what the locals called “paradise”. Mike, who now was reaching sixty, and with several ladders of promotions, rarely taught classes. Peter guessed that was why Mike wasn’t seen much around anymore; well at least by low level people like himself. Yup Peter grinned to himself a few minutes later while buckling his ski boots. This is gunna be a good day.

“Alright guys, lets head down storm way, and we will take storm peak chairlift up to the gondola for lunch.”

The kids all paraded around joyfully. The day had since darkened, and now the sky was more white and cloudy then blue, especially on the top of the mountain. Peter was content on going to lunch now, even though he had taken his group of kiddies in for hot chocolate three times already. Slow ski day; Peter thought. He burrowed his chin beneath his face guard and signaled to the class of kids to start skiing down to the chairlift. Just one of those days

Peter picked a table for the kids and himself, and was unzipping his pants pockets to pull out the kid’s lunch tickets. Peter loved kids, and everything about them. He loved their almost un-deterring joy and cheerfulness, their resilience, imagination, and most importantly their endless possibilities. For them life was just beginning and all doors were open, no single possibility shut or locked from their potentially existence. It was magical, and Peter could feel the turning of his lips and the longing in his eyes as he stood watching the kids take off their helmets and snow jackets to sit down. Peter handed out the tickets, but before he let them go wander off to pick the food they were gunna have, he decided to talk to them a little, both playfully and semi-serious about their experiences of the day so far. They talked about trails they went on, and goofy stories the kids wanted to tell Peter and each other, and then they all watched a funny video clip from Peters phone that his girlfriend back home had set him. Somewhere along this road of playful talks the kids one way or another started to talk about the future. Nothing very serious of course, but things like, “I wonder if ill become a doctor like my daddy!” or “ I wish I could just stay here and ski and not go back to school!” and such. Tyler, who was eight and had curly blond hair and a crooked smile, suddenly asked Peter a question. “Peter, did ya always want to become a ski instructor?”

Peter was hit. He hoped the expression on his face didn’t reveal anything to the group of kids. “Well” he started off, “I always wanted to try it that’s for sure! But I’m just like all of you, I’m still searching for what I want to become, and this is just the start of my journey.” He then added playfully, “what Tyler! Ya think I m old or something! I’m only twenty two buddy!” Peter leaned into Tyler and softly punched and grabbed him. Tyler started laughing and the whole group eventually followed suit erupting into the silliness that only kids can contrive.

Peter was walking to get in line for food, and felt the funny moods that were all to familiar- the hopelessness, the doubt, the overwhelming anxiety. He just wanted to get back out onto the slopes. He wished at that moment that today he didn’t have a ski class and that without having responsibilities he could just go out blazing down the mountain. He felt the stir in his boots that portends to him wanting to go fast, flee away. Peter sighed, laughing at himself thinking that at least in Colorado one could go as far as the eyes can see. The mountains, lustrous and tall, still were filled with mystery and an awe that made your lower jaw feel twenty pounds heavier. He entertained the notion of doing exactly that, going fast and getting lost in the wonderful wilderness of the snowy giants. He decided to get a burger and fries.

The girl at the register smiled and told him the amount for the food, and Peter smiled back and handed her his Lunch Ticket. “Well, all right Mr. Instructor” she remarked playfully, Peter could tell by the rising cadence in the girls voice. The girl, whose blonde hair was wrapped behind a cloth that was prevalent among the young ski bunnies out in the west, winked and gave him a deep look with her wide ocean blue eyes. He was used to these sorts of things. When he sat back down he caught two other girls staring in his direction, it helped make him feel better. A little…

He had been texting and keeping in touch with Caitlin the whole day, but after all Peter knew the routine at the end of the ski day. The kids get picked up by their parents, and the fathers shake your hand and hand you a tip, or the mothers hug you, going on about how much their kid “Loves” or “had such a great time with you” this past week and then gives you a tip. Within this ritual a person looses about thirty minutes of time to check their phone for their girlfriend. It’s the same thing everyday, and Peter personally loved the tips, and had personal friendships with a bunch of the families whose children he had taught. Though He couldn’t help but realize the fact that it could be him, Mike, hell even Jerry, and it would be the same response. As long as you do your job, the tips will come, and the complements as well, but nothing personal. Peter shook his head at himself while walking back to the locker room. That cynical way of thinking was a good indicator that his moods were acting up. His girlfriend would tell him to think more positively and to stop the nonsense, but with her gone and the children gone and the day winding to the late afternoon, he could feel the darkness closing in just like the clouds were closing in on the last remaining blue clear sky. It’s going to storm tonight, Peter thought, both on the ground and in my mind.

Walking back, and changing in the locker room was no better. Jerry, Hank and Mathew all came up to him and started the after work greetings. They talked about their classes, and the funny things kids did in them. They talked about close calls, and work schedules for next week. After that things began to revolve around peers, co-workers, and the stupid shit they were going to get into this weekend. Just after Jerry called out Hank in his playful manner, something pertaining to his recently added notches on his belt, Peter saw from the other side of the room Mike. Mike came in with the sweet smile as always, but he looked tired and unfit. He sulked down onto the bench and his hands went from the bottom of his boot buckles to his knees which he rubbed while his face winced in the looks of dulling pain. A couple co-workers who were all grey headed and old came over to him and they began mirroring the type of talks Peters body was present in with Jerry and Hank and Matt. How many years Peter thought. Doing the same things, the rotation, the schedules, the laughing and joking and acting like kids. He began thinking that unlike himself; Jerry and Hank were gunna work here probably till they moved to the other corner of the room where Mike and his pals now resided.

Insignificance

Peter’s heart sank for no good reason again. Come on Peter, like Caitlin says: why be so glum! Peter’s attention was turned back to the conversation, thanks to Hank rhythmically tapping on Peter’s chest

“Hello, Helloooo. Anyone in there Peter!”

Hank and Jerry were making Peter’s vacant presents the butt of a joke, and Peter smiled, feeling better. It seemed as though Matt had already left. Peter thought how funny it was that he could get so far inside his head that he couldn’t even see his buddy leave their circle.

“Sorry guys, haha long day.” Peter lied

“So you coming out with us tonight? We’re going over to Rachel’s for a little then probably hitting up the pub.” Jerry said, looking a bit puzzled and examining Peter.

“That sounds fun, but I think I’m gunna stay in tonight boys, I’ve gotta work on my book and I think Imma try and write a few more songs.” Then Peter added to try and make it more light hearted, “feeling inspired! Might write me the next “Misery””

They all laughed.

“God I hope not” … “that book made me wet the bed for a straight week” Jerry bemused.

They all laughed some more. Peter thought about how funny the human persona was. Peter shook their hands and promised them that if he got enough done, he would make sure to join them tonight at the pub.

************************************************************************************

Peter, in his cozy wooden armchair, sat staring out his window that looked out onto the other side of town, where there were mountains. Unlike the view from Steamboat, Peters view was spared from human’s pollution. No chairlifts, towns, houses, people; it gave Peter a joy mirroring that of when he was a kid in elementary school reading the history of the colonial days. Peter would read and be mystified by the stories of days where everything seemed so perfect and exciting. They had everything- monumental changes, undiscovered worlds, hell — Peter would probably only live to be thirty back in those days, but through what he experienced reading about the past, the days of old seemed heavenly with all their flaws, excitement, and adventure. This was the feeling that the view from the window instilled within him as he was sipping at his hot chocolate at his desk of his little makeshift workspace in his little apartment. Sitting at his desk, his hands grew clammy. His feet began to motion in lurching, undirected ways, and Peter grew frustrated knowing inside that it portended to him becoming restless. His eyes left the screen of his silver mac computer that laid on the desk orderly and open, and glanced back toward the wilderness behind the window frame. What wonders he thought So many feelings, and stories I could write about. His thoughts became bitter as he discovered that the picture view outside was now a lot darker than it had been when he first came home to begin writing. Writing what though? Peter shook his head and began typing.

When the clock had spun two times around Peter’s body grew relaxed, and Peter stopped the repetitive clicking of the keys and saved his word document. He sipped from a glass a water and read over what he wrote, smiling along the way because it was looking good for him; Twenty pages of hard work within the night. The breeze outside was hitting the apartment building, and Peter could feel the vibrations of Mother Nature. He picked up his phone and called Jerry and told him that he’d be on his way.

The bar was warm and pleasant, with that simple life feel that comes from being far out in the mountains of Colorado. The stools that Jerry and Hank and Peter were sitting on stood nice and tall, with glazed, and painted wooden legs, and a green cushion to sit on. There was a good crowd tonight. Live music was playing from the other room where the restuarnt part was located. The sound of the rough voiced male singer and the guitar was muted but still heard in the bar where Peter and them resided. It played like a sweet harmony to their present life. Jerry and Matt had come back from Rachel’s where some of their friends were hanging out, and they all were shooting the shit about the local town buzz. After Matt finished naming the best girls that he gotten with in town, Peter sat still holding a glass of Budweiser in his right hand looking blankly at the television screen above them. The broncos were playing the Vikings, but Peters mind was elsewhere. Jerry, after awhile turned to Peter and told him that they were heading back home. Peter told them he was gunna stay awhile. Jerry turned toward Matt, looking concerned, but Matt brushed it off and patted Peter on the back saying he’ll hit him up tomorrow sometime. None of them asked about the book.

Peter sat still, mind in the back of his head, more down in the dumps than he had been the whole day; or any day for that matter. Twenty pages he thought to himself. Will I ever finish it? Will I ever go through with it or just leave it sitting? He looked out the window and saw a couple older men sitting around a fire. They all had bright white heads that parted with the night sky behind them. They all seemed to be having a good time drinking and laughing. Peter looked down at his glass, and then over at the nine empty ones laying around him. Every day, all the same… A Wasted day. The book, or the “ Thing” that he started was about a kid in his last year of high school. So far he got the plot to be that before graduation the kid runs away. Peter had the story in his head, or at least the basics. The kid would follow the local railroad out of town. He would then meet an old man with a mysterious past who would take the kid on as a sort of son. They would end up road tripping around the country with different little frantic stories and adventures happening along the way. Around the middle of the story the old man would die, the kid would have some sort of revelation, and then at the end wind up either dead or finding the girl of his dreams. Peter didn’t know which yet. While the outline of the story was a little bland, he could feel the power that this story could take on. He had a stirring for details that just needed to be written down. But not existent… At least not yet. Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. His girlfriend and a message from her was on the screen. It read, “ I love you J call me when you get home!” Peter’s lips curled up and a laugh fell out of his drunken head. She wouldn’t want to talk to him tonight, being as drunk as he is, but he was glad he had her. He gazed out the windows that were used as a corner wall of the bar, and could see past the old men, and with that past the town and into the dark, blue, looming mountaintops. His body felt warm and numb. He paid for his beers and left the place, One day… One day I might make something of myself… or maybe not.