Sammy's Christmas List (2 page)

“Not now, I need to focus.” I recalled something a member of my writing group had told me once. “Even if you can’t think of anything to write, write. Write a shopping list, write a poem, write a post-it note—just write.”
 

So I began to write. As I wrote, what flowed out of my fingers was more than a little surprising. I wrote about the pressure I placed on myself. I wrote about labeling myself a failure.

I even wrote about how difficult it was not to criticize the hours I spent sound asleep. Why wasn’t I dreaming more efficiently? Why wasn’t I waking more refreshed? How did I always end up kicking the bottom sheet off the bed? Not even when I rested could I escape my need to point out my flaws.

As I read back over what I’d written, I realized that my self-criticism spread through all areas of my life. How could I expect myself to be successful if I was constantly focused on my failures?

I decided to forgo my initial plan to work on a short story and instead update my blog with my latest journal entry. When I logged into my blog, I realized that I’d done nothing to make it more festive for the season. Before updating it, I decided to change my color scheme, create a new background, and hunt down some inspiring seasonal photos.

By the time I emerged from the museum of memes, hours had slipped by. I yawned and gave in to the fact that I was exhausted.
 

“Great, another day gone and nothing to show for it.” I managed to update my blog with my journal entry, then crawled into bed. I hoped that the next morning would go better. I had my first ski lesson and then my orientation for the volunteer job. At least I’d be getting out of the house. I decided to set a realistic goal for the next day.

Do not assault anyone.
 

The next morning when I woke up, my joy for the season re-surged. There was a fresh layer of snow on the ground and I had my first ski lesson. When I’d first imagined myself skiing, I decided that I had to be equipped for the sport. This didn’t involve buying skis, it involved purchasing a top-of-the-line hot pink snowsuit. Then it hung in my closet while I occupied myself with other things for an entire year.

Now it still hung in my closet, like a ghost of my intention. Today it would be liberated. It would have its first chance to feel the sun and the snow. I just hoped that it would fit.

I took it out of the closet and climbed into it. As I zipped it up there was one spot where the zipper stuck, but with determination I forced it up. I looked in the mirror and smiled at the fact that I hadn’t been in a snowsuit since I was a child.

I was just about ready to walk out the door when the urge to empty my bladder hit me. I thought about waiting until I got to the ski resort, but I knew that if I happened to slip on ice a fall could lead to a flood. When I went to unzip my snowsuit so that I could use the bathroom, the pesky spot that had been hard to zip up was now impossible to zip down. I had caught the fluffy material of my sweater underneath in the zigzag teeth of the zipper.
 

“Don’t panic, Sammy, you’re an adult; you can get your own clothes off.” I gave the zipper another firm tug. The zipper still didn’t move. Once I realized that I was not making any progress toward getting the snowsuit off, my heart beat a little faster. Would I ever be able to get it off? Would I have to call someone for help and admit that I couldn’t get my own clothes off so that I could use the bathroom? Or worse yet, would the need to relieve myself overwhelm me before help showed up?
 

“No, no, no, this can’t be happening! This is not how I end the year!”

Chapter 4

I tugged extra hard at the zipper. Finally it budged. But not much. It got stuck again right away. I twisted around in a futile attempt to wiggle the zipper a little farther down. When I hit my shoulder hard on the wall I realized that my wiggle dance was not working. Not only was I very likely to urinate in my snowsuit, I was also going to be late for my first ski lesson.

I rested my hands on the bathroom sink and thought about my options. I settled on cutting the zipper free even though it would damage the snowsuit. It was that or check with the fire department to see if the jaws of life were available. I managed to get the scissors into the right spot and snipped away.

Within a few minutes I was free, and my bladder was empty. My bright pink snowsuit was in a crumpled pile on the floor. Now the next problem was that I had nothing else to wear to the ski lesson and it was too late to cancel. I tugged the dreaded snowsuit back on and zipped it very carefully up to the cut section. Then I grabbed a few safety pins and pinned it the rest of the way. It left the suit rather drafty, but at least I was ready to walk out the door.
 

Once settled in the car, I realized that the freshly fallen snow was not such a great thing. The other drivers around me were navigating the slippery road with sharp braking and unexpected swerves. I nearly skidded through a red light and found it difficult to tell the difference between the curb and a snowdrift.

When I managed to get on the right road to the ski resort I approached an overpass. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that this was supposed to be about a fun and enlightening experience. I started to calm down just in time for a snowball to splat against my windshield. I ducked, even though I was inside the car. I refocused on the windshield just in time for another snowball to hit my windshield.
 

“Hey, stop that!” I blared my horn.

I saw two figures disappear from the overpass. Frazzled and certainly not enlightened, I pulled into the parking lot of the ski resort. I was relieved to see that it had been plowed. Snow was piled up at the base of the parking lot, which angled upward. I was in a rush not to be late as I parked. I tucked my keys into my pocket and sprinted up the sidewalk that led to the base of the slopes.

The ski resort was a small place that only opened in the winter. It had three hills—bunny, intermediate, and expert. As I stared up at the tall expert hill my heart fluttered. I was sure that if I was just confident enough, and tried hard enough, I’d be sailing down the slopes in no time. I would make quite an impression on Max when he saw me on skis for the first time. I grinned thinking about it.

As I continued to fantasize about this, a boy—maybe eight years old—whizzed right past me on a snowboard. He spun and jumped without ever losing his balance. I watched in awe as he raced toward the expert slope. Surely, if a boy his age could handle the expert slope, I could too. My confidence ran so high that I considered skipping the lesson and diving right in on my own.
 

“Samantha?”
 

The deep voice came from behind me. I turned around to find a golden-haired green-eyed beautiful man. He towered over me by about a foot, and his shoulders were as broad as a lumberjack’s. He was the kind of handsome that all women could agree to drool over, no matter their personal taste.
 

“Who?”
 

“Samantha?” He smiled.
 

“Oh, me?”
 

“Are you Samantha?” His smile grew wider.

My heart melted. He even had perfect shiny teeth, white as the snow that surrounded us.
 

“I think so.” I cleared my throat. “I mean, yes. Yes, I’m Samantha.”
 

“Great, I thought you might not show up.”
 

“I’m here!”
 

“Good. I’m Lance, I’ll be your instructor today. Let’s get you on some skis and go over a few simple movements.”
 

All of the difficult things I faced that morning disappeared from my mind. They were swept away by an avalanche of good will in reaction to my good luck. Though I was a little dazed by his beauty, I tried to speak like a human being.
 

“I was thinking maybe we should start out on a more advanced slope.”
 

“Oh?” He set a pair of skis and ski boots on the ground beside a bench. “Do you have some experience? You signed up for the beginner class.”
 

“Well, no, I don’t have any experience, but I am an adult. I mean, I’ve been involved in sports before.”
 

“Oh, so you’re an athlete?”
 

“Uh no, I wouldn’t exactly say that.”
 

“Hm. Well, why don’t we get you on the skis first and we’ll decide from there. Okay?”
 

“Okay.” I managed a smile.

Chapter 5

While I changed into the ski boots I imagined the good impression I was going to make. I had obviously underestimated my ability to be successful on the slopes. He was going to see that the moment I was on my feet.
 

“Now you can lean on me while you get your boots locked in.” He offered me his arm.

I did my best not to actually lean. There was still a part of me that wanted to hide my weight and give the impression that I was light as a feather. Unfortunately, without actually using him to steady myself I had a very difficult time locking the snow boots into the skis. I teetered one way, and then swooped the other. My fingers coiled around his arm in a vice-like grip as I started to fall.
 

“Easy there, easy there.” He steadied me and placed a hand on my hip. “You have to be able to stand on these to get started.”
 

I flushed as pink as my snowsuit. Not only was I not ready for anything more than the bunny slope, I could barely stand upright. Once I had my balance, he pried my fingers off of his arm.

“Relax, you can do this. Just give yourself a chance.”
 

I nodded, but my confidence had deflated. He walked me through the steps involved in going downhill, slowing down, speeding, and the plowing method to stop.

I did my best to mimic the instructions. Luckily, I remained upright the whole time.
 

“I think I’ve got the hang of it.”
 

“Great. Then we’re going to practice some movement. We’re not going to go downhill just yet. So you’re going to use these to help you glide along.” He handed me two ski poles. I liked the sound of gliding. “Give yourself a little push to get the momentum started.”
 

I did just that and glided a few feet forward. It was an enjoyable experience. In fact, it felt so much like flying that I couldn’t wait to do it again. The instructor tried to explain the next step to me, but I was too busy gliding myself forward.
 

“I’ve got this now! This is pretty easy!” I laughed as I wiggled my skis back and forth. Again I wondered why people found skiing difficult.
 

“Wait! Samantha!”
 

With all my wiggling, I ended up too close to the edge of a small hill. It wasn’t big enough to be a slope. But it was big enough for me to go flying down over it. Lance raced after me in an attempt to catch up.

I tried to plow to stop myself, but instead I crossed my skis and ended up in a pink pile in the snow. The safety pins that had replaced the broken portion of my zipper allowed quite a bit of snow to fill the top of my snowsuit. I shivered as I struggled to get to my feet.

Lance pulled me up by my elbow. “Listen, Samantha, I want to work with you, but you have to follow my instructions or you could get hurt. Understand? Do I need to tether you?”
 

I met his eyes and had to bite into my bottom lip to keep from volunteering to be tethered. “No, I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful.”
 

“Okay, now move slowly. Keep your focus. Feel the glide of the skis. Don’t let anything distract you.”
 

I followed his directions but the snow slowly melting in the top of my snowsuit made it difficult for me to concentrate.
 

“I think that’s enough for today. We’ll take our first trip down the bunny slope tomorrow, alright?”
 

I nodded, too embarrassed to do much more.

I struggled my way out of the ski boots. I took the top of my ski suit down to dump out the remainder of the snow. As I flapped the material to free it of clinging clumps of snow, a family passed by me—likely Lance’s next class. The mother gasped and covered her son’s eyes, while the father gazed at me far too long. I smiled back at them, though I didn’t understand why they acted so strange.

I looked down at my snowsuit as I slid it back on to discover that not only had I cut through the zipper of my snowsuit that morning, I had cut through my sweater underneath. I’d created a wide triangle in the material that showed off every inch of my bra. I pulled my snowsuit up as fast as I could, mortified that I’d flashed everyone in the surrounding area. At least I’d worn a bra!

I hurried to the parking lot. When I reached it, it was full. There were cars everywhere. When I went to the parking space where I’d left my car—where I was sure I’d parked my car—someone else was parked there. I blinked and looked around the parking lot. I didn’t see my car anywhere. Then I turned around and looked toward the bottom of the parking lot. There was my car, half-stuck in the snow pile.
 

“I must have forgotten to put on the emergency brake!” I smacked my forehead with the heel of my palm. I walked over to my car and took a look at the situation. The rear wheels were pretty deep in the snow.

When I started the car I hoped that I’d be able to get it to move. The wheels just spun.
 

“No! No! No!” I put the car in neutral and walked around behind it. I tried to push it, but after my tumble in the snow my snowsuit was slick and my gloves were caked in snow.
 
Every time I pushed, my hands slid off and I hit my chest against the back of the car. After a few rounds of this, a man walked toward me with a sheepish smile.
 

“Need some help there?”
 

“Please!”
 

“Here, all you need is a little push.” He placed his hands on the car and easily pushed it out of the snow pile. “There you go.”