15 February 2009

The Revolt of the Body - Part 2

         And so the next morning, after the cold had added insult to injury by freezing my now mangled joint, I was left behind to wallow on what was one of the least crowded days of the year. While I should have been riding run after run of near empty hills, I was sitting, leg elevated and iced on a couch left over from the crazy decorating trends of the seventies, an itchy brown-orange tweed that, over the years, had its original pattern removed by use only to be replaced by a new pattern consisting of a chili dog that missed the plate and a belly full of strained peas that had not agreed with its six month old consumer. But, at least, it meshed well with the rest of the cabin that time had forgotten. It probably served as the receptacle for all of the owners' old stuff when common decency called for its replacement in their primary residence.
            As I flipped on the pre-game show and settled in for a day of self-indulgent pity, I realized I was not the only one who had forgone the best snowboarding day of the year. Matt sat down on the floor next to the tweedy nightmare with a soda and a bowl of chips, which he promptly offered. I obliged.
            Matt was a soft-spoken character who a year earlier had played the role of my first boyfriend. Even though that word has never been thrown around, in my story , it was who he was to me. Or maybe he was just the first boy I dated. Either way, our dating was short-lived and was, fortunately, followed by a good friendship, but a friendship where there was always that lingering possibility...
               I'm not sure the reason he gave that day for staying behind, maybe it was out of pity for me having to spend the day alone, maybe it was to spend the day alone with me, or maybe he just really liked football. Whatever it was, he stayed. For some reason, I can't remember him ever offering an excuse, just him walking across the hardwood floor in socks, sitting down and offering me chips.

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