A fleck of dirt disintegrated between my two year-old molars as I scrunched my chubby cheeks and spit out my glorious mouthful of tainted March snow. I stuffed my chapped lips full of a new freshly crafted batch of crystals, plopped my scuffed Boeri helmet in the snow, and gazed up at the cloudless pulsating blue, enveloped by the overbearing Alps edging into my field of view. The tang of pineapple Sugus began to wear off as the afternoon slush conquered the poor waterproofing of my hand-me-down pink snowsuit.
My instructor, Nicole’s, uncovered head of frizzy, rootbeer colored hair rose out of the peaks and shadowed my Julbo sunglasses.
“Allez, up. On y va?”
I craned my neck and sat up like a dejected dog, pressing my butt further into the muddy slush as it soaked through my Hot Chilli’s and penetrated the outer defenses of my Batman underwear. I gazed down my pitiful body, past my dirt encrusted knees, past my cracked rear entry boots, and along my stubby skis towards the tip of the pizza slice—a pink piece of plastic holding my tips in snowplow formation. My malleable joints accommodated my unnatural and awkward pose as Nicole stretched out her worn hand to help me up.
“Allez Zandy, be like the fireman and spray the hose across the hill!” she said as she gesticulated wildly to try and spark a desperate flame of excitement within me.
It didn’t work. I preferred eating snow. I formed another dirt-free ball of slush and slammed it into the vicinity of my mouth, catching a small portion on my tongue. Then, with one swift movement, she took the game to a whole new level. Her hand drifted towards the candy pocket, the elusive cluster of fabric holding the tastiest of treats. She pulled out the mother load—a section of blue Toblerone—and pointed towards Toby, the plastic Toblerone bear at the bottom of the hill. She made it a simple task. I reach Toby, I get the chocolate-covered mouthful of nougat that was the reason I came to Switzerland in the first place.
I floundered to life like a displaced trout and pushed myself to my feet only to topple headfirst down the hill. After immense effort I found myself on my shaky legs, accelerating down the nearly flat hill towards Toby. Bits of slush gave way to my obstinate skis and I sped towards Toby, a man on a mission. I had no revelation, no heavenly figure telling me this is what I would love forever, I simply fixated on Toby, however it is the only moment I come close to recalling in the first four years of my life.
I skied straight into Toby’s plastic belly and, with a tremendous thud, knocked him and myself over. I lay in a twisted heap at the bottom as Nicole reached out her farmer’s hand with three squares of Toblerone and her tea-stained teeth emerging in an unforgettable grin.
I returned to the Landi bunny hill fourteen years later and saw Toby the bear, a dent in his prominent stomach, waiting to share the love of skiing with another helpless two year-old.
damn. im not even concerned with the contest, i just genuinely enjoyed writing that. these pictures are from a year or two later, but it's the same hill and everything. They're the only ones i had. they're with nicole and my grandfather.
