Sweet 17th Birthday (Part 2): Daughter of Fortune

Time passed slowly during the afternoon of Friday, April 2nd, 2010. There were plenty of things I knew I had to do, things that were better done sooner than later, but I could not concentrate on them, and restlessly checked the clock every five minutes. Finally, six o'clock rolled around, and, shortly afterwards, I put down my book and began to get ready with mounting excitement.
Having gotten dressed for the evening, brushed my hair, and put my pajamas in a bag as props, I headed out for the door. My mother watched me go with a look of concern she could not, or did not bother, to conceal. Despite the fact that I had told her I was sleeping over at my friend K*********'s house, and despite the fact that I had urged her a thousand times earlier that day to call my friend's mother, who had agreed to verify my story, my mom had not done so, which annoyed me. My mom was clearly suspicious of my intended whereabouts for the evening, but she had no concrete evidence or solid grounds for her suspicions, and was therefore obliged to agree to my plans.
I ran out the door excitedly, and, calling out a light-hearted "good-bye" to my silent, suspicious father, I took off on my bicycle, taking care not to let him see me mount my bike without my helmet. I accelerated on the bike that was as dear and loyal to me as a horse was to a musketeer, but not in the direction of downtown, as my parents expected. Instead, I turned in the opposite direction, and within a matter of minutes had pulled into Orchard Park.
There were many people in the park, but nobody I knew was yet there, and, after tying my bike in a well-hidden spot, I walked down the bike path to Weis, where I was supposed to meet Fabiola. After waiting for in extreme boredom for a good few minutes, I finally spotted her small, slim figure approaching from the far end of the parking lot. She approached, and we set off towards Orchard Park together, taking care to avoid routes where I was likely to run into my parents. As we approached the park, I heard the unmistakable sounds of the rest of my friends already at the pavilion, and my heart pounded with excitement, as I felt my evening had truly begun.
They were all there at the pavilion--all of the newly regular OP people, and, of course, Mike, Julia, and Kelley. The picnic tables were spread thick with food--namely, an excess of desserts, and two pizzas for variety. I felt like I was walking in a dream as I approached amidst greetings. This was my party, the birthday picnic I had planned, and, even at first glance, it looked like far more of a success than I had reckoned on. It was hardly a lavish, ornate ceremony, but it was a natural, free-spirited feast of my own initiative that was extremely fitting for the occasion and circumstances.
Russ produced a tray of chocolate fudge that made my mouth water, and they put a number of candles into it before lighting them with my Zippo lighter. The candles started to burn with surprising rapidity; I closed my eyes, visualizing for a split second all of the dreams and goals I desperately wanted to accomplish, then, opening my eyes, gracefully extinguished all of the candles amidst the applause of my friends.
That being done, we all began opening packages of food and digging into our feast. I reached avidly for a slice of pepperoni pizza; I had barely taken a bite, however, when I heard the ringing of my cell phone. To my unpleasant surprise, I saw the incoming call was from my parents' cell phone. I quickly shouted "Quiet! My parents are calling", and, once the people nearest to me had spread the message and a hush had fallen upon our crowd, I calmly answered the phone with a cool, unconcerned, "Hello?"
My mother's voice sounded rather tense as she asked me, "Where are you?" I had a nagging fear that something was wrong, that my parents had somehow found out that I was not where I had said I would be. However, I couldn't figure out how on earth they would be aware of where exactly I was. I turned around to check that they weren't watching me from the bike path, as they could have been had they been taking my sister for a walk, but the bike path was mercifully empty. I answered my mother cautiously, "On my way to downtown to eat dinner with my friends." My mom said, "So, you're downtown?" Something about her tense voice and the repetition of the question made me absolutely certain she did not believe me, but I could not understand what reason she had for the disbelief. I answered, "Yes, we're on our way there, and I don't know what my plans are yet, I'll call you and tell you when I find out, alright? Bye." I was mildly annoyed at the phone call and slightly worried about her obvious suspicion, but I shrugged it off and pushed the matter to the back of my mind. I had been standing on the nearby picnic table as I was speaking, and, as I turned around to face my friends and re-enter the conversation, I saw, over my friends' heads, my own parents, barely fifty yards from me, sitting on the swings of the park and watching me.
I gasped, and completely froze in shock and horror. I was completely speechless for the first time in living memory. I was told, later on by my friends, that my face visibly drained of color as my knees slowly bent from under me and I sat down on the picnic table bench. Everyone stared at me, rather anxiously, as they saw my spirited, animated expression replaced with a horror-stricken, mask-like face that resembled the face of one who had caught a glimpse of death itself. Everyone inquired, "what is it", looking at me with increasing anxiety as they saw my obvious fear and horror. My mind was completely blank; I could not think of a single way to mitigate the effects of the lie I had been caught point-blank telling. I was certain my parents would murder me for that white lie they had caught me telling, and that I had just kissed my planned birthday celebration good-bye. Finally, I managed to say, in a hollow voice, to all of my friends, "Talk, talk amongst yourselves, talk, and don't look back. My parents are at the swings right behind us all." Some of my friends exchanged surprised, nervous looks, but restrained themselves from looking over their shoulders, and immediately began talking among themselves. When the conversation had started, my eyes met those of Mike, and my gaze sought his helplessly. "Help", I whispered to him. "Help me come up with something to tell my parents, please."

Mike listened sympathetically to my plight. He, being well aware of my parents' uncompromisingly strict rules and policies, understood the measures I needed to take just to be able to stay out and celebrate as I planned. He also understood how much trouble I could get into for the lies I had told to assure my night out. After a whispered conference, he, my friend Kelley, and I all stood up and calmly walked in the direction of the parking lot without looking back. Our plan was to leave the park for long enough to lend my lie a slight credibility, and possibly get some drinks while we were gone. This, however, did not work out quite as well as expected, as my mother followed us to the parking lot, as though she was afraid of letting me out of sight. She called out to us multiple times, and I pretended not to hear her, then, finally, turned around, and feigning surprise, acknowledged her. I faced her calmly and nonchalantly, as though I had not a care in the world, and politely introduced Kelley and Mike to her. Kelley and Mike stood supportively at my back, like bodyguards, and my mother could not appear stern with me in front of my friends, but she nevertheless said, in a voice of false cheeriness, "Your dad would like to talk to you. Come with me."

Having maneuvered me away from my friends, she led me to where my father was swinging my sister on the swing-set. I faced him, leaning coolly against the pole, my face a blank, expressionless poker face. I fully expected him to reprimand me for my lie and issue some edict in punishment, and was prepared to battle it out against him to the end. To my surprise, he merely stated that he would have to talk to my friend K********'s mother in person before he would let me go on my "sleepover" with her, but he issued no punitive edicts. As frustrating as this was to me on principle, I did not argue, for this was something I could live with. K**********'s mother had already agreed to lie for me, and, although my dad's conditions would undoubtedly make my life inconvenient later that evening, they would not interfere with my plans for the night.
I returned to the pavilion where friends had already finished the pizza, and we resumed our feasting and conversation. When we had all finally had our fill of food, and darkness had settled over the park, we all stood from the picnic tables and eagerly commenced an energetic game of freeze tag, followed by a still more wild game of stealth. My blood heart raced wildly with excitement and adrenaline as I crawled through tunnels in the bushes, crept over open territories, and sprinted towards the Grandfather Tree time and time again. Stealth was my game, a game I was good at and strove to constantly improve myself at. My parents took pleasure in pompously telling me that my friends and I were far too old to take pleasure in games like Stealth, but I always laughed off their words as mere evidence of my their lack of spirit and imagination. Stealth was a combination of tag and hide-and-seek, but it was worth more than the sum of its parts--it was ultimately a game of strategy, which made it profoundly appealing to me.
We stayed in the park until nearly eleven, our games becoming increasingly wild, intense, and spirited. The energy of the atmosphere was absolutely intoxicating; I couldn't remember when I last had felt so vibrantly, intensely alive. We were all loathe to leave the park, but I had call my parents to reassure them that all was well, and relocate to a place nearer to the Starbucks downtown in case they insisted on meeting K*********'s mother and seeing for themselves that I was really "going to her house for the night". With some difficulty, we managed to fit everyone in our company in the three cars we had at our disposal, and headed off towards the Hub to continue our evening, my celebration.
I called my parents, and was pleasantly surprised to learn that they had already spoken to K********'s mother on the phone and were content to leave me alone for the night. Having gotten that concern off my mind, I rejoined my friends, and we found, to our excitement, that we could play Lazer Tag at the Hub that night, completely for free. I had only played Lazer Tag once in my life, and had been too young and cautious to appreciate it then. This time, however, I went all-out, and distinguished myself for my enthusiasm and bold maneuvers. After two rounds of Lazer Tag, I was waiting idly in the room while my friends checked their scores and filed out, when I struck up a conversation with one of the operators of the station. He mentioned that he and his fellow operators frequently climbed on top of the station while there were people inside, and took pleasure in bouncing on the inflated balloon. I said, enthusiastically, "Wow, you're so lucky you can do that! I'd love to climb on top of the station, I wish I could!"
I had not meant anything in particular by this statement; it was merely an enthusiastic outburst, and I had not even entertained the notion of persuading the man to actually let me climb it. To my surprise, however, he seemed to consider it, from the thoughtful silence he lapsed in and the look in his eye. I stared at him, shocked, wondering if there was actually a chance of me being allowed to climb the Lazer Tag station.
Finally, he said, "I don't think I can let you, if you fall down and die, we'll be responsible for your death." He did not say it firmly, however, so I didn't back down. I looked directly at him and said, "I won't fall down, I can keep my balance really well, I'll be careful. Please, I won't get you in trouble, I've just never climbed a Lazer Tag station before, while for you it's a normal occurrence...it's my birthday", I added pertly.
He looked at me and chuckled. "You won't fall, and if you do fall you won't die, will you?", he said wryly. "Wait here while the next group goes inside, then I'll see what I can do."
I obligingly stood to the side while the operator herded another group inside the station, then came forth. He turned on the music inside the station, and motioned me forward. The inflatable rubber station was far more difficult to climb than it first appeared, but I managed to scramble up the side with the help of the operator. I sat there for a good five minutes, grinning ear to ear as I bounced on it. It felt like a convex trampoline, and the new experience, along with the thrill of mild transgression, were bracing. Finally, at the request of the operator, I climbed down, just as he turned the music down to bring the group's session to an end. I thanked him, and went back into the hall of the Hub to rejoin my friends.
They were all sitting at a table downstairs, playing board games, drinking soda, and chatting. I sat down at the table, and for the next two hours, we all played various card games and caught up on each others lives. I took little interest in the card games themselves, but merely sat there, enjoying the atmosphere and the company of some of my favorite people in the world, supremely happy that I had managed to arrange this all-night party. I vaguely wondered whether my parents knew more than they let on, and whether I would get grounded for lying when I went home the next morning, but I didn't much care. At the moment, I was so intoxicated on the vital, intense enjoyment of living, I felt this one night was worth any price I had to pay later.
At around 2 in the morning, the late-night Hub event was beginning to close down, so we returned the board games and began parting ways for the night. Some of the crowd, such as Mike and Julia, decided it was time for them to go home in order to get some sleep, and I bid them good night. Others, such as Jenn, Helen, and Steve, decided to stay up all night with me. Phil volunteered his place for the purposes of continuing the party, and we all loaded into Jenn's car and left the Hub.
The rest of the night went by far slower after we arrived at Phil's house, but, even so, it was an unforgettably enjoyable night. At first, we spent a long time playing cards, then we moved on to video games, which was a fairly novel experience for me, considering how few times I had ever played video games in my life. Around four in the morning, Kelley's mother called her and insisted she come home in order to get some sleep, so Kelley and Jenn both took leave of us, Jenn with the intent of driving Kelley home. Phil, Helen, Steve, and I remained, keeping our all-night vigil. We played more video games, then, shortly before dawn, left to wander around the nearby park. After the sun rose, we slowly made our way to the Waffleshop for breakfast. At this point, we all felt somewhat drained; I was the most energetic person in the company, and even I was tired after the sleepless night. Even so, I was determined not to sleep when I got home, but to immediately start on the immense pile of homework and personal projects I had waiting.
Upon leaving the Waffleshop, we walked slowly to Orchard Park, to retrieve my bike, Phil's bike, and Russ' lost glasses. Slowly, we continued walking down the bike path, looking as tired as we ever looked in our lives. At the crossing near my house, I bid them a hasty good-bye and went my way; the three of them continued in the direction of Phil's house.
I rode my bike slowly towards my house, wondering what kind of a reception awaited me at home. As I pulled into the driveway on my bike, I felt my insides briefly turn to ice as I contemplated what my parents would do to me for yesterday's white lie, then I shrugged off my concerns and pushed them to the back of my mind. I'd just had the night of my life, a night to rival my camping nights in Russia--that was worth any price.
I pushed open the front door and quietly slid into the house. Dropping my bag of props on the stairs, I glided quietly down the hallway, paused in front of my parents' room, and went in. My mother and father were both asleep; I quietly shook my mother's shoulder, ostensibly in order to tell her that I had made it home safely, while in reality trying to get a feel, based on her reaction, whether or not I would be in trouble later. She blinked, saw me, murmured "We're glad to see you back", and dropped her shoulder back onto the pillow. Smiling quietly to myself, I withdrew to my own room. I felt a quiet, exhausted elation as I mused at the intoxicatingly amazing night I had just spent--and excitedly considered what lay ahead.

Sweet 17th Birthday (Part 1): Because That's How I Roll

My birthday passed as two separate days, for I celebrated it twice. Between the two days, I set such a high standard for myself, it will take an extraordinarily intense birthday next year to top this year's. I've made up my mind: the only way to make my 18th birthday more kick-ass than my 17th will be to go skydiving, which is what I will do.

My celebrations began early in the morning of my birthday. For the past god knows how many years my birthdays had been remarkably uneventful, with the most interesting occurrence generally being a family dinner at a restaurant. As much as I enjoy eating out at restaurants, however, this was not something I was looking forward to doing on my birthday this year. Considering my bad relations with my parents, not to mention my higher social standards, I would consider my birthday wasted if I didn't do something more wild and adventurous than go out for dinner with my parents.

I woke up relatively early, although not early enough to get any homework done, and immediately opened the presents my parents had left on my armchair. I confess, I was mildly disappointed in them at the time. There was a bottle of obviously-expensive Marc Jacobs perfume, which I appreciated, and some silver bangles, which grew on me over time, and a pink hoodie, but nothing else. They were all fairly nice presents, and I was grateful for the gesture, but none of them were what I would have gotten for myself, I couldn't help but think that next year, I would prefer a nice check in the place of presents, so I could spend the money on whatever I wanted.

I dressed quickly in my favorite clothes, grabbed my purse and the minimal amount of books I needed to bring, jumped on my bike, and ran out of the door, my heart racing with excitement. Last year, I had taken four tests in school on my birthday--this year, I was ditching school.

I rode my bike over to the Waffleshop, and, after waiting for fifteen minutes, my friend Michael Nistor arrived to join me for a birthday breakfast feast. He seemed rather sleepy and mildly spacey, but he still seemed glad to see me, and I was extremely glad to at least have been able to spend some time with friends--especially as important a friend as Mike was to me--rather than with my parents as most of my other birthdays had been spent.

I had initially planned on merely skipping part of the day, and going to school for my calculus and history classes, and possibly for oceanography. Undoubtedly, some of the teachers would have had some questions about my attendance later on, but I had gotten away with far worse violations of the school attendance policy. So, after breakfast with Michael, instead of riding my bike to school in order to arrive in time for my calculus class, I biked my way over to the library. I stepped outside of the library for a brief moment, called the High School Office, and told them, in a thick Russian accent, that "my daughter, Elvira Kozhevnikova, would not be in school today because she is sick." The secretary merely thanked me for my call and asked no questions. Ecstatically convinced that my plan had worked and that my parents would never know I ditched school, I glided down the streets of downtown to the Dragon Chaser's Emportium to see if Jon was there.

Jon was there, along with a short, dark-haired girl I later learned was his girlfriend. I hung out with them for a few minutes, then left them for a span of two hours in order to make a trip to the mall and Barnes and Noble. I intended to study at Barnes and Noble and at least get some of my calculus homework done, but, typically of me, my plan did not go as intended. First, I had to take a trip through the mall and pick up several new acquisitions, and, afterwards, when I finally made it to Barnes and Noble, I met a new friend, Buzz Evers, who started chatting with me and whom I thought a desirable contact. So, quite typically of me, I left Barnes and Noble with a new connection established, but with no more homework done than when I entered the bookstore.

I returned downtown, and spent the next few hours hanging out with Jon, wandering all over downtown, and discussing our plans for the future. As the time neared six o'clock, I reluctantly returned to the library to pick up my backpack, hugged Jon good-bye, and returned home with a smug feeling of suppressed triumph. I pedaled over to my house, left my bike behind the house, calmly drew my keys and entered the house with carefree, nonchalant grace, expecting everything to proceed as smoothly as it always did when I ditched school.

I knew something was wrong as soon as I entered the house. My father's first words to me were, "How was your day at school?". "Well enough", I replied to this uncharacteristic question with a confused but unconcerned look on my face. My father repeated his question, "How did your day at school go?", and I replied again, "Fine, why?" Without even waiting for me to climb the stairs and put down my bag, my father nailed me with the question, "How many classes did you skip?" I froze for a brief second, and had the sensation of my stomach flooding with ice as I struggled to comprehend how on god's earth my parents could possibly have found out that I had skipped school. I had called in sick--had the school not believed me, considering my dismal attendance record, and called my parents to verify? Or did a phone call simply not de-activate the email system the school had in place? How much did my parents know, anyway? Then the feeling passed, and I shrugged away my fear. It did not matter how my knew I had skipped school--they had clearly found out, somehow or another, and all that mattered was how I dealt with their knowledge and how effectively I minimized their reaction. With cool composure that gave no indicator of the shock I felt, I answered my father's question laconically, "Three classes."

I retreated to my room briefly, and for a few seconds I was too afraid to come out. I felt exactly as I had felt after my mom brought me home the day I was arrested. Then I took a few deep, calming breaths, and forced myself to leave my safe refuge and go straight into the kitchen where my parents were sitting. I entered with a cool, insolent, nonchalant grace, poured myself a glass of water, and leaned back against the wall, pretending I had come into the kitchen for no other reason than to drink it, all the while waiting for my parents to breach the subject of my ditch day, rant at me if they so wished, and get it out of their systems once and for all.

My dad looked at me with a look of confused reproach on his face, and inquired, "So, what periods did you skip?" I answered conversationally, "French, English, and Health", looking for all the world as if I did not give a damn whether or not they knew of my misdeed. My apparent unconcern had the desired effect--it threw my parents; they were unsure of how to react to it. "So, why?", my father asked. I shrugged, and replied with careless confidence, "Because I overslept in the morning and didn't have time to finish the oceanography homework I had planned on getting up early to finish. So, I skipped the first and most worthless periods on my schedule to finish it." My dad shrugged, still looking rather confused and unsure of how to deal with my straightforward, unapologetic approach. I waited for a round of interrogations and reproaches, holding my breath and mentally preparing myself to brazen them out. None came. My dad, although clearly unhappy with me, let the matter drop, and not another word was said on the subject of me ditching school.

Shortly afterwards, my parents took me to Red Lobster, keeping up the tradition of eating out at a restaurant as a family on birthdays. As we sat down at our table, a tall blond waiter approached our table, introduced himself as J****, and asked us what we wanted to drink with the most subtle flirtatious gleam in his eye towards me. Soon afterwards, he returned with our drinks. I found him charming. He carried himself with such graceful nonchalance, and was so courteous, so pleasant. He kept looking over at me every time he came to our table, and his gaze lingered on me with such a way that made me suspect he was interested. I couldn't help but feel unbelievably frustrated. If I had been alone, or with friends, I would have made conversation with him and probably would have stood a good chance of charming him. My parents presence, however, reduced me to merely sitting proudly at my the table and occasionally throwing a daring smile at J**** when I was sure they would not see me. Flirting, or responding to the attentions of a man, in front of my parents, was absolutely out of the question. Yet this young man was so smooth, so charming, so pleasant to look at. I stabbed at my baked potato as I pondered my dilemma. My frustration vanished instantly as I was assailed by a bold, reckless inspiration. I furtively slipped a pen into my back pocket, stood up, excused myself, and left to go to the bathroom. Inside the stalls of the ladies room, I quickly tore off a piece of a paper towel, wrote my name and phone number on the inside along with the inscription "Just in case you're ever bored. Thank you for the excellent service". I folded the paper towel, wrote the waiter's name on the outside, slipped the paper towel into my pocket, and returned to my parents' table. As we were leaving the restaurant several minutes later, I inconspicuously left the napkin on the table. What did I have to lose? If the waiter was at all interested in me, he would be glad to have my contact info--and if he wasn't, I wouldn't ever see him again, anyway.

It was only nine, and I asked my father to drop me off downtown so I could walk home. I did not return home immediately, however, for I preferred to wander around outside for as long as possible, seek out adventures, and avoid the mountain of homework that awaited me at home for as long as I possibly could. A young man on Beaver avenue called out to me from across the street, crossed to introduce himself, and invited me to drink at a bar with him and his friends. I warily agreed to give it a try; however, when I saw that the bouncer was indeed carding, I excused myself, thanked the young man for his kind invitation, but told him I could not accompany him. I left, after exchanging phone numbers with the young men, and dozed on the Dunkin Donuts couch for half an hour before forcing myself back into the chilly night air for the long walk home.

My parents were dozing when I got home. I woke them up, and we all sat around at the table for half an hour, drinking tea and eating the exquisite cake my mother had somehow found the time to bake in honor of my birthday. Back at my house, I felt strangely awkward and uncomfortable in my parents' presence, but it did not particularly bother me. The unconventional, wild, and extremely enjoyable events of my birthday made everything else seem insignificant.

I crashed shortly past midnight, worn out by everything that had happened that day. I felt dizzy and lightheaded as I alternated between a restless doze and a deep slumber. Some part of me was dimly aware of the fact that tomorrow was the last day of the school marking period and that I didn't have any homework completed--but, for the most part, I didn't care. I vaguely promised myself to wake up early the next morning in order to finish my homework, then promptly put the matter to the back of my mind, and forgot all about it. I was in such a state that the morning seemed too far away to worry about. I was drunk and in love--in love with life and drunk on success, utterly and sweetly intoxicated on the sweet nectar of life, adventure.

Recklessness

I woke up early that morning, after having gone to bed extremely late the previous night. Unlike most other mornings, however, I did not fall asleep again, but rose almost immediately, and began getting ready. The events of the previous night--the numbness I felt after breaking up with Scott, the spur of creativity, the lifting of the writer's block I seem to have had all month--were nothing compared to what awaited me that day.

I left the house to meet Fabiola, and we returned to my house as we waited for Mike. There was a sense of expectation between us; neither of us truly knew what would happen, but we knew that whatever did happen would be amazing.

Mike drove up to my house; we piled into his car, exchanged an introduction with his friend Gil who sat at his side, and we drove to the Waffleshop for breakfast. We broke our fast amidst laughter and spirited conversation that never died. This friendly atmosphere was uplifting and intoxicating. Fabiola sat mostly silently at my side, too shy to play a large role in the conversation, but I had a presence. In this company, I felt no pressure from the outside world--I was free to let my hair down and give way to my wild, free-spirited side.

We arrived at Tussey Mountain shortly after noon, and immediately went to rent our equipment. I had initially planned on skiing--after all, I knew how to ski, I was good at it. Mike and Gil were going to snowboard, and Fabiola had agreed to learn to snowboard if they taught her, but I had never set foot on a snowboard in my life--surely I should stick with what I already knew how to do, in order to be able to go on the high slopes? At the last moment, as I was about to put my money down to rent the skis, I changed my mind, and asked for a snowboard.

After the prolonged hassle of learning to use my snowboarding equipment, I finally stood with Mike, Gil, and Fabiola atop the bunny slope, warily looking down beneath me. With my boots strapped into a snowboard I didn't even know how to control, the bunny slope seemed terrifyingly threatening. Gil took the first leap, and began to descend the slope. I took a deep break, adjusted my board, and tried to follow. I had barely gone several feet before I lost control of my board, floundered around helplessly for a few seconds, and fell hard on my behind. The snow got my blue jeans wet, as I was not dressed for skiing or snowboarding. I tried to get up and continue, only to fall again. It was becoming painfully obvious that I had not the faintest clue of how to use a snowboard. How the hell was this supposed to work?

After descending down the bunny slope three times, and becoming fairly confident in my ability to snowboard about ten feet without falling, I agreed to go on the very top of the mountain with Mike and Gil and attempt to go down one of the easier slopes. I felt excited, but nervous, and the closer we got to the top of the mountain, the more insane our idea seemed. Mike had snowboarded before, but he was only at a beginner level, and this was the second time Gil had stood on a snowboard. I had never even touched a snowboard prior to today. None of us actually knew how to snowboard, had ever taken any lessons or had even asked a professional how it was done. And now we were about to attempt to descend from the very top of Tussey Mountain, all on our own, with nothing to rely upon but ourselves and our non-existent snowboarding skills.
We got off the lift and walked to the beginning of the trail together, bound by a sense of camaraderie in the face of the danger we were facing. We all put our boots in our boards simultaneously, attempted to move forward on our boards--and fell. Another attempt, another fall. Another, then another. Every time I fell, my thin blue jeans and permeable gloves became even more soaked with all of the snow, and my wrists and shoulders were beginning to ache from all of the pressure. Every time, I got up laughing, my eyes flashing defiantly of my lack of skill and experience, and recklessly jumped again, experimenting with the movements until I was comfortable on my board. Every time I went slightly further without falling, and, by the end of the first leg of the trial, I could actually go a decent length at a reasonably high speed without falling, and my movements became more confident as I began to understand how to maneuver the board. Despite the inevitable, reoccurring white-outs, Mike, Gil and I finished the trail feeling on top of the world, and immediately piled on the lift for another run down the same trail.
Having gone down the trail several times, our confidence level rose, and, augmented by the excitement we felt, we were starting to feel like intermediate-level snowboarders rather than the novices we truly were. We persuaded Fabiola to accompany us down the trail we had just gone through, thinking she, just like us, would learn to snowboard better from experience than from tentatively boarding down the bunny slope. The idea, however, was doomed to failure. Fabiola sorely lacked the confidence and courage to stand on her board and attempt to board without falling forward in an instinctive attempt to catch herself before she even fell. We spent almost an hour on the first leg of the trail, trying to get Fabiola to stand on her board properly and attempt to glide downhill. Finally, we gave up the attempt. Fabiola was too fearful to even try, and was locked in a self-pitying mindset that made it impossible for us to draw her out of her protective shell. I left my friends after the first leg of the trail, smoothly descended to the bottom, and asked ski patrol to assist Fabiola down the trail. I re-united with Mike and Gil, and we went down the trail several more times, gaining experience with every run, before we went inside the lounge for lunch.

After lunch, Fabiola decided to stay inside the lounge, play video games, and watch the Olympics on TV, while Mike, Gil, and I excitedly filed out of the door. We went down the trail again several times, but with variations, taking more difficult routes towards the bottom. It was getting cold, and my jeans, gloves, and hat were soaking wet from the snow, but I didn't give a damn. We were having the experience of our lives, and physical discomfort had never mattered less in our lives than it did then.

Finally, I became sick of going down the same easy trail we had been descending the entire time. Certainly, we were going faster and getting better every time we descended; moreover, we had added the challenge of going down a more difficult, hilly part in the bottom. But that was insufficient. We had been at the mountain for almost nine hours, and we only had an hour to go before the resort closed for the night. I had to go down a black diamond trail by the end of my first day snowboarding, or I would never forgive myself. I would go down the officially most advanced slope on the mountain, if it cost me my life.

I tried to persuade Mike and Gil to descend with me, but they were fearful and hesitant. We were all physically tired; snowboarding for ten hours was exhausting. Besides, none of us was truly skilled enough to go down the slope. We were all still beginners in terms of skill level, we were just arrogant enough to feel more advanced than we truly were. The black diamond slope was steep, icy, and covered with hills at the bottom. Attempting it, given the circumstances, was insanity. Mike and Gil, after considering all of this, demurred from going down.

I stepped up to the edge of the cliff that was the beginning of the black diamond slope. Alone for the first time--so be it. Gil called out after me, "Are you sure about this?" I replied with a devil-may-care laugh that gave no indicator of the terror I felt, "Never ask me that question". Then, with a deep breath, I turned my board and glided off of the edge of a cliff.

I fell almost immediately, but was up on my feet immediately to continue. The high wind blew snow into my face; I squinted against the gale and the mass of my hair that flew constantly in my eyes. The instant I had gone off the cliff, onto the slope, I felt no fear--merely an overwhelming, addictive intensity. I looked back only once, and saw Mike and Gil standing on the top of the slope, looking down on me. "They're watching you", a voice said inside my head, "They're all watching you. You cannot fail." The slope was so steep, it was impossible to hold still, and I wove patterns as I descended rather slowly, but with a surprising, steady stability. The strain on the muscles of my legs was insane, my entire body was shaking from the physical stress by the end of the day, but I paid no attention. I was in love with every aspect of it--the intense vitality of it, the challenge, the dizzying speed, the difficulty of remaining upright, the sharp focus and concentration required, the balancing game, the knowledge that one misstep could mean a lethal fall. I was addicted to the challenge, the vitality of being alive.

I met Mike and Gil at the bottom of the slope. Encouraged by my example, and by the fact that I had survived the black diamond slope, they agreed to go down the slope after me. I went even faster down the slope this time, and, although I paid for it with a nasty fall towards the bottom, it was worth every second of it. Despite the fact that I was trembling from exhaustion, I could not, would not, stop. My body responded with a rush of energy to keep me sustained through the physical strain and difficulty, and the adrenaline rush was intoxicating. More intoxicating still was the sweet knowledge that earlier that same day was the first time I had ever set foot upon a snowboard, and, now, at the end of the day, I was skilled enough to snowboard down the steepest, most advanced slope at Tussey Mountain.

Shortly before ten o'clock, the ski lifts began closing. Mike, Gil, and I managed to get on the lifts before they closed for one last run. Mike and Gil decided take the easy trail for their last run, to pick up speed. I went on the black diamond trail. This time, I let myself go entirely, and snowboarded down the slope with a wild, reckless abandon, yet without falling once. The fresh mountain air, the hard wind in my face, the bright lights in the surrounding blackness, the strain of my muscles, the speed, the constant shifts of my board to react to--all of these factors overwhelmed my mind and senses, leaving me with a dizzy, drunken feeling as I came to an sharp stop at the bottom of the slope.

It was ten, and the resort was closed. I waited for Mike and Gil; when they finally arrived, we regretfully took off our boards and went to return our equipment. We found Fabiola in the lounge, and, moving as a group, weaved our way across the parking lot to Mike's car. I was soaked to the skin, shaking from the cold, mildly injured in several different places, and dazed from physical exhaustion. Nevertheless, the euphoria I felt was indescribable. This, I thought to myself, was undoubtedly the best day in my life--going snowboarding for the first time in my life, learning to board without anyone to guide me, risking my life flying down the steepest slope on the mountain at the end of my first day--all of this without my parents' knowledge.