Why is it so important? Why should I allow strangers to take part in when I hit the sack and which series I’m currently binge-watching? Should I invite them into the john, too? If it were up to my father, he’d say yes.
“I haven’t had a chance recently,” I answer without looking at him and push the last bite of my roll into my mouth. To be honest, I’ve forgotten my password. I’ve got to set up a new one, but I’m better off keeping that to myself.
In the silence that follows, I can hear myself chewing. Upstairs a vacuum cleaner goes on and begins to go across the floor with a swishing sound.
My father sighs. I look up to see him shaking his head while wiping his hands on a napkin. “I’m going to see about getting you a content manager,” he says, pushing back his chair and standing up.
My heart stops for the blink of an eye before it starts back up in double time. “Hell no!” I stand up and stare at my father, who is looking into the mirror above our sideboard and straightening his tie. “That’s bullshit, Dad. I mean, that’s my private life.”
In the mirror I can see him flaring his nostrils. He continues to fumble with his tie for a few more seconds, then he gives up, cursing, and turns to face me. “Then pay a bit more attention to your private life, Knox! Otherwise someone else will have to.” He pauses a moment, then adds, “I’d bet you Jason Hawk has a content manager.”
“And I’d bet Jason Hawk has chlamydia. What with all the stories you hear.”
My father shrugs. “Who cares?”
“He does, no doubt.”
He doesn’t laugh. He’d probably prefer I had chlamydia if it’d cause my name to show up more often in the press.
He glances earnestly at his wristwatch. “I’ve got an appointment. We’ll see each other later at the race. Tell Lauren that she should make you the millet bowl with the poached egg. That gave you a whole lot of energy last time.”
“Lauren’s not there anymore.” That’s the third time I’ve told him this week. “I’ll eat at the ski hut.”
Dad doesn’t look happy about it, but he nods. His phone beeps. He casts a glance at the display, curses again, and dives toward the front door. “See you later, son. I’m counting on you.”
Yeah, Dad. I know.
The door shuts. Outside I hear the Range Rover’s door slam before the engine starts up. A few seconds later, it’s already gone. Silence falls over me, interrupted only by the sound of the vacuum cleaner.
Meanwhile, the sun has risen. I wish I could be like it. It doesn’t have any thoughts. No worries about the day to come. It simply rises and…appears. New every time. And at the same time ready to infuse every single person with its radiant euphoria.
Like now. It’s shining its way through the panoramic windows and making every effort to bathe the entire living area of our ski resort in light. Its rays illuminate my skin as I make my way to my bedroom. The warmth makes my pores tingle and does its best to get through. But it can’t get all of me.
I feel a coldness inside that’s got nothing to do with winter. A coldness that grows larger every day I give it space to expand. Like an iceberg that uses the increasing frost to freeze the water around it. It turns numb. Motionless and still. The water deprived of the air it needs to breathe.
Like me.
Back in my room, I go to my desk, which gives me an unimpededview of the snow-covered Rockies.
I love Colorado. And I love my life here in Aspen and snowboarding. I just wish I could set up everything differently. According to how I want things to be.
I run my finger over my MacBook’s mousepad and enter my password. Then I lean back in my chair, take a deep breath, and hold it.
I’ve been doing this for weeks. Just staring at my screen while my thoughts race.
The blue banner with the yellow lettering has officially burned itself into my brain starting from that gray winter day when the first snowflakes began to fall.
I can’t think in a different way. Day in, day out. My lips move but make no sound, just silently form the words I’m reading off the website.
Colorado Mountain College.
At the time I applied, I simply didn’t count on ever being accepted. My grades in high school were crap. Other than sports, I couldn’t point to any particularly impressive activities. I would have loved to be able to say that I’d been a conscientious student, volunteering in nursing homes and dedicating time to fundraisers, but that just wasn’t me.
I was Knox.
Knox, the go-getter. Knox, the guy who always knew where the baddest parties were going on. Knox, the guy who knew where to score the best grass and the guy every girl dreamed of getting a goofy note about prom from in her locker. I never went to any dances. Instead, I got blasted and enjoyed our hot tub with considerably older women who were spending their winter vacations in Aspen with their husbands. I was seventeen.
Shit, yeah, I was hopeless. School wasn’t for me. I was just happy to have my diploma in my hands, with all its Ds and a couple of Cs. From then on, sports were all that mattered anyway.
