I knew this was coming. I knew Senior would ditch us, and I’d be left babysitting Kieran. “Sure,” I force myself to reply.
Kieran doesn’t react. I’m not sure if he’s even paying attention to the conversation — his eyes are zoned out and he’s taking sips of his drink every thirty seconds, like an automated machine.
Senior fills the awkward silence for the rest of breakfast, talking about how he’ll meet Richard at another lodge, and how they’re going to race. Richard had a knee replacement surgery so Senior’s favoured to win.
Afterwards, we say goodbye to Senior. I’m forced to talk to Kieran when I have to explain how we’ll grab our gear and walk to the ski lifts.
It’s early in the morning, but the ski lifts are already busy. We join the end of the line and I show Kieran how to click into the skis with his boots and how to walk with his skis on as the line moves. Thankfully, he picks it up easily.
When we’re close to the front of the line, he stares up at the chunky machinery of the ski lifts, and then at the tip of the mountain. It’s a bright day today, so the summit is visible.
“Are you okay with heights?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says, swallowing. “It’s just…yeah.”
One of the ski lift workers seems to notice Kieran’s apprehension when it’s our turn to get onto the ski lift, because they count us down to when we need to sit, and the metal seat scoops us up from behind.
Kieran lets out a breath while I pull the safety bar over and in front of us.
“Not so bad, right?” I ask, glancing at him. He’s staring at the mountain below us, gripping the safety bar tight. My heart softens a bit.
“Right,” he says, giving me a side-long glance. “I’m not scared, by the way. I’ve just never done this, so I don’t know what to expect.”
“It’ll be fine. When we reach the top, I’m going to push this bar out of way. Then, you just stand up and ski away.”
“I have to ski?” His eyes go wide. If he were a stranger, I’d almost feel sorry for him.
“Just a little, so you’re out of the way of the lift. It’s only a few metres. Just stand up, and the skis will do the work for you. If you fall, the workers will stop the lift and help you.”
“That’s even worse,” he mutters, staring at the mountain below him. The trees look like little shrubs, the people in ski jackets like colourful bugs.
I hesitate before I continue, wondering whether I should give Kieran free ammunition against me. Then I just say it: “I’ve tripped heaps of times getting off the lifts, when I started. Don’t worry, it’s not a big deal.”
Later, I distract Kieran by pointing out the camera on the side of the mountain that takes photos of people on the ski lift. On the ski lift in front of us, a couple kisses as the photo is taken. Of course, when it’s our turn, Kieran and I ignore the camera.
When it’s time for me to push the safety bar up, Kieran tenses. There’s a tiny slope at the place we push off, so physics should allow him to ski away easily. Then it’s time for us to stand up, and I ski down without thinking, stopping at the side of the lift. I look around for Kieran, who’s stopped a few metres in front of the lift, wobbling a little.
“You did it,” I say, walking over to him.
“Yeah,” he says, and he’s wearing a tiny grin.
I realise I’m smiling and stop. “Come on,” I say, leading him away from the lift.
It’s busy up here. There’s a large building that’s the ski school, and another building full of restaurants. I lead Kieran past groups of people until we arrive at a quiet patch of snow. “Down there,” I say, pointing a finger at a wooden sign about a hundred metres away, “is Kangaroo’s Ramble. That’s one of the easiest routes, so we should go down that one first. So, to ski, you just sort of stand there.”
“Stand there?” Kieran echos.
“Yeah. And if you want to stop, just make a triangle with your skis. Like this,” I say and demonstrate, skiing down a few metres.
Kieran tries to replicate my movement, but ends up skiing past me, before he falls over, about ten metres away.
“Alright,” I say after I pull him up. He pats the snow off his butt. “Make sure that your triangle isn’t too small, otherwise you won’t stop. And don’t get the tips of your skis tangled. Also, make sure you’re not leaning too forward or backwards. Just…stand like this. Okay?” I show him.
We take half an hour to arrive at the entrance to Kangaroo’s Ramble. “That was good,” I say.
“I fell like ten times,” Kieran replies.
“Well, everyone falls at the beginning.” Then I frown, because somehow I’ve found myself defending him. “Look, I think you’ll just get it if we keep practising. At least you know how to stop now.”
