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mzkiwi
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Re: The 409; ch. 7 added 01/13/08
NICE!
I don't know if I should be proud to say that the scenario is a little to true to life for me!
Ahh, the things we do when we're young!
---
"I never liked jazz music because jazz music doesn't resolve. But sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself."
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17/Jan/2008, 11:33
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ShilohPR
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Re: The 409; ch. 7 added 01/13/08
I know, lol! Thus far, I probably identify with this story more than any other story on my site.
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17/Jan/2008, 23:20
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ShilohPR
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Re: The 409; ch. 7 added 01/13/08
Chapter 8
White. Nothing but white. A little light blue here, some silver over there, and a few black streaks of rock peeking through the rivers of snow cascading down the jagged peaks of the Alps. How, Joslyn wondered, could the snow be so thick here on the slopes, and yet there be green grass and cloudless skies only a few miles away at their picturesque log cabin? Yes, it was cold everywhere, and sitting out by a roaring bonfire at night was only good so long as the flames were actually roaring, licking at their frost-bitten toes. But there the valley that their cabin perched on was green and bright blue, broken up by dark evergreens and quaint wooden houses and the trolley that slid slowly from Aigle at the top to Bex at the bottom of the mountain.
Gordi’s entire motive for buying the tickets had been to hit the slopes. Not to sound so generous, the true motive was that he had grown up on the Alps, darting here and there cross country, racing downhill, you name it. He was at home gliding across the snow in a way he knew Grant and Orlando weren’t. This was his perfect opportunity to show those girls what a real man looked like on the mountains. Something about the way Joslyn’s nose and cheeks turned pink in the wind, the way her hair stuck out at odd angles from beneath her furry snow hat made him want to show her how a real man looked in other areas, not particularly on the snow.
But, alas, she and her cousin were making showing off difficult. Three days they had already been in Switzerland before finally setting out tentatively for day one (of only two!) snow days. Not that they had been idle, by any means. Day one they’d had only the late afternoon and evening to peruse the shops in town, purchasing Swiss chocolate by the kilo and several extra bottles of Swiss wine, coveted because the Swiss don’t export. The fact that the Swiss don’t export their wine –because their wine is expensive and couldn’t compete with French and Italian wine in an open market– was explained the next night when, after a day of hiking around the valleys and up the mountain only to paraglide down amidst a blazoning sky, they had settled in with a local wine guru for a night of guided wine tasting. Not to be missed, day three had been spent relaxing at the nearest hot baths, where the boys were disappointed to find that everyone wore clothes except those that they really wished had. Warm water, steamy air, and deep tissue massages had them asleep early.
Day one on the slopes was rough on all involved. Gordi’s efforts to show off his mad skills were obstructed by the lack of interest from the girls. They were far too concerned with finding ways to stay upright on the slabs of wood strapped to their feet.
Dora, like the good safe girl she was, had accepted Gordi’s advice to begin with skis, his own weapon of choice. Moving as clumsily as a toddler learning to walk, she wielded her poles with the grace of an adolescent flamingo, frequently dropping one and then having to twist and bend awkwardly to retrieve it. By the end of the first day, she was handling small slopes rather well, yet her fear and desire for self preservation kept her far from the more serious runs.
Grant, it turned out, had minimal experience with snowboarding. Though at first he was cumbersome and slow, and by the end was nowhere near professional, he managed several long runs without spills, and by late afternoon was leafing with the best of them.
Orlando had actually been skiing with his family several times growing up, but opted to graduate to snowboarding, what he termed “the badass sport.” Perhaps it was this that influenced Joslyn to do the same, though she had never been anywhere near this much snow. Orlando was awkward and clumsy on the board, frequently tripping himself and landing flat on his face in the snowbanks lining the edges of the paths. He was determined, however, and at least spent more time falling than actually on the ground, where he would quickly push himself up and insist, “All right! Everything’s fine! I’m used to falling!” Though he probably could have kept up with Grant on the larger runs, he seemed content to remain with the girls on the smaller slopes.
Joslyn was terrible. Utter trash. Insistent on boarding, her temperament mimicked that of a frustrated six-year-old child who wanted to go on the big hills without learning the basics. Grant showed her leafing and stopping, how to jump onto her board, and how to lean herself around bends. She would practice for a while, but quickly she would get sick of wiping out, pulling her board off, lugging her heavy gear back to the top of the bunny hill, and then putting the board back on only to wipe out again. Because of this, Joslyn developed the terrifying problem of getting going too fast down the small hills without knowing any way to slow herself down except to throw herself into the snow and slide painfully until she stopped.
Finally, halfway through the second day, Joslyn decided with a frustrated grunt that she was going to go down the big hill, which required a long trip up the T-bar. Grant agreed to go with her, since T-bars are notoriously terrible for boarders, who must buddy up for them to work at all. Spooning one another with the bars between their legs, they dragged slowly up to the very top of the mountain. From there, with a quick pep talk and a silent prayer, Joslyn threw herself down the mountain.
The big hill, however, was not nearly as much fun as she had expected. Without leafing, she once again gained too much speed before, in a fit of terror, wiping herself out, which entailed slamming her head –sans any helmet– rather roughly against the snow, and then rolling for several long yards until finally stopping. Fortunately, or unfortunately, no one saw her, she didn’t snap her ankle or neck, and she was left to slowly board, then roll, board, then roll her way all the way down the mountain, her headache growing progressively worse until, finding Dora at the bottom, she was almost in tears from the pain.
And thus ended Joslyn’s short-lived love affair with snow-boarding.
Leaving the boys to their own devices the rest of the afternoon, Dora and Joslyn trekked back to the ski lodge where, much to their delight, they befriended a pair of sunny blond Aussies skiing on holiday. The boys seemed much more interested in the girls than the slopes, though, and when Orlando, Grant, and Gordi dragged their battered bodies back to the lodge hours later, these strangers had their arms around their girls. One, sympathetic with Joslyn’s headache, had even taken to giving her a foot rub which, true to his word, did ease the throbbing in her skull.
“You girls ready to head out?” Grant asked, the only of their boys capable of speaking. Gordi and Orlando stared at the Aussie’s hands on Joslyn’s little white feet.
“I guess . . .” Joslyn sighed. As soon as John removed his hands from her ankles, her feet tingled with loneliness.
Patrick, the one with his arm wrapped along the couch behind Dora, grinned, “Ah, don’t be sad, buttercup. You girls have our address and you will come visit us this summer. I know it!”
“Of course, of course,” Dora grinned, appearing genuine in her agreement.
They gathered their gear, took the gondola down the tall mountain in silence, and remained that way until, in the van, Orlando commanded, “You girls will not be visiting those creepers in Australia this summer.”
“Oh, and why not?” Joslyn demanded.
“They were all over you girls! Clearly their intentions weren’t good. You would go to Australia and never come back.”
“That’s probably true. I bet those hands are good for a lot of things besides foot massages . . .” Joslyn mused, staring out the window. Beside her, Orlando laughed to hide his jealous frown.
Back at the cozy little cabin, Dora and Grant threw together pasta in the fully stocked kitchen while Joslyn tossed a salad, Gordi bragged about how many runs he’d had, and Orlando tried to figure out the right proportions for hot chocolate with rum.
“If one gets too much rum, give it to me. My back is still really sore from hitting the snow,” Joslyn complained, glancing over her shoulder as Orlando sipped a mug and made a face.
Dora shook her head, “Just for that, give her the least. Alcohol is not the answer.”
“Alcohol is always the answer,” Gordi snorted.
“What’s the question?”
“What’ll get Jos into bed,” Gordi quickly added, not too amused by his last comment to miss another good one-liner. Orlando rolled his eyes, then decided the hot chocolates were fine and passed them out. Did every sexual comment Gordi made have to somehow relate to Joslyn?
Lingering by Joslyn, he pressed with a surprising amount of concern – or at least lack of teasing – “What did you do to your back?”
“I think just from falling so much, I banged my head enough to make my neck and back sore,” she shrugged. It hurt, but she hadn’t meant to make too big a deal about it.
“Do you think you really hurt it?”
“Nah, just sore.”
Orlando nodded, “Good, because that’s the last thing you want to be messing up!”
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19/Nov/2008, 0:29
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ShilohPR
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Re: The 409; ch. 7 added 01/13/08
(continued)
“Gordi, stop standing there like an useless wart and set the table,” Dora insisted. He reached between Joslyn and Orlando to grab the plates. Joslyn’s gaze lingered on Orlando just a second longer, though, as he carried his own mug to the table. He was behaving strangely this trip: teasing her less, speaking softer, questioning even her tiniest joking complaint. It wasn’t enough that anyone else noticed, she didn’t think, but then she was his best friend, and she wondered if something serious was bothering him.
Despite the weariness down to their bones from two days on the slopes, and though the wind outside seemed a bit sharper than the nights before, one final bonfire was struck up outside in honor of their last night in Switzerland. Once the pasta was gone, more hot chocolate with rum was thrown together and the group shuffled outside wrapped in wool blankets and thick scarves to clump around the raging fire, just close enough that an inch closer would singe their eyebrows.
“This week sure has flown by,” Dora sighed, letting her head fall into Grant’s shoulder.
Grant nodded, adding, “And a round of cheers to Gordi for bringing us here. I think we can all agree it’s been a spring break to remember.”
“I just think it’s miraculous we made the whole trip with a visit to the emergency room. I mean, we can’t make a week at home without something happening,” Joslyn pointed out, speaking mainly of herself and Orlando. “The Triage Twins,” Samantha had begun to call them.
Dora shook her head, “Don’t let’s jinx it now, though!”
“Yeah, we’ve still got a train to Bern and a plane to London. Still plenty of time for you to knock yourself silly,” Gordi pointed out, reaching over to poke Joslyn in the ribs. Was it just her or did Orlando, on her other side, sit up a little straighter?
“That’s not a challenge, Joz.”
“What? Why me? I have no desire to knock myself unconscious,” Joslyn insisted. “Besides, unlike the rest of you, I have classes as soon as we get back . . . damnit.”
“It’s so ridiculous when you swear,” Gordi laughed, once again nudging her in the side.
“What? Why?”
“You just sound like you don’t really know what you’re saying. You sound like a little kid repeating a word they heard their dad say.” Joslyn wasn’t sure what to make of that and let it pass as Dora moved the conversation onto a recollection of how beautiful the stars looked in the cloudless black sky. Orlando noted Joslyn’s lapse, though, and quietly took her hand, slipping his fingers in between hers as he bottomed up his hot cocoa.
It wasn’t that they had never held hands before, even fingers intertwined like this. Particularly if one or both had been drinking a little much, the physical affection they showered on each other would confuse any bystander. Usually the act was laced with so much teasing and jesting that it lost all sincere meaning and resulted only in one or the other pulling away in a playful pout.
This, though, was different. He didn’t mutter some joke to make her pull playfully away. He didn’t use it as a trap to tickle her. He didn’t even pull her hand up to impishly bite her wrist before letting her hand drop. He just held her hand.
When at long last the bonfire began to die down and the night had grown old enough that conversation had lapsed into sleepy silence, Dora finally rose and announced, “It’s late and we’ve got a somewhat early train.”
“Time for a little beauty sleep,” Gordi agreed, pushing himself up then quickly clutching the blanket back to his body as night air nipped in. Grant silently pulled the frozen bucket of sand up and scattered it over the remaining small fire until even the most resilient flames had died down to nothing.
Frowning, Joslyn demanded, “Couldn’t you have at least waited until we were inside?” Without waiting for a response, though, she took off for the indoors, hopping to keep her blood flowing until the warm cabin air had enveloped her. No one seemed much in the mood to dwell on goodnights, and with sleepy sighs they trudged to their rooms: Grant and Gordi to the room with two beds, Joslyn and Dora to the back room with the large bed, and Orlando to the bed he had made on the couch in the den.
After what felt like an hour of tossing and turning, Joslyn pushed herself out of bed with a frustrated sigh and felt her way slowly in the dark out of the bedroom. She wasn’t surprised at all to see Orlando still awake, illuminated by the orange glow from the fireplace as he sat staring into the flames, a dark blanket around his shoulders. He turned at the footsteps, smiled, then turned back.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“No,” she sighed, shuffling across the hardwood floor to the space rug. He opened one side of the blanket and she gratefully tucked herself into his side. After a lengthy, comfortable silence, she pressed casually, “You doing okay?”
“What? Oh, yeah, all right. Just not wanting to head back to the real world yet, you know?”
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19/Nov/2008, 0:30
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ShilohPR
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Re: The 409; ch. 7 added 01/13/08
(continued)
“Tell me about it.” Orlando smiled as she rattled off some anxiety she had about school; he didn’t even know what she said, but when she spoke her body vibrated against his thin shirt, sending goosebumps up along his arms. With the heat from the fire washing over their skin, he felt like she was melting into his side, her arms and legs melding with his so that they would become one larger . . . person? Well, he never had been much of a poet. He grinned, nodded at whatever she had asked him, then went back to sneaking breaths of her hair and trying to imagine what it would feel like to run his fingers through it.
He had endured such fantasies about Joslyn before. That was nothing new, and certainly not what had him so painfully aware of every move she made lately. Joslyn was nothing if not captivating, intoxicating, addicting, and particularly when they were both a bit tipsy and holding hands as they stumbled down the street, Orlando frequently found himself wishing they were both drunk enough to move the kisses a little bit lower than on cheeks and temples. But no matter how much they drank, they never seemed to get drunk enough. He wished he could feel her skin against his, wondering if they really would melt into each other.
“Do you think we’ll all take a trip together this summer? We could go to Spain or France. That would be fun, I think,” Joslyn continued, apparently oblivious to his dark thoughts. She figured he wasn’t listening, of course, but he was smiling and content, and so who cared if she blabbered on in the dark room? Of course, the more at ease he seemed, the less at ease she realized she was, her topics getting more obscure and her words more rapid and less coherent as she realized just how warm it was nestled into Orlando’s side, his skin dancing orange against the glow. She could feel his warm breath sneaking down her neck, creeping down the neckline of her shirt and tracing curls along her skin. She could feel the strength of his fingers as he clutched the blanket around her and the muscles of his arm twitching against her back and then realized with a start that she was still talking and hadn’t the faintest idea what she was saying.
“What was I saying?” she asked, startled by the soft breathiness of her own voice. She twisted to look into Orlando’s face, no longer understanding anything that was going on.
He couldn’t even smile, couldn’t do anything but look at her wind-burned cheeks in the warm glow as he shook his head the slightest bit, “I don’t know, love.” Then no more words, there had been too many already. He pressed his mouth gently against hers, their cold noses rubbing together and their eyes fluttering closed. The blanket fell away as he wrapped his arms around her to hold her closer, her own hands trailing up to snake behind his neck. He broke for a second to gasp for breathe but she twisted, deepening the kiss, turning with each movement of his body as their lips grasped more hungrily for the other pair. In a matter of minutes, she was straddling his lap, her shoulders heaving as their faces hovered inches apart.
What had just happened? A kiss? Something more? Something less? The rum had not been nearly enough to make them drunk, not even tipsy, and yet Orlando suddenly found his head swimming as though he had been knocking back jell-o shots all evening. Her thighs pressed into his hips and he was all too aware of how quickly she had revved his body up. Her position alone was enough to muddle his mind.
But he didn’t want her to move. He didn’t want this to end. He wanted to know if their skin would melt together. So before she could move or speak, he moved his lips to her jawline, to her earlobe, down the side of her throat until he pulled at the neckline of her t. shirt to bite gently at her collarbone. He sucked where he had bitten; she gasped and reflexively thrust her hips forward; Orlando knew exactly where this was going. And he sure wasn’t going to stop it.
Carefully, afraid that if he moved too quickly she was startle and flee like the little sparrow he had always related her to, he tugged the hem of her t. shirt until it was over her head, then ran his fingers down her bare sides, biting more roughly at her neck as she sighed and leaned her head back. The large den suddenly felt tiny, and anything in the shadows had fallen away. All that existed was the small halo of light pulsing around the hearth and the two figures caught in the glow.
“Jos, tell me to stop and I’ll–“
”Don’t,” she whispered back, not even opening her eyes.
“Don’t–“
”Don’t stop.”
So he didn’t, not until an eternity later when they collapsed beside each other onto the area rug, nestled together as he pulled the blanket around her bare shoulders against the growing darkness. His chest heaved and tiny beads of perspiration dotted his skin, but she nestled her face into the moisture, burying her nose into his collarbone as his feverish fingers traced lazy circles from her shoulder to her hipbone.
“Love, the couch will be–“
”Okay,” she agreed. Their voices sounded foreign and rough in the silent cabin, the ticking of the clock on the mantle a jab at their isolated world. Slowly, she let him pull her to her feet and guide her clumsily to the couch. She collapsed on top of him, her head nestling beneath his chin and their hearts gradually slowing as the fire melted their skin together.
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19/Nov/2008, 0:31
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