Ski Trip From Hell - part 4

To alleviate the tension, I tried to say something light and humorous on the way back to the Saab. They ignored my one-liner. I know that I am not a perfect person, and I can take my fair share of friendly ribbing. What was coming out of Nan and Gail’s mouths wasn’t friendly; it was mean, hateful and meant to hurt.

Already humiliated by my failure as an athlete, I headed back to the condo as Nan and Gail continued verbally attacking everything from the way I walked and talked, to my manhood, or lack thereof. Soon unable to contain my silence, I began returning their verbal jabs with a few well-placed oral slams of my own. As we walked into the front door, the three of us were fairly yelling at each other.

I went to the frig and popped the top on a Coors, slamming it in a gulp or two and then quickly opening another. Nan and Gail followed my lead, each grabbing a beer and drinking them between evil outbursts. By this time, we were all saying, or more precisely shouting, things we should have regretted in the morning. Locked in the heat of verbal battle, it did not matter.

My marriage to Gail would last a few more years, but already strained since we had moved to Oklahoma City. I knew that Gail had issues with me but had not known until that moment how contentious they had become. I do not think that Nan had a clue about the depth of Gail’s dislike for me, but it was obvious that she was enjoying the contest. It was then that the door to Mick and Nan’s bedroom cracked open.

It was Mick, still dressed in his pajamas, his eyes as red as blood, his dark hair a rumpled mess, and his complexion the pale color of someone approaching the River Styx.

“I’m sick as a dog but I’ve been listening to you two bitches attacking Eric. As ill as I am, I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you trash my best friend.”

The battle of the sexes was on; with Mick on my side, a weight lifted off my shoulders as the cavalry of his presence charged over the proverbial hill. No longer outnumbered, I began verbally fighting with renewed energy.

We continued arguing until we had gone through every beer in the refrigerator, and the lone bottle of red wine we had bought. I can’t remember too much about the argument except that there was no clear winner.

“Damn it, I’m hungry,” Mick finally said. “At least arguing with you two bitches has cured my flu. Let’s go get something to eat.”

We had our fancy dinner on the town that night, and then danced until closing at the loudest, most garish discothèque we could find. We were all smiling that night when we returned to the condo, and still smiling in the morning. We skied half a day Monday, and then started back to Oklahoma City, the snow on the roads melted and our return trip without incident.

Back at work the next day, I stood in the parking lot, staring at the crumpled hood of my beautiful orange Saab. I still loved it dearly but knew in my heart that no matter how expert its repair, it would never again be - much like my rapidly failing marriage - the car I drove off the showroom floor.

Eric'sWeb