“Last run okay, kid? We’re shuttin down for the night!” Said the jolly chairlift worker. I rolled my eyes. I was not a kid.

“Kid? Did ya hear me? Last run, then we’re shuttin’ down.”
“Ok.” I said, with just a hint of attitude.
“Have you been havin’ a good night?” He said, leaning on a ski pole, which looked as if it were to snap any second.
“Yes.” I muttered.
“Good, good. It’s pretty icy out there today, kid, so make sure you're bein’ extra careful. How long have ya been snowboarding for?” He questioned, getting increasingly more comfortable. 
“Few years.” I sighed, growing tired of this interrogation of my life.
“That’s nice. I myself used to snowboard when I was a kid, ‘bout your age.”

“Ok.” I growled. He would not give up. When will this chairlift get here?  I heard a sharp bang and then tasted some kind of black smokey exhaust coming from the chairlift. It was here. I turned my head around in time to see my savior, a snow-covered box of ice for me to sit on. It would take me up hundreds of feet. And away from this conversation.

About halfway up, I heard a high pitched “ding!” coming from my secret inside pocket. Oh how perfect. I unzipped and unbuttoned my many layers of clothing, waterproof and wind resistant jackets until I reached the source of my inconvenience. It was my Mom, just checking in for the millionth time today. Why can’t she just let me be? I'm not 5. Staring at the text once more, contemplating on what to say, I decided to go with the usual, “I'm fine, warm and toasty. Might be late out tonight. See you soon!” She doesn’t need to worry about me. The second I say, “I’m cold.” she sweeps in and is convinced I have hypothermia or something, so she forces me into my too small, too puffy, coat from last year. Never wearing that again. It’s ugly, but warm. But still ugly.
Now, I could just peep over the powdery, snowy, gigantic white mountain. Only to see more snow. And pine trees. Lots and lots of pine trees. Who knows what could be lurking in those. Bears, or wolves, or something like that. I hear stories all the time about people going into those woods, coming back, a whole new person. They actually pack supplies to last them days. You never what could happen I guess. I have always been curious to wander in those deep, dark and scary woods. Not curious enough to actually do it though.

Rounding to the dismounting station, I felt the cold stare of the second chairlift keeper. I was keeping him from going home. Looking rather fed up, he delivered me with a half-hearted smile and a nod, me returning him with the same.. He raised his hand up and coarsely spoke into the retro walkie-talkie which looked way too out of date to even work.

“Last ones up. Shut ‘er down. Over.” The walkie-talkie scratched up some kind of response. And the worker stuffed it carelessly back into his pocket.
“Hey Kid!” He managed to croak out. Again, not a kid.
“Hm?” I said, putting in my best effort to be nice. Kind of.
“How long will it take you to get down the hill? The main lights are goin’ off in ‘bout 10 minutes, so ya best start to make your way back to the lodge.”
“I’ll be fine,” I hissed, checking the time on my watch.

“Sure.” He hacked, climbing back onto his brand spankin’ new snowmobile, and jetting off  down the mountain. Why do they even need those? They don’t do anything but sit in those tiny boxes and push buttons.
I turned back around to click in my bindings back in place, with a little too much force, snapping one of them in half. My eyes widened.“Whoops,” I said, staring at the newly broken piece of junk bindings. Oh well, no big deal. I think I've done this before...one foot strapped in. I will be fine, and make it down in time, and then get these sopping wet gloves off my wrinkled hands, which looked quite like prunes. I cautiously stood up, almost slipping backwards on an icy patch. I jammed my foot into to noncooperative binding, which could barely keep my foot in place. “This will be fun,” I jokingly said. Struggling to get started, I spread out my wobbly arms, and bent my shaking knees, looking rather unstable. Inhaling the frosty winter air, I shuffled to the edge of the drop-off, I peered down and my eyes widened. The lights had started to shut off already at the bottom of the hill. I scrambled my thoughts together, swung my hips side to side and made my way down the monstrous hill.
The sun is starting to set. I can feel the wind chill raising and the temperature dropping. Two minutes in, my back leg is starting to shake, my calf and thigh muscles both beginning to get sore. Not being able to concentrate, I decide to take a break. Just a short one. I start to carve on my heels, pulling off to the side of the hill and leaning on a pine tree. Five minutes in. I'm starting to lose feeling in my fingers and toes from the sudden chilliness in the air. Still shivering, I take my gloves off and rub my pale hands together, hoping to warm them up. Breathing on them a few times doesn’t work. Its almost as cold as the air. My eyelids are heavy, my mind is drifting in and out of consciousness. My watch beeped. It's been ten minutes. I can’t feel my fingers or toes, they are numb. My breathing is slow, and dragged out. I give in to the harsh pain in my eyes forcing me to clamp them shut.