109- The Moose Jaw- The Ending to White Dreams ( Young Adult Version Of The Lure Of The Mountain King, Uncle Albert's Mountain}

There have been many endings over the years. Leaving the mountain alone has always been my favorite, but as the the years have progressed I have experimented with Tom and Sara being together in some form. Since I had always wanted this to be a young adult work my first go at togetherness was for simplicity. I published it in May of 2022 but then deleted it. I once again offer it up in it's simplicity. Which one is better is for you the reader to decide.

                                                     The Moose Jaw

 

 

       Sara was sitting at the end of the bar. She was unconsciously twisting the end of her auburn hair, between her thumb and forefinger. Her head buried in a novel, reading short stories and good writing was her favorite pastime. There were only a handful of customers this afternoon. The season had ended and business would be slow until autumn winds brought another winter to the Rocky Mountains. A new song drifted over the sound system. The front door slowly opened and a black Stetson appeared. Sara felt her body involuntarily shiver. She quickly buried her head back into her book,

     “When are you going to wake up?” Sara said to herself. “You can’t hide from the world forever.”

She stared blankly at the pages. Lifting her hands she turned them upright, they were covered with black smudge marks from the print. She realized that was exactly what she was doing. Hiding from Tom and hiding from herself. Year after year she sat with her books. She listened to others talk of their adventures. Standing at the bar mixing their drinks and collecting their spare change. Spare change to make her ends meet. Always buried in another book, she thought she would probably grow old and grey with a book in her hands.

     “Hi,” he said cautiously. He was hoping it would go well. She had this incredible knack for avoiding him.

     “Hi,” she smiled radiantly. Sara’s eyes softened as they met his. She jumped off her chair and ran to him. She grasped his hand and held tightly to his big fingers.

     ”I’m sorry this all happened. I was wrong to try and force you into something you weren’t ready for. If nothing else you taught me the value of freedom and the courage to spend it"

Tom looked deeply into her eyes.

     “No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I can’t settle in one place. My first reaction to life is to bolt when things get tough, to run away instead of fighting. I want to be with you, without you I’ll probably always be a drifter. You are the only stability I’ve ever known.”

He saw the same spark that was there the first time they had met. It had never left, even when he thought it would never return.

     “Listen, I can’t explain my feelings, when I’m near you. I’m trying to find the words to explain how much I care. It’s just that I’ve got this crazy dream. Maybe I can make a difference. Maybe I can -----.”

She gently put her fingers to his lips.

     “I’ll make you a deal. No more talk of commitment. You give me a taste of real freedom.”

He loosened the straps of his knapsack and slid his arm around her waist. He slapped his hand on the bar.

     “There’s this little saloon in Targhee called ‘Wild Bills’,” he scratched the stubble on his chin. “You could work on the mountain with me and learn to ski or tend bar there.”

     “Only if you shave,” she laughed wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

Tom gently pulled her closer. He felt the warmth of her body next to his. He knew it was right. He would give her everything possible for him to give. Sara was the serenity he found among the jagged peaks. It was meant to last forever. The balance between man and nature in the mountains is fragile and extremely delicate. Life hangs precariously by a taught golden string, stretched sometimes almost to the breaking point. A balance that was as tender and tight as that between a man and a woman. Tom always pushed toward the edge. Someday he would push too far. He would regret many things in his life. He would never regret giving his love to Sara.

     “No promises.”

     “No promise,” he agreed.

She tore off her apron, and threw it behind the bar. She grabbed her blue knapsack and stuffed her book into it. Pulling on her ski jacket, she flipped her hair outside. It would be an exciting change for her. They started for the entrance.

     “Hey Sara, How about another?” one of the customers yelled.

She turned gracefully, her hair flowing in a wide arc. It gently came to rest, tight under her chin. Tom waited his throat dry. He watched every move she made.

Sara glanced back at him. She carefully studied his features cautiously for a sign, any answer. Tom said nothing.

Sara turned and reached for Tom’s hand. They walked out the door.

     “What’s Targhee like?” she said.

     “I’ll show you,” he replied.

The Ring Song, Jaya Sia Ram, Krishjna Das, Flow Of Grace

176-Exploring The Art Of Collaboration

My collaboration began when I was attending writing classes at Union College in Schenectady, New York in the early 1980’s. To keep living expenses down I rented an apartment in Niskayuna, New York from my musician friend. We would often sit on the porch evenings and he would play music and I would write poetry. (Although I learned to endure the late evening renditions of Peter Gabriel's, Red Rain to all hours. ) It was only natural that we began collaborating together, not only did we collaborate on songs, but we have been fortunate enough to finish a book of short stories and a novel. Our short story The Lure of the Mountain King was awarded an honorable mention in the 57^th Writer’s Digest Contest in the General Fiction Category. We have over the years drifted apart but I have lately dusted off our early collaborations and began submitting the work. Hope you enjoy the completed Ballad. (Check Out My Stories and The Lure Of The Mountain King Novel.)

 

 Gordon Grey Music

Albert Bianchine

 

 

The Ballad Of Tom Dillon

A blinding blizzard beckons me
in to Steamboat Springs.
I arrive on the last greyhound from Vail.
My pockets full of snowflakes
a lonesome geyser’s Steamboat whistle wails
always hiding, never tears to a cowboy’s eye.
Lord don’t let me be forsaken
the Baron’s have already taken
America by rail.

My darling I grow weary
often lost without a home
but you know I’ll keep on searchin
these mountain trails alone.
I wander through green valleys
across the prairies
past the village’s
farms and fields
out beyond the concrete illusions
where the Rocky Mountains pierce
the aqua skies.

I find solace in the seclusion
of another winter’s season
another mountain to ski
as long as he will lay
fresh powder down for me.

While you seek your fortune
or search the world for fame
be careful what you wish for
because when darkness falls upon you
you’ll be wailing out his name.

Ski through barren aspens
see the forests through the pines
sitting on my golden perch
am I crying out in vain?

Sometimes you awake to find
you get what you need
other times you take what you can get
it is from the children 
they take everything.

Now I found that I possess this light
from these mountains that I bring.
My gift is in my words
and for the children
I’ll let them ring.

Go and tell everyone,
silence is a snowflake falling
until they hear me calling
to all the children I will sing.
Never take the last of anything.

These days I’m a city
pretty girl painted
street wizard inside my poems.
My freedom
most men will never know
never having been wary
of wooden box stables
fabled to contain rainbows.
Someday, when their hair turns grey
their youth will have faded away
with the colors that lost their shine.

The all American Gazebo Band

plays behind the new red white and corporate blue
flag that flies against the changing hues.
Another rock opera story
of old glory, and a town without its name.
Somewhere in time, the poet’s rhyme
makes a cosmic connection.
Then the Seer Sayers arrive on Stages
and History endures the ages.

As a simple man who dreams
beyond the Apple Tree Lane
he sees a sunrise within her eyes.
Then the hobo dude
plays Howard Hughes
attempting to fill Dylan’s shoes
to find out why they came.
But in disgrace, he falls from grace
to understand success
is not what they claim.

Listen Children

to a Thorn Bird shrilly singing

this truth you’ve heard
from a poet and his strings.

 

The name of Steamboat Springs is thought to have originated around the early 1800s when French trappers thought they heard the chugging sound of a steamboat’s steam engine. The sound turned out to be a natural mineral spring, to be named the Steamboat Spring.

In 1909, the railroad arrived, which sparked a boom for the commercial industry in Steamboat Springs. Ranching was the primary industry of the valley and the cattle ranchers turned the new railroad depot into one of the largest cattle shipping centers of the West. Consequently, the construction of the railroad silenced the Steamboat Spring’s chugging noise forever.

City of Steamboat Springs Website

 

 

 

Trading Trinkets, Tall Tales, Telling Lies

 

Downtown any town’s Main street

this town, down

passed a shellacked shiny brass handled

carved crescent moon wooden door of

“The Ancient Mariner”

across the street from an old fashioned Bijou

sequenced white bulb Marquee

Flashing, “Fiddler on the Roof.”

 

Butted by a brand new brown concrete, steel, Lake Placid Hilton

descending down two flights

of green canopied wooden stairs.

 

“The Artist’s Café”

lapped white waves of Mirror Lake

reflecting the lights of “The Cottage”

and the excitement of the 1980 Winter Olympics

across from the Lake Placid Club

its walls filled with the owner’s original art

bustling buxom waitresses.

 

Comrade Ivan leaping to his feet

touching my pins from Solitude and Brighton

would I care to trade for his shiny Soviet bears

slapping him on the back saying,

“certainly mine were worth a bit more, perhaps

one, possibly two martini’s.”

 

Telling tales till they became martooni’s

 

The bustling waitress asking,

“Was I, could I be, an Olympic Athlete?”

Me smiling devilishly saying,

“Why, yes,

would she,

care to come to my room.

to view my gold medals from Europe.

 

 

                                             To Winter My Revenge

 

I had once

so long ago it seems

enjoyed the cool aroma

tasted the nectar sweet

of personal destiny achieved

 

These Words!

 

So at last I come to understand

after all these travels

all these achievements

that most men only dream…

 

I’ve been wasting the years

trying to go back

rolling the bitter ugly taste

over and over

my tired palette

 

“Reliving is not Life”

 

I am… To tell this tale

… to pound one nail

… to Winter My Revenge. 

Red Rain, Peter Gabriel

164;Uncle Albert's Mountain, (The Lure of the Mountain King) Chapter XXXI; The Senator Is Foiled

 

     “They’re in Meeting Room Three, but you can’t go in,” the secretary looked up at the young man. He ignored the last part of the warning, and ran down the hall.

     “Joe! Joe!, “Tom called hoping it wasn’t too late. There were no numbers on the doors, so he had to get their attention the hard way.

     “Joe! Dillon here!”

     “What’s going on?” The door to his left swung open and Joe’s lawyer stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind him.

     “We’re in the middle of an important meeting. You can’t barge in like this,” he looked at Tom. “Miss Buxly! Miss Buxly! Would you show this man the door?” He grabbed Tom by the arm to lead him out. Tom pulled away from his grasp, pushed him aside, reached for the door handle and entered the room.

     “Excuse me Gentleman. Can I see you in private, Mr. Jacobason. It’ll only be a moment.”

     “Pardon me,” Joe rose up from his seat. “ My accountant’s here.”

     They went out into the hall, and over to an empty room. Tom closed the door behind them and shuffled Joe into a chair. He slid the papers out of the envelope, and spread them across the table. Taking a pen out of his pocket, he slapped it down on top and stood back.

     “Sign on the dotted line,” he said with a broad grin.

     “What’s this?”

     Tom sat down in a big leather chair at the head of the table. He leaned back, crossed his fingers in front of him, and smiled a large radiant smile. “It’s a season’s pass,”

     “How on God’s green earth did you manage this,”Joe was occupied scrutinizing the policy.

     “You can thank the King of Insurance, David Randall.” Tom stood and walked around beside Joe. He bent over and pointed to the date on the policy.

     “Effective yesterday!” he let out a hearty guffaw, unable to control his elation.

     “Unbelievable!” Joe shook his head from side to side.

     “It was really very easy,” Tom strutted around the room. “I gave D.R. a call the day you told me about the cancellation. He knew what was going on. How the Senator had the Insurance Company in his pocket. The problems were not your fault and he would underwrite a new policy. He told me what he needed and I got him the information. I didn’t say anything because he wasn’t sure his company would go along with it, on such short notice….”

     “I’ll be damned,” Joe clicked the pen, and put his signature on his new lease on life.

     “We almost didn’t make it, but Mr.Randall came through.”

     Joe stood up and collected the documents. “Shall we give them the good news?” He motioned to the door.

     To say there was a celebration was an understatement. Everyone they could possibly get a hold of was at the Jaw. The party lasted well into the night. No one wanted the revelry to end. The joy this family felt was shared by all, it was just a battle. It was enough to end this season and hopefully keep them going for another year, and it was all that mattered to them.

Sierra-Boz Scaggs

151-Uncle Albert's Mountain,(The Lure Of The Mountain King;) Chapter XVIII; The Betrayal

        “Yes Sir. I’ve already taken care of that.”

     General Matthew Dowe was sitting at attention behind his polished oak desk. There aren’t many men a General in the United States Army has to answer to, but he was talking to one now.

     “I sent you a memo the last time he called. There was no reason to bother you with it, then. He was hoping he could make this conversation as short as possible.

     “This time he wants action. Well what should I do? Yes, I already have someone on the inside.

     He covered the receiver and took a long deep breath. Thank God this is over the phone, he thought to himself. He wasn’t up to a confrontation with this man.

     “Yes Sir. I realize that. I won’t do anything then. Sorry to bother you.”

    

     The connection broke before he could get those last words out. He hung up the phone and clasped his hands on the desktop in front of him. Betraying a friend was not his style. He hated it, but he had no choice. Besides there were no friends in business or war, these days those concepts were interchangeable. You can’t have one without the other. The only difference is the battles are fought with pen and paper, not guns and soldiers.

 

     The General opened the bottom drawer, and took out a bottle of twelve-year old scotch. He poured himself a stiff glass half full. He sat back and took a big long drink, rolling the golden liquid around his tongue.

     “There’s no room in this world anymore for friends,” he said to no one. He finished the drink in one gulp, and refilled the glass.

     “Good Luck Joe!,” he raised his glass to his former friend. 

HARE KRISHNA MEDITATION

149;Uncle Albert's Mountain,( The Lure Of The Mountain King;) Chapter XVI, Sara

   Sara stopped and stared longingly into the window of Branigan’s Shop. The hand tooled golden brown leather cowboy boots were still there, right next to the gorgeous knee high riding jodhpurs. They had black and red stitching in a simple yet striking design. The boots would be perfect for her date next Thursday night.

     “Aren’t they absolutely adorable,” she cooed.

     “They sure would turn a lot of heads,” Tom replied, “Why don’t you try’em on.”

     “I already have. The fit is perfect. They wouldn’t even have to be broken in.”

     “So, buy them.”

     “No, no, they’re too expensive.”

     “Come on,” he nudged her. “You need a new pair anyway. Besides, ya said they were perfect. Go ahead, go for it.”

     “Tom, I just can’t afford it,” she retorted, her eyes riveted to the boots. She was struggling desperately with herself to forget logic. She had the urge to splurge for once.

Sara turned and walked away, her logic winning again. Tom grabbed her arm, and quickly pulled her into the store.

     “Come on, I wanna see you in them.”

 

     “Hi, Mr. Brannigan,” Sara approached the counter.

     “Well, hello there Sara,” the soft-spoken owner replied. He towered above them both.

     “How’s your Dad? Haven’t seen’em round lately.”

     “He’s fine. Moms got the flu, but she’s getting better.”

     “You tell her to get plenty of rest before she goes back to work. You know how that flu is round here, if she don’t it’ll never leave till spring.”

     Tom loved the easy relaxed atmosphere. No pressure, no running around, no hustle, no bustle, it was a simple way of life.

     “What can I do for you today?”

     Sara stood gently running her fingers through her hair. She was curling the ends between her thumb and forefinger, staring hopefully at the leather boots in the window.

     “Oh… It’s the boots again,” he knowingly remembered the last time she had come in, how much she had wanted them.

    “Can I try them just once more?”

     He smiled widely and walked to the window, lifting them off the display. They were his last pair in that style. They happened to be her size. She slid into them like they were made for her body.

     “Whatta ya think Tom?” She pirouetted across the floor in front of him. Her blue denim skirt flared out as she twirled and danced, her auburn hair flowing out in an arc away from her body.

     “You’re the Sweetheart of the Rodeo, in them,” Tom said lovingly.

     Mr. Brannigan stood watching the young loving couple. He thought of his wife and he, many years before. He scratched his chin.

     Tell ya what I’m gonna do, darling,” his eyes twinkled. “I’ll give ‘em to ya for cost, since they’re the last pair left. Your folks helped me through some very lean years. I think it’s about time I returned the favor.”

     “Sara’s parents had run the General Store in Old Dillion for close to thirty years. She remembered Mr. Brannigan coming in ever since she was a little girl. Her father had given him credit when he had needed it most. There were some difficult years in the early Sixties. The Denver water Board had begun buying up Dillion Property from the owner’s who were unable to raise tax money during the Depression years. By the late Forty’s they owned most of Old Dillion. In the late Fifty’s, they all but crippled the community by announcing plans for damming the lush delta formed by the trinity of rivers, the  mighty, Blue, Ten Mile, and Snake Rivers, referred to as Nah-Oon-Kara, The Valley of the Blue, by the Uncompaghre Ute Native Tribes. They would build Roberts Tunnel, 23 miles long, starting in 1951 under the Continental Divide Mountains, to the North Fork and South Platte River, to supply the blossoming Denver Metropolis with much needed water. They had given the homeowners and businessmen until 1961 to vacate. If it hadn’t been for the closeness of the Community, they might never have survived. They not only survived, but with the new Reservoir and Eisenhower Tunnel through the Divide, they began prospering. The townspeople still helped each other.

     “Really,” Sara couldn’t hide her delight. Tom stood grinning from ear to ear. Mr. Brannigan grabbed her old boots, and put them in the box. He went behind the counter and wrote out the sales slip.

     “If you can’t afford them now, give me what you can, and come back and pay the balance when you’ve got it.”

     Sara kept looking down at her feet as they walked out the door.

     “You take care now Sara Lyn.”

     “Thanks again Mr. Brannigan,”Sara waved as they went out into the street.

     She slid out of her blue knapsack, and gave Tom a big hug.

     “Wha- What’s that for?”

     “Well, you were the one who made me go in there in the first place. If not for you, I’d still be in those beat up old things. Besides,” she said, pulling on her pack and flipping her hair out from under it. “A girl doesn’t need a reason to hug her man.”

 

     She turned and started down the street, Sara loved him more and more each day. Every little thing they did together was special. She looked down at her feet and started crying.
     “Now what are you crying for?”

     “Honestly Tom, you may know everything there is to know about mountains, but when it comes to women. You’re such a big jerk! She started walking away. Tom stood there raising his hands.

     “What did I do?”

     Every moment they shared was better than the last. Her only problem was in not being able to say it. She couldn’t hold it much longer. Win or lose, she had to face the consequences. She hated not knowing the future, and was afraid of living for today.

Narayana/For Your Love, Krishna Das, Heart As Wide As The World

148-Uncle Albert's Mountain,(The Lure of the Mountain King; )Chapter XV; Toby

   Toby had been slacking off the last couple of weeks. He was staying out late, sleeping in extra late, and not showing up. It was hard for an eighteen-year old boy, with all the distractions around him, to dedicate his every wakening moment to one sole purpose. The only way to attain a goal, is absolute single minded desire. Push until it hurts, and then start pushing.

     He was blaming everyone but himself for his poor performance. Sara mixed the drinks too stiff, Tom didn’t wake him on time. He was harder to live with than Jilly. He rarely rode to the Basin with her anymore. If he made it there by noon, he was lucky, he missed more days than he skied. It turned out that his biggest down fall was his lack of ambition. Hard work was not his strong suit. Putting everything off until tomorrow, he didn’t realize that tomorrow never come until it is too late. The only think that every skier on the circuit knows is that the season ends too soon. You have to love each moment as if it was your last moment, and spend it as if you were wealthy beyond belief. If you don’t its over, and your left with nothing except wasted time and pockets full of empty dreams. Toby had always had the best equipment and training available through NASTAR Racing, his parents had made sure of that and supported him all the way. They spoiled him as parents do, but they never realized the effect it would have on him now. Accustomed to getting it all, he didn’t know how to give, never having had to learn. He had no idea what the game was like, and it was all coming due. Having to play it all by himself for the first time, he was lost.

    

     “I don’t believe you, Toby, you’re a real jerk,” Tom said pointing his finger in his face. “You have got more than 99% of the people on this planet have, and your drinking it all away.”

     Toby just rolled his eyes, and took another long swig.

     “You’re so blind drunk that you don’t even know that you’re hurting yourself. I would love to see you go all the way, but if you don’t care, why should I. I don’t know why I’m saying this. Just forget it.”

 

     Tom grabbed his glass to take another drink, but he put it down and pushed it away. He looked around the room at all the intoxicated people having a drunken time. In disgust, he shook his head. He had been drinking since he was fifteen, and never thought about it until now. Looking back at his friend, he saw him throwing his life away in the name of harmless fun. The reasons he had, didn’t matter. It was his inability to realize the situation and deal with it that was the cause of his trouble.

 

     “Sara get my friend here another drink. In fact get him two, I think he needs them.”

     “Take it easy Tom.”

     “Yesh come on Tom, give ush ,” Toby slurred.

     Tom had given up hope.

     “I think you have had enough Toby,” Sara said taking away his glass.

     “Hey come on,” Toby yelled. He spilled Tom’s drink grabbing for his.

     Tom and Sara looked at each other. They didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t even spell his own name. You can’t argue with someone who is not present.

       “Call a cab Sara. I’ll take this mess home. Come on Tobe let’s get some fresh air.”

     Helping Toby up from his chair, he ushered him out the door. He sat him down on the front step and leaned him up against the railing. Tom stood and watched his friend slumped over and barely conscious. He wanted to do something, but nothing had worked. Toby was just getting worse.

     The cab pulled up and Tom lifted Toby into the back seat. As they were driving away, he remembered similar nights like this with David. He was the same back in high school. They would drink until they passed out. He had no control over it, and no desire to stop it. If it hadn’t been for his girlfriend Michelle, he wouldn’t have made it. The love of a beautiful woman can be a strong lifelong influence on a man’s character. Toby needed something to beak him free of his self-destructive path. Unless things changed very soon, it would be only a matter of time before there was nothing anyone could do.

 

     The next morning Tom left Toby once again snoring away in his bed. He rode up to the Basin with Jilly. There were a few minor repairs that were needed for some time. Joe came up behind him with someone he didn’t recognize as he was finishing replacing a door lock.

     “Tom, this is John Weston. Toby’s NASTAR coach from Steamboat.”  

He looked closely at the short solidly built man.

     “I’m glad to meet you,” he said shaking his hand firmly. He was surprised to see him. After writing a letter to him about Toby’s problem, he had expected to hear some advice, he hadn’t expected him to come in person.

     “Toby’s not here?” His voice was strong and demanding.

     “You two have a lot to talk about. I’ll go see if I can round him up.”

     “You tell him I’ll kick his butt if he’s not here in exactly one hour. Tell him one hour Joe,” Coach demanded.

      Joe started out hoping Toby wasn’t going a problem to convince.

 

     Tom and Coach Weston sat down to catch up on all that was going on in Toby’s life.

     “It’s good to see that Toby’s found such a good friend. Most skiers on the circuit couldn’t care less about such a deep personal problem. They’d be glad something gave them and edge.”

     “Toby means a lot to me.”

    “I could tell from your letter. It’s why I’m here. What the hell happened?”

     “To tell you the truth, I don’t know. He was doing great, good ski times, focused. Right up until Christmas, then he just fell apart.”

Coach sat there with his elbows on the table, and his hands under his chin. He was looking off in the distance.

     “Christmas? Just before Christmas?” Coach inquired.

     “Yeah. There was a party a couple of day’s before, that’s why I remember. He was wasted then and has been ever since!”

     “That has got to be it,” Coach looked at Tom.

     “What? What’s got to be it?”

     “Three years ago Toby lost his brother in an avalanche two days before Christmas. He was devastated.”

Tom sat back, his mouth open wide in disbelief. He listened intently to the story.

     “They were at Alta, Utah. They were skiing a long the High Traverse. If you have ever been there, you know just how treacherous it really is. They were heading across to ski Eagle’s Nest. Toby’s a very strong skier. His brother was good, but not as god as him. Anyway, as near as anyone can tell, Toby was clowning around. His brother dropped into Eagle’s Nest, Toby followed. He was going to ski down and knock his brother over. There was 18 inches of new powder the night before. It had fallen on sun baked hard back and was loose and unstable. It fractured, created a large slab slide. It took his brother out. He didn’t ski for along time after. We all thought he had gotten past it.. They were as close as brother’s can be. Apparently we were wrong.”

     “He never told me,” Tom said.

     “Toby doesn’t talk about it with any one. He blocked it out like it never happened and threw himself in to downhill racing. When he came back, he was better than he had ever been. Extremely focused and dedicated. He may have taken a few more risks than I approved of.”

Coach worked with bodies not minds. This went deeper than just winning races and training skiers to go fast, safely.

     “It all makes sense now, a few weeks before Toby started getting crazy, we warned a skier off the out of bounds ropes. The next morning we found him, caught in a slide. He had never made it out. Toby saw him from on the hill. His legs were broken, and he had crawled to several yards from the road. His arm was outstretched and he was frozen in an attempt to signal a passing car.

     “That’s what brought it all on again.” Coach agreed. “He never really dealt with it in the first place.”

     “He must have seen his brother lying there when they carried him off.”

 

     “Hi Coach!” Toby yelled walking out of the lodge. He jogged to the table. The two men stared at each other blankly. He acted as if nothing was wrong. It seemed there was a wall around him and nobody new what was inside. Coach hadn’t said a word, when Tom stood, up all of a sudden, knocking over his chair.

     “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you had a brother?”

Toby glared at coach, then back at Tom

     “What’s the difference? It happened a long time ago. He’s gone, there’s nothing you or anybody can do.”

     “I’m your friend for Christ’s sake. I want to help you. Don’t you know that by now!”

     “HE’S GONE TOM! You can’t change that.”

     “I’m not talking about him, it’s you. You can’t tell me you didn’t see his face lying out in the snow that day.”

Toby closed his eyes tightly attempting to ward off the vision. The memories were painful. He didn’t deal with it then, and he didn’t want to deal with now. Tom walked over and took him by the shoulders.

     “Look at me Toby,” Tom’s voice echoed through the Lodge. “I know you loved your brother. No one can ever change that or take it away from you. He’s gone and nothing can undo that. You can’t let him down by throwing away your life also.”

 

     Toby was starting to fight back against Tom’s grip, but he held firmly. If he didn’t keep up the pressure no one would.

     “He didn’t throw his life away and I’m not either, back off Tom. It’s none of your business.”

Toby was beginning to loose it. Tom didn’t want to fight, but he felt he had to draw his emotions out. He began grabbing for Tom attempting to knock him away. All the years of sorrow and anger came out in that moment. His feelings were rushing up in a blur and they were directed at Tom. They wrestled each other to the floor, pushing tables and chairs around. Tom could barely dodge some of his blows. Whenever Toby broke free of Tom’s grip, he started swinging, Tom had to lunge at his midsection to protect himself.

 

     Joe stepped forward to stop it when Coach motioned to him to let it go. When they finally had spent every ounce of energy, they stopped, pushed each other back and fell to the floor breathing heavily. Joe and Coach lifted them up and into a couple of chairs. They took a few minutes to regain their strength as the moment sunk in. Toby looked over at Tom and realized what he had done.

     “You’ve got a lot of guts for and old ski bum,” he said, cracking a faint smile.

     “I was just getting started,” Tom replied rubbing his shoulder.

     “I’d like a few more rounds with you someday,” Toby said.

     “Anytime,” Tom replied, lying through his teeth.

    

     “Coach?”  he said standing up. “How about a few more runs? I’ve got a lot of work to do, I need the advice.”

     “Let’s go,” he said,” Times a wastin.”

He gave a nod to Tom as they turned to begin the next phase of Toby’s training.

     Joe sat down next to Tom who was still trying to catch his breath.

     “I thought I’d seen it all.”

     “I was lucky.”

      “You were great,” he looked at Tom, his arms folded, he was wincing from the thrashing he had just received. He knew Tom was special, but this young man really cared for the people and things he believed in. If he had a son, he would have liked him to be like Tom. The life that could have been he thought, in a past that was all too quickly coming to an end.

Om Namah Bhagavate Vasudevaya, Krishna Das, Breath of Heart