Once the first snow of the season arrives, laying down that semi-permanent mix of ice and grime, I grow cautious. Regardless, I’ll mange to fall a couple of times this winter. I’ve never been good on the slippery stuff.
It goes back a long way. During elementary school (I’ve blocked out the exact year) my mom enrolled me in ice skating lessons. The “beginners” class was populated by kindergartners. They had a shorter distance to fall and picked it up fast. These little kids darted around the rink, leaving me to shuffle along. There always seemed to be a few pretty girls from my school around to laugh at my hapless attempts to keep up. Now whenever I’m crossing a slick parking lot I flash back to those dark days.
So it was with great trepidation that I set out one night to meet up with my friend Jason to watch a little football. Despite some freezing rain, the ride over wasn’t too bad. But Jason’s driveway had frozen over and his icy steps presented many jagged edges. A first try at them led to some serious arm flailing but I kept my balance. It was then that I noticed what looked like blood all over the driveway.
Jason opened the door. The game was starting in a few minutes. He was cooking something. I made small talk with his brother. They’ve both moved back home for a few months, turning the place into a bachelor pad/hunting lodge. There were remnants of takeout on the coffee table and piles of clothing strewn around. A bow and arrow rested against a flight of stairs. Childhood pictures hung on the walls, mixing with the trappings of single men.
I made my way into the kitchen. Jason had pulled some kind of ribs out of the oven.
“Want one?” he asked.
This wasn’t a rib you’d get at a barbecue place. This “looked” like a part of an animal. Jason tore one off. “I love deer ribs,” he said.
The blood outside began to make sense. “Where did you get this?”
“My brother got it a few days ago,” Jason said. I knew he didn’t mean he picked it up at Whole Foods.
I’m not a vegetarian but I’ve toyed with the idea. Except for a love of cheeseburgers I’m sure I could handle it. As I bit into the rib it was too real (but delicious) and made me think about the tenuous nature of life. Not long ago this deer was running through the woods.
The game served as a good excuse to catch up with a friend. We talked about politics, the Red Sox, and old times. On my way out I bypassed the stairs and trudged through the snow. I took it slow on the way home, weaving down a wooded back street.
A truck came barreling towards me with a set of huge headlights that made it impossible to see. I slowed down and swung my beat up Buick to the right, making room but something went wrong. The car started drifting sideways. It felt like I’d lost all contact with the road. For a moment I began thinking about those skating lessons. The truck kept coming. Then I felt the tires grab a bare patch of pavement. The back end of the car came around and I rolled on. This year I’ll have to be more careful. It’s slippery out there.
This column originally appeared in The Sun Chronicle