Snow Melts

The Y is the mountain immediately east of Provo, called such because of the huge Y embossed on the mountainside overlooking the city.   A switchbacked trail leads from a parking lot to the top of the insignia and is hiked by students and residents year-round.  That is what I meant by "hike the Y" as I offered aloud the first thought to pop into my head.  Nevermind that it was dark, late, and snowing hard, I was intent on spending more time with this new and wonderful friend so any wild idea was adequate.  By some miracle, he didn't even flinch before agreeing and after stopping for warmer clothes, we were headed up the steep roads to the base of the trail.

Fortunately for our safety and contrary to our lack of judgement, the car decided pretty soon up those unplowed slopes that we should turn around, but I was undeterred.  The snow would not be the end of this date, it would become the continuation of it.  We would go to Rock Canyon Park, a recreation area in a bowl shaped arena, surrounded on all sides by perfect sledding hills.  We knocked on a few doors in our neighborhood to find someone with sleds (something that could only be comfortably done in a college town so close to midnight) and then spent the next hour or so sliding down hills and roughhousing in the snow at the base of the looming mountains. I remember the park being surprisingly busy for the time of night and I remember laughing and thinking it was the best date of my life.  And then being shocked by the realization.  By the time he took me home, I was soaked and feeling suddenly awkward about how much I had enjoyed myself.

It was well past one in the morning and my roommate was waiting for me with a broad smile and questioning eyes.  My awkward feeling melted to embarrassment and then shame.  I stumbled through an unclear explanation.  When she left the room, I silently retraced the past seven hours, puzzling over the boy and what it was about him that made me so comfortable.  I had let down every wall and all for what?  One night that should probably never happen again.  That is exactly what I told my mom the next day over the phone when she asked about my weekend.  It was such a good time, that I didn't want it to happen again.  I'm sure she was smiling on the other end of the line.