Ski Lodge

5// Sunday Church

Sunday

I think my parents are tired of cooking because Dr Patrick Greene runs to the Lodge's grocery store to buy a couple of frozen pizzas and that becomes our early lunch.

Afterwards, my mom asks me and Becker to find the Lodge's chapel and when service is. She says, "just because we're on vacation, doesn't mean God is on vacation."

So... I am stuck with Becker again.

We are bundled up in puffy, fur-lined jackets and boots, trudging through a layer of snow that fell early this morning. Becker's brown hair starts to grow white with the dust of snow that settles on it. It looks soft, the snow against his muddy waves.

"Do we know where we're going?" I ask after some silence. My feet slip and slide on the thin dusting of snow on top the slippery cobblestone streets.

"It's past the park. That's all I know, but I suspect there will be signs once we get closer," Becker responds. He isn't slipping at all, and it annoys me.

We haven't spoken one-on-one since the ride up here.

"I think our parents are determined to keep pushing us together," I say, "they seem to want us to be friends."

"Yes," he hesitates; he looks confused that I am talking.

"We don't have to talk," I sigh. I slip again.

"The weather is so nice here," his brown eyes light up, and he holds his hands up to catch the light snowflakes that are floating in the air.

"It's snowing," I say as my feet slip backwards, and I slowly bend forward and catch myself with my hands on a park bench.

"Yes, it is!" He turns to look down at me, "We rarely ever get snow in San Angelo! It's the edge of a desert."

"Deserts can be ice instead of sand," I point out, using the bench to push myself back up.

"But San Angelo is sand." He grins as he walks over to me, and instead of helping me up, he catches a snowflake over my head.

"What sort of Lodge has a chapel?" I ask, trying to change the subject. I push past him, using the bench to create momentum, then cross my arms to stick my glove covered hands in a warmer place.

"A very old one," he replies, "and the chapel is open to anyone at anytime. Is mostly used for weddings, I imagine.."

"Where is it?" I cut him off.

"Just a little farther," he crunches his feet into the snowy pavement, "up there!" He rests his hand on my shoulder and points forwards as if to guide my vision. I barely feel his touch due to the layers of coats I put on before setting out, but it still shocks me all the same. Becker notices me jump and drops his hand to his side.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," he laughs.

"I wasn't scared!" I say defensively, "it was the electricity."

He delicately raises a single thick and intense brow in response.

"Look, there's a sign on the door," I push ahead, fighting the strange urge to smile.

The sign reads:
December 26th

Sunday Service:
10am
6pm

"There, it's 6pm," I turn and start walking back to the lodge.

"Wait," Becker calls out to me, "don't you want to explore a little! We could look inside, get a sneak peak."

"No. I do not want to explore a little."

"Why not?" He smirks.

"Um.. our parents might think we're lost. We don't get service on this mountain. We could actually get lost. Many reasons!"