“It is—straight down the hill,” I replies, meaning something different. “But you got to watch out for the creek and the fence on the sides. Here’s your skis, Ronnie. You shove your feet into the harness like this.”
Ronnie is all eyes. He lifts up his feet and lets me fix them onto the long strips of hardwood.
“You—you’re not going to send me down this steep hill first off, are you?” he asks, plenty nervous.
“No, of course not. We’re going to let you ski around on top of the hill here, where it’s flat ... and get used to the thing. Stand up now and see how you feel.”
Ronnie straightens up and looks down at the funny contraptions on his feet. He lifts one ski up and tries to take a step forward. It turns sidewise and plops down on top of the other ski. Ronnie’s legs get crossed and he sits down ker-plunk. We grin and Ronnie looks worried.
“Aren’t these skis a little too long for me?” he inquires. “Are you sure they’re my size?”
“Skis don’t come in sizes,” I informs. “You lifted your foot too high. It’s a sliding motion—like this.” And I demonstrates.
“It’s easy, isn’t it?” says Ronnie, and untangles himself.
“Sure!” encourages Mack, “when you get onto it—it’s like falling off a log ... or a cliff ... or anything....”
Ronnie stares at Mack a minute and then glances toward the brink of the hill.