1.

           Daniel Glasswell stood alone in the night at the top of the snowy mountain. The darkness spread out around him like the ocean depths. Silence swirled thick and heavy with only the uncanny whisper of the wind stealing the bittersweet aroma of the nearby pines. The brutal cold stalked the shifting shadows like a mighty hunter hidden in the bush, his bow drawn to the full. All these messengers went unnoticed by Daniel who was zipped up tight in a heavy jacket, his hands incased in mittens and head covered with a woolen stocking cap. It was a bitter five degrees chased by a biting wind. 
            But Daniel only felt the warmth of euphoria coursing through him, lifting him up, up, up to float above the mortal realm and its dangers. He looked up at the moonless night sky, speckled with a million sparks of light. He could barely hear them calling, chanting his name. Closing his eyes, he sucked in a gulp of the frigid air. Its energy jolted every synapse with electricity.  He huffed it out of his mouth in restless anticipation. Looking down the mountain, he saw it more clearly in the darkness than he ever had in the light.  A wide swath of welcoming grey was crowded by blackness on its edges where tall trees waited. The snow almost sparkled in the starlight. 
            It was his, all his. No one would deny him, could deny him. It was his right, his destiny and he would take it now. Right now. 
            “I own you!” he shouted, raising his arms high over his head, shaking his pre-triumphant fists and laughing loudly at the stars. 
            He dropped his arms, firmly planting his ski poles into the packed snow. For a moment he paused, holding perfectly still. Far below, on a road at the very bottom of the mountain, he watched as a single set of headlights wound past. They seemed to slow. Daniel held his breath, letting the darkness hide him from this intruder. The lights sped on and out of sight and he breathed again. 
            He loved this moment, the moment of supreme anticipation, especially now when the whole mountain was his.  He felt stronger, lighter, more focused and in control than he ever had. Filling his lungs with the icy air, he stomped his skis twice, always twice. Inside his right mitten, in a motion he had practiced to perfection, he clicked a stopwatch nestled in his palm
            At exactly 6:02 pm on Monday January 11th, 1965 with a mighty push, Daniel Glasswell launched his body down the mountain. His arms pumped for speed and he began to fly. The bitter cold felt like a wall of ice but he slammed right through it. The mountain flew under him, a dark blur. Joy welled up inside of him. The wind, the cold, the snow, even the weight and shape of his skis and the wax on them blended together to create the fastest snow he had ever skied on. Luxurious and dangerous, the snow was as smooth as glass and his skis flew over it with almost zero resistance. But Daniel was young, his body trained, his talent exceptional, his devotion absolute. It all came together in a symphony of grace and speed witnessed by only one. HIs heart pounded with joy as speed and gravity accelerated in perfect unison. Exhilaration built and built with each beat of his heart. Every part of his body, mind and soul thrummed in sync with the perfection of this moment. He knew it was the ride of his life. 
            That’s when he hit something. It was just cluster of bumps in the snow left over from the day’s worth of skiers. They came out of nowhere. He would have easily seen them in the daylight and missed them. But in the dark, he hit them going as fast and hard as he’d ever gone. 
             
            When he hit the bumps, his skis flew apart. His equilibrium vanished and that fine, perfect balance shattered. The jumble of gravity, speed and wind sheer tore all control away from him and slammed him down on the mountain, his mountain. He smashed hard into the hard-packed snow which exploded like a bomb. Joy jolted to shock then fear. Momentum shoved his face into the snow, blasting his skin with biting pain. Tangled and twisting, he bounced high and hurled to the ground headfirst. The fall ripped away his ski poles and his arms flailed uselessly like a drowning man’s. For an instant he saw himself from outside his body moving in a fantastical, slow motion dance of destruction. All around him darkness, black and grey, whipped by his eyes in a nightmare of confusion. He bounced on the snow again. His shoulder, back, then his head snapped viciously on hard snow. Still plummeting, he thrashed and rolled. His head slammed again and again. His face plowed through the snow until his eyes, nose and mouth were full of snow. The bindings on his skis held fast and his legs were twisted wickedly by the skis’ violent contortions. Daniel heard a piercing cccrrack!, like the breaking of a great limb of an oak tree. His  skis? A flood of searing pain shot up his legs. He screamed, but the towering spruce swallowed it up. Darkness, panic and pain assaulted Daniel as he hurtled towards the trees. Like a thousand tiny spears, the leafless bushes jabbed and whipped his face. But they slowed his frantic tumble. Two more rolls and he slid to a stop under a huge tree, his head just inches from the trunk. Darkness took him. His broken body lay still in the freezing night. 

8.
            It was at a friend of a friend’s house; across town that Daniel had his first encounter with alcohol. It was Thursday night and their homecoming game was the next night. Daniel was the starting quarterback even though he was only a junior. The game was against their main rival whom they had not beaten in five years. It seemed that the entire town was revved up for the game. Motel marquees, the local newspaper, grocery stores, even the churches were all wishing them good luck. That day there had been a huge pep rally followed by a parade right down Main Street.  There had been floats, the marching band and flat bed truck with all the players throwing handfuls of candy. The parade route was packed with cheering families, students, teachers and townspeople.  Daniel felt he was at very center of it. He had to lead the team to victory, he had to make it happen. Win and he would shower the whole town with glory. Lose and cover it humiliation. All eyes would be on him. 
            A final team meeting had followed the parade. The sun had just set as the players poured out of the school. Daniel was riding home with a friend that lived up the highway a couple of miles.  
            “Hey,” his friend said, “My mom wants me to drop off something at my cousin’s house across town. It’ll only take a few minutes. You okay with that?”
            “Sure, why not?” With their adrenaline sky high, they sped across town breaking every speed limit. 
            “Who is your cousin? Why don’t I know him?” asked Daniel as they walked up to the front door. 
            “He goes to the Catholic school.” 
            “Poor guy.” They both laughed. 
            “Yeah,” said the friend, “no girls.” The door opened and Daniel walked into a nicer home than he had ever been in. Big, rich furnishings, color tv, thick carpet, gleaming kitchen. He had always felt he was the king. But clearly in this house, he was not. The friend introduced Daniel to his cousin and uncle. The three boys were heading up to the cousin’s room to see his new skis when the uncle spoke up.  
            “Leave Daniel down here. I want to chat with him a bit.” 
            Daniel glanced at his friend, and turned around, back toward the uncle. 
            “Daniel Glasswell, in the flesh and in my house!” 
            “You know me?”
            “Of course, son, the whole town knows you.”
            “Yeah?”
            “Oh yeah, we’re all watching you get better and better on the slopes. And we all expect you to bring home a big win tomorrow night. The whole town’ll be there. You just watch.“
            The whole town? He felt exhilarated and burdened at the same time. 
            “You’re the town hero right now, you know.” The uncle, a big and tall man,  smiled warmly and then snapped his fingers. “Hey how about a little toast!”
            “Toast?” 
            “Just a shot of … whiskey? Man’s drink, right?”
            Oh…I…uh don’t drink.”
            “Of course you don’t! An athlete like you wouldn’t drink.” He pulled out two heavy crystal glasses. From the cupboard above the refrigerator, he grabbed a square bottle about half full of golden liquid. He poured a shot in each of the glasses. Then added a bit more. “It’ll be our little secret.” The man put a glass into Daniel’s hand. 
            One swallow can’t hurt anything, he thought as the man was clinking his glass to Daniel’s, smiling and nodding. The man threw back the glass and swallowed it all in one gulp. So, Daniel did the same. He caught a whiff of something sharp and not altogether pleasant right before the whiskey hit his mouth and lit it on fire. He was so shocked he almost spit it out but he forced himself to swallow it. It burned all the way down. He gasped for breath, his eyes teared and his face turned red. 
            “Ha!” The man was gasping too. “That’ll put hair on your chest!” Then he looked at Daniel. “Hey, you okay? Never had whiskey before?” Daniel shook his head, feeling embarrassed and repulsed at the same time. “Here,” he took Daniel’s glass, rinsed it out and filled it with water.” Daniel gulped it down. “Better?”
            “Yeah,” Daniel tried to laugh it off. “Our little secret.” 
            “That’s right,” said the uncle. He grabbed Daniel’s shoulder and squeezed it hard. “Crush them tomorrow.”
            “You bet,” Daniel said.  
            In the car, moments later, Daniel began to feel the alcohol hit his bloodstream. He hadn’t eaten since lunch many hours before and was feeling shaken, even violated by the man and his whiskey. But then all the tension began to magically disappear. It just smoothed itself out. And not just about the whiskey, but everything, the game, his grades, his future. He felt wonderful, unburdened, released and even joyful. 
            “You okay Daniel?”
            “Oh yeah…”
            “Oh hell, my uncle didn’t force his god-awful whiskey on you, did he?” When Daniel didn’t answer, he continued, “Oh man, I am so sorry. I should have never left you alone with him.” 
            “It’s okay… Really it is.” 
            For the next hour or so Daniel felt like an eight-year old on Christmas morning. He laughed smiled like he was in love. Then little by little, it began to fade. The weight of the world resettled on his shoulders. That night as he lay in his bed, he had a moment of perfect clarity, realizing that he could, should, and would never drink alcohol again. But immediately after that moment, the hunger started.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            
            They won the game the next night. But it was the beginning of losing for Daniel. He fought it. Oh, he fought it. But he couldn’t beat it. It always beat him. So he buried it deep, so deep he kept it hidden from everyone – including himself.

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