One day it occurred to me that I no longer felt different. I felt like a person; I even felt that soon I would consider myself “normal.” The thought even passed through my mind that one day I would erase the past and find a young man and settle down to a family. The idea made me smile. It didn’t seem likely, but I felt my options widening; I felt it was important for me to leave the doors to my mind open. I was young.

I was very young.

The evenings turned cool. Soon the days short­ened; the nights lengthened. I was afraid for my new life­style. I knew what could happen if the night took me again. I carefully guarded myself against it. At times I felt that since I would not go to the night, it was coming for me.

Strangers began to roam the streets; whole vacant areas of town opened up and made ready for the season. The answering service took on extra help, as did everyone else in town, and the air of excitement intensified. The lazy summer was over. The winter, and its attendant darkness, was about to descend.

I guardedly enjoyed it all; I enjoyed the changes in the town, in the people. I felt happier and healthier than I ever had in my life. My dreams were of normal things, I thought rarely of Boyd. I busied myself planning a trip back to Red Creek, to see Sarah and Samuel in the spring, after the visitor season waned.

And then the first big snowfall came. The town filled to overflowing. Condominiums that I had never noticed before suddenly swept to life, and the moun­tains dazzled their white brilliance by both sunlight and moonlight.

Fashion ski wear was everywhere; even the clerks in the stores were so attired. Sunburned fresh faces with flashing white teeth were everywhere. Bars and restaurants were loud with celebration: music, sing­ing, happy voices. Pairs of skis lined both sides of Main Street as they stood in racks, leaned against buildings and cars, were carried on shoulders, and on the sides of great huge buses. It was a fascinating spectacle, twenty-­four hours a day.

All the girls at work were avid skiers; each was horrified to learn that I had never strapped a pair to my feet; each vowed to introduce me to what she considered the highest form of sport. I continued to excuse myself from their forays into the powder, but I could not keep my eyes off the main street of town.

It was the after-­ski activity that fascinated me.