Second Date

The frost-covered mountain looms before us, a tribute to the Swiss Alps. It’s just after sunset, not yet totally dark, but daylight is fading fast. The temperature takes a dip as the horizon line turns blue.

I shiver, more out of anticipation than cold, as we await our turn on the sled. It’s our second date, and I’m about to try something new.

When it’s our turn, you offer the front seat to me, helping me in, then sit behind me. Moments later we’re ascending, higher and higher. I realize I’m holding my breath and release it just as the sled, having completed its ascent, whooshes down the mountain.

We fly down at alarming speed, zipping in and out of shadowy caves, the screams of other riders in the distance. A howling wind fills my ears, and my heart races as I grip the sled’s bars, wondering if we’ll fly off the frozen rock face.

More twists and turns and then wait, hold on! Was that the Abominable Snowman? It’s all happening so fast. I’m laughing, then crying, then laughing again.

Finally, the sled ride comes to a halt, and we disembark. I’m flushed, breathless. You reach over and push a strand of hair off my face.

“Did you like it?” Your face betrays your eagerness for a positive response. “The Matterhorn is my favorite ride here.”

I smile and nod. “It was wonderful. Let’s get some of those famous churros. And then . . . let’s ride again.”