My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie She hurtled down the track, the icy winds whipping her face, and she hoped it was fast enough this time. Every swish of her skis - every sting of frost striking her in her exposed cheeks - reminded her of her pace - of her trial. She could feel her fingers already grow numb beneath her gloves, but she kept her grip on her poles firm, eyes forward, the zephyrs attacking her windbreaker. When she came to a stop at the bottom of the hill, she could already see her father despite the falling sleet. He was shaking his head. She couldn't see his mouth, but it was probably drawn in a straight line beneath his ski mask. He waved his stopwatch, and she felt her shoulders sag. "Two seconds too late, Lexi," he remarked gruffly. "No way in Hell you'd get gold." "Silver?" "Not even 4th," he grunted. "Forget it. Let's go home." Lexi exhaled. At this rate, she felt more obliged to sit back with a hot choc...

When the winter snows started falling again, my sister and I would travel out to the hills to collect the last remaining iris that did their best to grow before being blanketed by frost and ice. I would wear our mother's gloves, and my sister would wear our father's red quilted jacket, the collar turned up so that it covered her quivering chin and lips. Still, you could see how flushed her cheeks got in the chill, as he pulled up each fragile flower and placed it gently into a shared wicker basket.