First Tracks

“I double dog dare you to do the double black diamond.”

That was the challenge Karly gave to me. It was December of 1996. I was 18 years old. It was my last December as a free person.

Back then I lived in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn. I’d traversed dangerous terrain in the hood, but nothing as formidable as a double black diamond. Conversely, I didn’t think Vermont’s Stratton Mountain ski resort had seen anything quite like a Black, 18-year-old, ex-convict goon out of Brooklyn.

Karly was 5’3”, around 140 pounds, a brunette with hazel eyes. She was a 40-something account manager for an advertising agency. I met her when I was 15 at a gathering of mutual friends. Karly left behind her pharmacy prescription, so I offered to take it to her at her job the next day. We talked and connected from there. Every so often we partied on the weekends. During these parties, I sold her weed and coke. That’s how my ski adventure started.

Karly offered me an all-expenses-paid weekend in the mountains of snow. In exchange, I would supply her and her friends with snow from the hood. Karly and I sometimes slept together, and she hinted that I could share her bed. This bed came with two additional snow bunnies named Dena and Allison. I was in.

Friday afternoon we bounced from Brooklyn in Dena’s jeep. The tree-shaped air freshener perfumed the vehicle with the aroma of tango mango. Karly and I played in the backseat with a blanket, booze, and blunts. Dena drove, while Alli angled herself in the passenger seat so that she could take the blunt from Karly and swigs from the bottle of Bacardi lemon.

Dena passed on the smoke and spirits. Instead, she sniffed some coke from her right knuckle. We sang along with the songs blaring from the Jeep’s sound system and bastardized the lyrics with sexual adaptations. The radio pumped the ‘80s while Karly played with my penis. Alli eventually joined in too.

We kept it to a tease during the drive there. It gave us something intense to talk about until the time came to tear our clothes and each other apart. By the time we arrived at Stratton Mountain, no one was thinking about skiing.

That night Karly took me into her bed along with Dena and Alli. We continued for hours until the sex broke us and the drugs dragged us the rest of the way to slumber.

Saturday morning I rolled out of Dena’s blonde locks and into the brightest morning sunlight I had ever seen. The sun reflected off the snow and through the window to reveal Karly and Alli already dressed in their Columbia and North Face snowsuits.

Dena and I made a beeline to the bathroom for sex and coke. Then we showered and got ready for the snow.

I got dressed in my two-sizes-too-big Guess jeans, Timberland construction boots, Champion hooded sweatshirt, brown leather bomber, gold chain, and gold grill.

“Where’s your clothes?” Karly asked.

I thought I had literally fucked her brains out, because she just asked me the stupidest question. Or, so I thought. “I’m wearing them,” I said.

“No, your snowsuit,” she replied. “That’s not gonna keep you warm.” Alli giggled from her succulent lips.

“Nah, I’m good like this.” I brushed them off. My pride wouldn’t allow me to admit that I didn’t know I needed a snowsuit. I figured, I’m tough. I’ve been locked up north in the mountains. I’ll thug it out. The way Karly, Dena, and Alli look at me made me doubt myself on the low.

I’ve always been a quick learner. My secret: confidence. Also, I was an expert at mimicry. I’d seen people ski on TV. I figured I could wing the rest.

We got to the ski rental cottage. I got my gear, put my snow boots on, and clicked into the skis well enough. I looked around and noticed I was literally the only Black person there. It didn’t surprise me since skiing wasn’t something that most Black people normally did.

That, along with my inappropriate attire, should have been a dead giveaway that I couldn’t ski. Yet no one ever asked me if I could ski or not. The adults I usually associated with assumed I was older than my true age. They assumed I knew how to do things. I wanted to belong, so I usually found a way to live up to their expectations.

While the girls smoked another blunt, I tested out my ski legs on the flat snow. I matched all the moves I seen on TV. I figured how to stop, propel myself forward, and a few tricks. I had everyone fooled including myself. The girls finished smoking and I sniffed a line to smooth things out. By then I was easily gliding across the snow.

The girls sped off. I slid right behind them. We arrived at the ski lift at the base of the double black diamond. I wasn’t sure how it worked. I watched Alli and Dena get on first. I mirrored them. Karly and I got on next. I had never been that high up before. The daylight sky featured soft parcels of light blues, whites, and pinks pushing against one another. The sky colors performed the past, future, and present all at once. I stared out in wonder at the world from the heavens.

We approached the landing at the top of the lift. I froze. I didn’t know I had to jump to get off. It was too late, and I missed the jump. I fronted like I meant to do that. I grabbed Karly and slid my tongue in her mouth. “Let’s make out in heaven.”

When we finally got off the lift, Dena and Alli already skied down a quarter of the double black diamond. They were as graceful as two snow rabbits running from a fox.

My plan was simple. I would let Karly go first and follow her movements. We skied to the edge of the mountain slope. I wasn’t intimidated by the mountain until that point. I looked around and saw the universe. I saw nothing but sky, tendrils of shaped smoke and tips of green tree tops sprinkled with flakes of snow. I wondered how a common street thug could stand on the same peak as God.

“I know, it’s beautiful, right?” Karly said, and then she was off. My ego tipped me over the edge and I flew behind her.

I accounted for everything except speed. Nothing I’d ever seen could have prepared me for the speed that I gained in a matter of seconds. There was no friction between my skis and the snow.

The trees and people became blurry images of color that blended into each other as I blew by them. I angled my skis to slow down, but even that was too fast. I tried to fall to break my speed, but I only went faster. I dodged people, trees, and boulders by instinct.

Up ahead I saw a cabin. It was one of several rest stops down the mountain. If I didn’t find a way to stop, I would crash into it and die.

I saw a child. No, it wasn’t a child, but a gnome. I tried to avoid hitting it and panicked. I crossed my right ski over my left, and flew through the air. I saw everyone on earth looking up at me. Then I landed head first in a snow bank.

I was in too deep. I couldn’t get out. I was upside down in the snow, with my legs in the air. I could still feel one ski attached to my snow boot. Panic became submission, which turned to sobs. I was going to die.

My snot and tears started to melt the snow around my head. Then I felt my body being pulled up and out of the hole. Everyone was looking at me. It seemed now that everyone realized I was Black, and dressed completely wrong.

“Hey guy, what the fuck is wrong with you?” one guy asked.

“Mommy, where are his clothes?” a teenage girl asked, as if I were naked.

They stared at me in disgust. I sat there looking as dumb as I felt. That’s when my three snow bunnies pulled up. They surrounded me with concern and bewilderment. They shielded me between my shame and the world. I had just been exposed as a fraud.

“Call for a snowmobile,” a man yelled. “Get him the hell off of this mountain.”

“No, I can get off myself, I just slipped,” I shouted. I suspended all concern for my physical wellbeing. There was something more vital I was trying to save: my pride. Looking weak and vulnerable in front of Karly, Alli, and Dena was killing me in ways the elements could never do.

“Boy, you can’t ski. You’re about to die of exposure,” the man countered.

“We got him. He’s fine. We’ll get him back down,” Karly shouted over the rambling crowd. “Thank you, now you can go.” After they left, Dena admonished me: “You can’t ski, can you? You asshole.” My teeth chattered. My adrenaline was subsiding and hyperthermia began to set in.

Karly took compassion on me. She cupped my chin and looked me in the eyes: “We’re going to get down this mountain. Just you and me. You can do this, right Corey?”

I started to feel like a man again. I was cold, but convinced I could do this. I just had to trust Karly.

Karly didn’t know my real age. She was old enough to be my mother. It was during that exchange that the natural rhythm of our biological relationship surfaced. She had transformed from my lover to my guardian.

I composed myself. Karly helped me into my skis.

“Get behind me. Slide your skis inside of mine. Hold me around the waist,” Karly ordered.

Karly’s warm body comforted me through her snowsuit. She shifted her weight forward and I followed. I felt like Lois Lane riding on the back of Superman as I flew over the earth. Except I was a young Black teenage goon gliding across white snow on the back of a white woman. I had just become a mystery for Karly to solve.

Later that night Karly, Dena, Alli, and I hung out in various states of undress. The day took its toll on us. We partied at a slower pace. The women were baffled that I hadn’t incurred a single injury—except my bruised ego.

We concentrated more on conversation and cuddling than climaxing. Karly called the resort’s kitchen and had our food delivered and catered to us. We had steaks, salads, rolls, and pastries. I ordered a liter of Bacardi lemon rum to go with the coke.

I usually kept away from the coke to make sure I had enough for my clients. However, since I had sniffed some for courage earlier, I carved out lines and snorted it off the women’s bodies. It kept me from caving in and crying. Alli and Dena were cracking jokes about the comedy show of me crashing in the snow. My emotional immaturity got the better of me. As a result, I closed down and only connected with them through my cock.

We laid in a heap of intertwined limbs, rubbing against one another. Somewhere in that arrangement I came face to face with Karly. Our eyes locked. From her stare, I could tell she knew something about me that I didn’t want her to know.

“How old are you?” she whispered behind a nervous smile.

“25,” I answered. I wasn’t quite lying because I believed it myself.

Her look of relief assured me that my secret was safe. Had I told Karly I was 18, it would have taken her seconds to deduce she was a pedophile. Karly and I had been having sex off and on since I was 15.

Our sex was different for the rest of that night. We remained close to Alli and Dena, but Karly and I only had sex with each other. She became the dominant one between us. She dictated the positions we screwed in. No longer would she just let me bang away at her body. Karly made me slow down and take my time. I figured I owed her for saving me on the double black diamond. I fell asleep inside and beneath her body.

I woke up some hours later before sunrise. I walked over to the sliding glass doors of the cottage. The view opened up to the double black diamond mountain. I saw its outline against the stars along with my naked reflection in the glass doors. I curled my fist because the mountain had taken my courage.

The Enya Bad Boy remix “I Don’t Wanna Know” was playing. I was blowing a blunt to the dope baseline. Karly brushed up against my naked back with her bare breasts. I blew a shotgun in her mouth. She dragged her nails along my nut sack.

“What’s the matter, hon?” Karly moaned as she massaged me.

“Nothing,” I hissed in anger.

“Oooookay,” she said, letting go of my unresponsive penis. Karly stepped in between me and the mountain. She hugged me around the waist and laid her head into my chest.

“It’s just a hunk of rock made of dirt and snow. You’re a man. You’re made of this,” she said, softly head butting my chest in the place where my heart beat. “And you got will. I can teach you how to ski the mountain. But it’s you that has to want it. Do you want it?” She asked me more with her eyes than voice.

“Yes,” I said, hugging her tightly to me.

“Sunrise. We’ll do it.” She looked up in my eyes for confirmation. Then she left me standing alone to continue staring at the mountain.

Sunday morning she took me back to the ski rental place and bought me the proper clothing. I wanted to buy a Columbia snowsuit like she had. “Name brand won’t get you down the mountain, Corey! Be reasonable. I’m not made of money, mister big time drug dealer!” she said in hushed tones.

Instead she bought me an Element one-piece ski jumper and a matching black, orange, yellow, and blue jacket. The set came with gloves. Karly also got me some goggles, socks, thermals, and a ski hat with a stupid looking fuzzy ball on top.

“So cute,” she said, playing with the fuzzy ball on top of my head. Then we went back up to the top of the double black diamond. Karly spent the rest of the day teaching me how to ski.

The first five times, Karly made me ride down the mountain while holding her from behind. She said, “Use your body to feel what my body is doing.” Then she let me try it at lengths by myself. I still saw everything move at warp speed. Only now I could anticipate it and react without panicking. When I lost control, I forced my falls until I learned how to skid into a stop on the spot.

The pivotal moment came when I remembered what Karly said earlier that morning: “The mountain doesn’t ever move. Everything you see stays right there. You have to navigate around, through and over it. If things get too crazy, bail! But do it on your terms. Control the fall and you’ll be alright.”

I felt cocky. There was a slight bump coming up on the slope. I saw people using it as a ramp. I headed right for it. Up I went. In the air I soared. Flat on my face I fell. Karly and I laughed. My manhood was intact. I got up and started from the top. I skied the entire way down without falling again.

Monday morning the women dropped me off in Bed-Stuy. I kissed and hugged Dena and Alli. Then I squeezed Karly with something extra in my hug, gratitude. She threw in a few extra seconds of tongue just to leave me with a lingering taste of my triumph over the mountain.

It felt like I fell from heaven back into hell the moment my boot crunched the muddy crystalized snow. Under my full weight I sank a few inches deeper. I was home. I blended in with the hood.

The women pulled off. I did a hand-to-hand drug sale to Keisha before the Jeep turned the corner at the light. “Yo homegirl, you short,” I said counting the money.

“I ain’t got nothing else to pay you with unless you want some pussy.” I passed her the rest of the coke I had left. “I’ll holla at you later.” Then I kept it pushing.

Twenty-six years later, I’m on top of a different mountain, in Otisville Correctional Facility. In 1997 I was convicted and sentenced to 25 years to life for robbery and murder of my former English teacher. I am sincerely sorry and ashamed for my crime.

Karly isn’t here to help me off this mountain. I doubt she would even if she was. Karly found out my real age when the media reported my arrest.

I know I’ll never hear from her again, although what Karly told me that weekend on the double black diamond stayed with me: The mountain doesn’t ever move. Everything you see stays right there. It helped me to traverse the many prison obstacles—shanks, gangs, drugs, solitary confinements, abusive guards—I’ve had to survive over the last quarter century.

Unfortunately, these aspects of prison aren’t going anywhere. It’s been up to me to change my relationship to them, anticipate them, navigate around them. Just like I had to do on that unmoving mountain so many years ago. In those cases where I failed and fell, I didn’t stay down. I got back up, and kept striving forward. Karly showed me I had the heart to survive any mountain if I wanted to. I did, still do, and always will. She’s still my Superman. ▩

Some names have been changed to protect privacy.