These Boots Weren't Made for Walking

by Melody Carlson

  I turn to see my old flame, Eric, trailing me. He's waving at me as if he's trying to flag down a cab. I pause and wait for him to catch up. Not that I want to see him. I really don't. I am so done with this guy. But here we are, face to face, and for the life of me I cannot read his expression. Nor can I remember what I found attractive about this guy. He's nice looking enough, but nothing about him attracts me. Nothing magnetic or intriguing. Just handsome old Eric, looking slightly desperate.

  “Cassie,” he gasps, “I can't believe it's you. I was just thinking of you and trying to think of a way I could call you, and—”

  “Look, I'm in a hurry,” I say, glancing at my watch for effect. “Can you make this quick?”

  He frowns. “Not exactly.”

  I actually start tapping my toe now—my caramel-colored Franco Sartos. I'm glad that I took time to put on a cute outfit today. No schlepping around from this girl anymore.

  “You look great, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” I look him straight in the eye. “How's Jessica?”

  “Actually, that's what I wanted to tell you. Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”

  “Coffee?” I let out an exasperated sigh. “Yeah, I guess so. But really, I'm in a hurry. I need to be back in Black Bear by six thirty.”

  His brows lift. “A date?”

  Now the truth is, I promised to go to the high-school Christmas concert with Ross. We're doing a ski package giveaway, and it's kind of a promotional thing. But Eric doesn't need to know this. “Yes,” I tell him, “and I can't be late.”

  So we go to a coffee kiosk, and I order a latte, making sure to pay for my own drink. I do not want to owe this guy anything. Then we sit down. For some reason I'm fuming, so I try to breathe deeply and chill. Eric has no power over me. He cannot hurt me again. Even so, I have this overwhelming and juvenile desire to hurt him. So I breathe a silent prayer, asking God to make me merciful. That'll take a real miracle.

  “It really is good to see you,” he says as he sits across from me. “You're looking fantastic too. I like what you've done with your hair.” He smiles happily, as if he's just won the prize pumpkin.

  “Thanks,” I say. “It was time for a change.” I tell him a bit about my job and how much I love it. “I had no idea that moving back home would be so good.”

  He sighs and shakes his head. “I wish you hadrft left, Cass.”

  Okay, be merciful, I remind myself. Be gracious. Kind words. “I think it was for the best, Eric.”

  He reaches across the small, marble-topped table now and takes my hand in his. I want to pull mine away, but I'm too stunned. “Cassie, I want you back. I want us back. I want everything the way it used to—”

  I draw my hand back. “No,” I say calmly, “that's not going to happen, Eric.”

  “But I thought you loved me.”

  I consider this. “I thought I did too.”

  “But you didn't?”

  “I don't know. To be honest, I think I was in a rut. I was willing to settle.”

  He scowls now, sitting up straighten “You think being with me was settling?”

  “I didn't mean it like that,” I say quickly. “I think I was just set-ding for everything in general. I wasn't happy with my job, but I stayed. I didn't like my apartment, but I had no plans to leave. Looking back, I can see that you and I weren't really right for each other either. But it was convenient.”

  “So that's it?” he asks, dismay all over his face.

  “I think so,” I admit. Then I smile. “I really wish you the best, Eric. You're a good guy, and some girl will be lucky to get you.” Just not me! I'm so happy with this realization, but I hope I'm not grinning. I stand and place a hand on his shoulder in what I hope is a kind gesture. “And you should be thankful that you're not stuck with me, Eric. Really, it would've been such a mistake. It's a blessing that we found out before it was too late.” Then I smile again, pick up my coffee, and tell him good-bye and good luck. As I walk away, I really do feel as if I've dodged a bullet.

  Still, it's hard to erase his stunned expression from my mind's eye as I continue out the door and onto the street, making my way back to Nordstrom. I'm not sure if just his pride was wounded or if I actually hurt him. To my surprise I found I really didn't want to. But he was obviously shocked. Maybe he thought that all he had to do was snap his fingers and I'd come running back. That might've worked back in October. But not now. Not with this girl.

  make it back to Nordstrom and purchase the sage green silk dress that I think might actually meet with Callie's approval, although she'd probably approve even more if I bought it in a smaller size. The size ten did fit rather well except that it was a bit snug through the bust, and there's not much I can do about these big girls. I don't want to risk another seam-splitting situation on New Year's Eve when I still have Halloween to live down. Consequently I settle on the twelve, which is roomy and makes me feel thinner.

  Anyway, I think Cammie will like it, and the color should look nice with Callie's dress, which is a slightly darker green. Pleased with my find, I shop around a bit more and find a couple more clothing items I cannot live without, as well as shoes for the wedding—a pair of Stuart Weitzman black pumps that are probably too expensive, even on sale, but are so stunning and sexy I can't resist them. Plus they're a classic style I could wear for years to come. And they make me look taller and thinner.

  Jazzed about these purchases, I even do some Christmas shopping. Then, poorer but happier, I'm back in my old Subaru and ready to go home.

  I drive through town and feel this strange draw to First Avenue. Suddenly I'm driving past the Terrazzo de Giordano. I know I'm not going in, but I strain my eyes, wishing I could spy Will heading into work, maybe using a back door. This is ridiculous. I feel a bit like a stalker. Will probably doesn't even remember who I am. Finally, feeling seriously ashamed of myself, I head for the freeway. I can't get him off my mind. It's like I have this need to connect with him. But I'm not sure how. Maybe I'll send him a Christmas card.

  I make it home just in time to change my clothes before Ross arrives. As he drives us to the high school, he asks about my day. I tell him about bumping into Eric and how great it felt to decline his offer to resume our romance.

  “Poor Eric,” says Ross as he pulls into the high-school parking lot.

  “Poor Eric?” I repeat with a bit of indignation. “He cheated on me.”

  Ross nods and turns off his car. “Poor Eric for not realizing what he had before it was too late. You know, he was the loser in that breakup, not you.”

  “Oh…well, thanks.”

  As we're walking up to the school, in an uncharacteristic move, Ross puts his arm around my shoulders and gives me a little squeeze. “Sometimes I don't think you realize what a great woman you are, Cassie.”

  Okay, this pretty much blows my mind. Is Ross changing the rules here? Just as quickly as he put his arm around me, he put it back down by his side again. Maybe I just imagined the whole thing. Or else it was just a fatherly—make that big-brotherly—gesture. Nothing to get worked up about.

  As we sit there listening to Christmas music, though, I can't help but compare Ross to Eric. Maybe it's his age or maturity, but Ross wins the comparison hands down. No contest. Still, even as I'm stacking up these two guys against each other, I can't help but think of Will again. Will looks pretty out of place in the lineup with these guys. Ross and Eric are both professionals—they look and dress and act the part—whereas Will is a bit of a bounder or a free spirit or maybe just less than self-motivated.

  Why can't I get this guy out of my mind?

  Less than two weeks before Christmas, I send out a few Christmas cards. I've never been much into this practice. Beyond those to my sisters and a couple of college friends and my parents (although I didn't send one to my dad last year), I usually send out just a handful. Consequently, I doot do the box thing. I just pick out some cards from the local Hallmark store, and out they go. This year I send a
special card to my old address in the city. On it I write, “I hope you're doing well. I've found a good job and am enjoying the quiet life in Black Bear. Good luck and God bless. Love, Cassie.” It's not much, and in a way it sounds like an ending, which is not what I meant. So I add a P.S. “If you're ever in the neighborhood, be sure to stop by.” And I jot down my cell-phone number. In case he lost it. Then I stuff it into the envelope, and feeling a little nervous, I seal it, stamp it, and drop it along with the others into the mailbox at Black Bear Butte that afternoon.

  The lodge is busier than ever during Christmas break, and part of my publicity campaign is to have our own Black Bear mascot on hand to greet kids and give out candy canes. This involved locating a really good black-bear costume from a great online costume company, then hiring a high-school kid named Brandon, who's also a good snowboarder, to play the role of Black Bear. To make our bear a little more friendly and approachable, he also wears a red and white Santa hat and a striped muffler. Black Bear can be spotted in and about the lodge or even riding up the easy lift chair and snowboarding down the bunny hill with comical style. He's been photographed by almost everyone and has even made it into several local newspapers. Plus, we feature him online now. Someone re-cendy suggested we set up a Black Bear blog where he can post his thoughts on snowboarding and whatnot. Obviously, I'll have to play the part, since Brandon's not really much of a writer. But maybe after the Christmas rush settles down, I'll give it a try.

  Less than a week before Christmas, however, Brandon gets the flu, and we have no Black Bear. I make the rounds, trying to find someone willing to step in and fill the gap, but all our employees are swamped with their own responsibilities and not too excited about wearing a bear suit all day long. Still, we have children who expect to see Black Bear today. The candy-cane basket is full and waiting. So it is that I decide to don the Black Bear costume myself. I'm a decent skier, and, hey, it might even be fun. Besides, with my marketing campaign fairly neatly tied up, there hasn't been too much on my plate recently. I let Marge know what my plan is and tell her I'll have my cell phone on me in case of any emergencies in the office. But I also ask her to keep my new identity under wraps, since I'm sure the other employees would love to give me a bad time about this. Then I close my office door and change into the ski clothes that I keep here at the lodge for those times I can make a run or two at the end of the day. And I get ready to put the bear outfit on top.

  To say this costume smells like the boys’ locker room in junior high might be an understatement. I actually give the fuzzy fabric a couple of expensive squirts of my Burberry Brit perfume before I climb in. Eventually I'm all zipped in and situated. I get the Santa hat and muffler in place, then retrieve the basket of candy canes and head out to meet my adoring little fans. Of course, they're not all adoring. I actually make a toddler cry when I bend down to give her a hug. And then there are the older kids who seem bent on harassing the bear.

  I decide to escape a particularly obnoxious pair of boys by heading for the slope. Naturally, Black Bear gets special privileges at his own lodge, like not having to wait in lift lines and getting free food from the restaurant, so I zip past the lineup of beginner skiers, and with some help from Amy, the bunny-tull lift girl, I manage to get my furry hind end safely into the lift chair and take off. Feeling like a rock star, I wave to everyone as I ride up the short hill. Of course, getting off the lift chair is a little tricky, as is holding ski poles with bear paws, and I nearly fall flat on my big snout as I plunge forward. But I manage to balance myself and slowly work my way back and forth down the hill, waving my poles to onlookers who cheer for me. This is actually pretty cool.

  I do a variation of handing out candy canes and cruising the bunny hill for most of the day. Its a litde past noon when I see Ross watching me with his hand over his mouth, as if he's suppressing laughter. Marge must've informed him of my whereabouts.

  “Hows it going, Black Bear?” he asks as he extends his hand to shake my paw.

  “Just grrreat,” I say in my deep Black Bear voice, which makes him throw back his head and laugh.

  “So is this going to be a regular gig for you?” he asks quietly.

  “You bet,” I roar back at him, noticing that I'm being watched by some small sets of eyes. “I have no plans to hibernate this year. Not with great snow like this. I'm Black Bear, and this is my lodge!” Then I hold up one paw for a high-five, and he gives it to me.

  “You go, Black Bear!”

  A peppy Gloria Estefan song begins to play over the sound system, and I start doing a pretty uncoordinated but spirited bear dance to “Get on Your Feet.” This naturally draws a little crowd, and soon I've got a bunch of kids dancing with me. I can't believe we pay Brandon to do this. This isn't work; this is a blast!

  Time seems to fly, and before I know it, my shift as Black Bear is just about over. Unfortunately the obnoxious preteen boys are still giving me a bad time, so I decide to escape them with one last ride up the bunny hill. As I'm going up, I hear my cell phone ringing, so I fumble around until I find it and then answer.

  “Cassie?” Says a male voice.

  “Yes?”

  “This is Will.”

  Okay, now it's time to get off the lift, and yet I don t want to hang up. “Will,” I say quickly, “hold on a sec, okay?” Then I manage to get off the chair with both poles and my cell phone all intact.

  “Hey, Will,” I say as I ski off to one side, “hows it going?”

  “Really good.”

  “Cool.” I wave at the little girls who are curiously watching Black Bear chatting on his cell phone. Why not?

  “I got your Christmas card.”

  “You did?” Okay, not the smartest response, but what do you expect from a girl in a bear suit?

  “I really appreciated—”

  But his words are cut off, because in that same instant, I feel a big push from behind, and suddenly I'm barreling down the slope with both poles in one hand and my cell phone in the other, trying not to run down the beginner skiers who are weaving back and forth in front of me. Not wanting to lose my cell phone or wipe out the cute little preschooler in the pink ski outfit directly ahead, I first ski on one leg and then the other. I can hear people cheering for my brilliant stunt work. A little boy in bright orange takes a sharp turn, then falls down right in front of me, and it's all I can do not to plow straight through him. That's when I start to lose it. I feel myself careening too sharply to the left, and I know I won t be able to regain my balance this time.

  I tumble first sideways, then in a somersault, and finally I land in a heap of fur and snow and am applauded by a happy crowd of onlookers who obviously think I did all this on purpose. Despite the throbbing pain in my left knee, I stand up and take a few bows, and the audience claps even louder. I'm thinking someone should pop in the “Get on Your Feet” song again. Although I doubt I can dance with this aching knee.

  “Way to go, Black Bear,” yells one of the obnoxious boys in a mean tone as his friend pumps his fist in the air. Guilty as presumed.

  I growl at them, holding my paws high like I plan to catch and devour them whole, which might not be a bad idea. Then I realize I still have my cell phone in hand, but it looks like I've lost the connection. So I pocket it. Waving to my adoring fans, I start to make my exit, trying not to limp as I go. But then something makes me stop.

  There amid the happy onlookers is a familiar face. To my total surprise, I realize it belongs to none other than Will Sorensen. He's not dressed for skling but looks pretty cool in his jeans and faded denim jacket with a tweedy scarf wrapped around his neck.

  “Will!” I say, sounding slighdy hoarse. I think that bear voice has worn out my vocal cords.

  “Huh?” he stares at me with a seriously puzzled expression, which reminds me that I'm still in bear drag, and of course this makes me feel totally embarrassed. Why did I say anything? I couldVe dashed inside and changed. But instead I stupidly revealed my identity. I am so pathetic.


  “Cassie?” he says in a lowered voice.

  “Name's Black Bear,” I growl at him for the sake of my fans. “You'll find Cassie in the building.” Then I wave him toward the lodge. “Come on, I'll show you the way.”

  “Sure,” he says, still looking puzzled.

  “Mind if I take your arm?” I growl. “Twisted my knee coming down that hill.”

  “No problem,” he says as he offers me his elbow.

  I might look like a tough old bear on the outside, but I feel just a smidgen of a meltdown on the inside.

  “You come up here to ski?” I growl at him as we go inside the lodge.

  “Maybe…but mosdy I came to see my friend Cassie.” He turns and gives me another curious look.

  “Her office is up those stairs,” I say, wondering if my knee is going to handle it. “But let's take the elevator.”

  So, using Will as my crutch, I limp toward the elevator, and as soon as the doors close, I confess. “It's me in here, Will.”

  Of course, this cracks him up. He's still laughing as he escorts me to my office. But before we're all the way in, I hear Ross calling my name.

  “Cassie?” he says, coming up behind me. “You okay?”

  “She fell down,” explains Will. “She might've hurt her knee.”

  So they both help me into my office and get me seated on one of the leather club chairs across from my desk. Then I remove the bear head and let out a loud groan as I rub my knee.

  Will laughs again. “I can't believe that was you, Cassie. Is that your job here? You play the bear?”

  Ross chuckles. “She was just filling in for the regular bear.”