The weather was amazing — dry and not a cloud in sight. It was the least that mother nature could do for us after taunting us for during the recent months of lockdown. No longer. June had arrived and the number of new cases dwindled into the single digits.
Everyone I knew had made grand plans for reopening day — parties, booze, and babes. Not me. My mandatory break from society hadn't been very enjoyable. In the first week, my girlfriend Amber broke up with me. She claimed that I "wasn't a good match" but I heard through the grapevine that she just wanted to bang someone guilt-free during isolation, seeing as how I was stuck on the other side of the country.
After all that, I wasn't particularly in the partying mood like other college guys on extended spring break. I wanted the opposite of being indoors all day long. I wanted nature. I wanted open skies. I wanted fresh air.
Fortunately for me, my mother works as a manager at the Mt. Blue Lodge, a quaint little hotel sitting at just over eight-thousand feet. They weren't officially open for business yet but my mom had to be there to oversee the preparations.
That meant the hiking trails were devoid of human presence. No loud tourists, only yours truly. I couldn't imagine a more perfect outing.
"Are you excited?" Mom asked in the parking lot.
"Yup."
"I haven't seen you smile since..." she started and then stopped.
"It's okay. You can say her name."
"...Amber," she finished with a frown.
"I haven't felt like smiling. But today is a beautiful day."
"That it is. Warmer than expected."
It was only nine in the morning but it was already a sweltering ninety degrees. I was dressed for the occasion, in shorts and a t-shirt, though the moment I slung the backpack around my shoulders I felt beads of sweat form.
"You should have worn something lighter," I said.
The Mt. Blue Lodge uniform consisted of ankle-length, black pants, a black wool blouse, and a mountain blue blazer. Despite being a healthy and fit woman in her late, late *ahem* thirties, she was already sweating.
"Nah, the entire lodge is air-conditioned," she said. "I'd rather suffer thirty minutes of heat than eight hours of chills."
The thirty minutes she referred to was the trip from the parking lot up to the lodge via cable car. Built in 1981, and somewhat of a tourist attraction by itself, it supplied the mountain with business. Two hotels (though mom's was by far the better), a couple of restaurants, and a dozen different sports clubs made up "Plateau Blue."
Despite not being open for business, a sizable group of people was waiting in line, many of them wearing the black and blue of Mt. Blue Lodge. I wasn't the only "tourist." A handful of men and women in their fifties wearing backpacks and carrying walking sticks were ahead of us. They took up two entire cable car cabins — maximum occupancy of six.
Since there was no one behind us, we got a cabin all to ourselves.
"Oh, Jesus," Mom groaned.
As soon as I stepped into the cabin I realized why. It was a fucking oven. The cabin consisted of a sturdy metal frame with a solid floor and ceiling. Two brown faux leather benches were situated in the front and back of the cabin. The rest was glass.
The June sun had been nuking the metal containers for several hours already. The air was sweltering and the automatic door closing behind us felt like someone putting a lid on the frying pan. Immediately, I began to sweat.
With a jerk, the cabin started to move, undulating back and forth, suspended by only a small, half-inch cable. Not that I was worried; it wasn't my first time on a cable car.
"Open all the windows," Mom said.
Easier said than done. All the windows were safety windows, designed to ensure nobody accidentally fell out of the cabin. A total of four five-inch-tall slits, two on either side, flipping inward. Even with all of them opened as much as possible, it didn't help much.
"You think we're going to survive?" I quipped.
"I hope so," Mom laughed. "We were supposed to have air conditioning retrofitted earlier this year but, well, that didn't happen."
We sat down on opposite sides of the cabin so both of us could have as much leg space as we wanted. Mom kicked off her shoes and put her feet up on my bench. I contemplated taking off my shoes as well but they were sturdy climbing shoes and it was only a short trip.
The cabin stopped ascending so the next set of passengers could board.
"Now that I have you trapped here with me, how are you really doing?"
"Really, Mom?" I groaned.
"You're putting on a brave face but I can sense you're still hurting."
"I'm not," I sighed.
The cabin started moving again, rocking us back and forth.
"I never liked her, you know," Mom said as if that settled the matter.
"It's okay. Really. I've had nothing but time to deal with it."
"That's good. I'm glad."
My mom and I have always had a pretty tight relationship. My father left almost a decade ago when I was eleven years old. At the time I had no idea what was happening, it wasn't until years later that I found out he had been cheating on her. Ever since I haven't spoken a word to him either.
It helped that we lived in a fairly big, three-story home. I had the top floor all to myself and she occupied the second floor. The ground floor was a communal space. Some of my friends teased me for still living at home but to be honest, it was more like living with a roommate than a mother.
The cabin stopped again.
Opening her purse, Mom got out a piece of paper and began to fan herself. My back clung to the faux leather bench. The cabin air was permeated with her floral-scented perfume. I let out a sigh and looked at my phone.
"Twenty-five more minutes," I said.
The cabin started again.
The first time I rode in the cable car, I was twelve years old and everything had been incredibly exciting. With my nose glued to the window, I watched the world grow smaller beneath me. At the time, it had been an awe-inspiring experience. Now, however, all I wanted was to finally be out of the heat again. At least outside there was a breeze.
The cabin stopped and started again. A seemingly never-ending ascension to the mountain. Stop. Go. Stop. Go. I closed my eyes and remembered the last time I was with Amber. She was traveling home the next morning so she could spend the lockdown at her parents' home and we were making passionate goodbye love.
The cabin stopped, started, stopped, started, and then stopped again in quick succession. Our car was left shaking back and forth.
"What was that?" I asked, opening my eyes.
Rivers of sweat were rolling down my mother's face. She was frantically fanning herself with little success. The mountain blue blazer laid on the bench next to her.
"I don't know. Probably nothing."
Thirty seconds passed. A minute. One and a half minutes. Probably nothing turned into probably something as the cabin did not start moving again for two minutes. I got out of my seat and looked up ahead. The people in the car in front of us were all moving about, looking around the windows.
In some parts of the ride, the car was fairly close to the ground. Unfortunately, we were stuck thirty feet above the ground, right over an outcropping of angular rocks. Jumping out was not an option. If the cable snapped, we were fucked.
"It's gonna be fine," Mom reassured me as if she read my thoughts.
"You don't know that."
"But I can find out," she said and rummaged around her purse for her phone.
According to my own phone, I had zero bars — though there was a signal for emergency services. At least that was an option. Mom didn't seem to have an issue. She raised the phone to her ear.
"Hey, Clive, it's Zoe."
...
"No, no, I'm calling about something else. Listen, I'm in the cable car right now and—"
...
"It is? When will it be—"
A deep scowl grew on her face the longer she listened.
"Are you serious? Please tell me you're not—"
...
"Awesome," she said, dripping with acid. "Just awesome. Thanks, Clive."
"What happened?" I asked.
"Motherfucker," Mom cursed and lowered her phone. She took a deep breath. "Sorry. Sorry. Turns out maintenance hasn't been up here the entire lockdown either."
"That doesn't sound good."
"The motor broke down. They don't know why or at least Clive doesn't. They already called it in and are just waiting on some guy to arrive."
"How long is that going to take?"
"I have no idea. Could be hours."
"Seriously?" I groaned. "We're going to get baked alive."
"It's not that bad," Mom attempted, though her body said otherwise. Despite wearing an all-black ensemble, large pools of sweat were clearly visible under her breasts and pits. Not to mention her face. The rivulets of sweat turned into rivulets of makeup.
"Mom, your makeup is, uh..."
Sighing, Mom pulled out a small hand mirror. She only looked for a split second before pulling out some wet wipes. Tearing open the wrapper, she began to clean up her face. I wondered what my own face must have looked like.
Taking my t-shirt, I dabbed at my own face. It came away wet. The heat was just too much. Thinking quickly, I pulled my t-shirt over my head, stood up, and stepped out of my shoes.
"What are you doing?" Mom asked, surprised.
"It's too warm," I said, unbuckling my shorts.
Wearing just a pair of maroon boxers, I sat back down. It was a much-needed improvement. The temperature was still sweltering but it was more like a day at the beach than a round in the microwave. Even a faint movement of air was noticeable on my bare skin.
"You're gonna get a sunburn," Mom commented, still cleaning herself.
"You can't get a sunburn behind windows."
"Really?" she asked, looking up in surprise.
"Yeah. You can only get a sunburn from UV light and glass filters out UV light."
"Huh. I never knew that. Guess that college education is really paying off."
"I learned that one on YouTube."
"You kids and your gizmos," Mom scoffed.
It was just a joke. My mom was actually really good with tech, though admittedly most of her knowledge was for devices or programs that no longer existed. In one of my baby photos, she was proudly holding up the Palm Pilot that she documented my baby diary in.
"There, all done," she proclaimed and replaced her hand mirror in the bag.
"Still beautiful," I said.
"Thank you, my darling."
It was true. My mom may or may not have been the "hot mom" among my friends when I was growing up. I took it as a good sign since everyone kept telling me that I looked just like her. I never saw it until Amber photoshopped a picture of me on my mom's face. Both of us burst into laughter and for the next month, she kept calling me "momma's boy."
"Why the long face?" Mom asked.
"I just remembered something," I said and put on a smile.
"About her?"
"Yeah."
"That sucks. She's an idiot."
