Small World

It was a year like this one: very little snow in New England. All the local ski areas were hurting.

The Laurentians to our north, however, had plenty of snow.

Mt. Tremblant, 90 miles northwest of Montreal, was offering a ski week package and I decided to take advantage of it.

Halfway through the week, I was standing in the liftline, and I noticed a woman who looked vaguely familiar.

I heard her say to the person next to her “My name’s “Freida”.


I realized that I knew her.

I piped up: “Freida? Freida Heinritz?

Wide-eyed, she responded: “How do YOU know THAT?”

I answered: “We grew up in the same neighborhood. We were in the same class in school.”

After skiing, we got together for a few beers and I met her German-born husband, who wasn’t too happy to meet me.

I never saw her again.

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