Is he or isn’t he?

Is he or isn’t he?

My future sister-in-law was on a ‘girl trip.’ She was a sophomore at Northeastern in Boston. They decided on skiing at Attitash Mountain in New Hampshire. It was only 2-hours away and had challenging slopes.


Saturday was clear; She pushed on her poles and propelled forward. Back straight, head up, she focused on where she wanted to go.

The next thing she knew, she came to. 
A skier had crashed into her. 

He was apologizing, apoplectically.
Are you OK are you OK?” he repeated over and over, hovering. 
With a British accent, he continued, “I’m Cat Stevens. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” 

Sure you are,” she responded, drolly. 
“Please. Lie stillThe ski patrol is coming.” 
The patrol appeared and assessed the situation. They secured her in a toboggan, skiing her down the hill. An ambulance was waiting.

‘Cat’ said, “I will see you at the hospital.”
“Right,” she answered. Drowsy. Amused.

In the ER at Memorial Hospital in Conway, (Is every hospital named ‘Memorial?’) she was waiting for the doctor when ‘Cat’ walked in.


Hmmm. He does kinda look like Cat Stevens, she thought.   

“Is there anything I can do
?” he asked, still genuinely shook up.
Prove you’re who you say you are,” she teased. “Sing to me.”

She hadn’t noticed he had a guitar case with him. 
He sat on the floor, close, so she could see him.

He sang Morning Has Broken.