BOOM
By JACK MORRIS

A blip in the brain. A dull, concussive rumble in the early morning reverie. Sleep. Back to sleep. Must sink deeper into this mattress. So comfy and warm beneath blankets and two sleeping bags and socks and jeans and sweatshirt that never came off last night. Must stay here all day long...

BOOM. A deep punch, a blow to the belly. Drafty window panes rattle just inches away. Then muffled silence. Movement. Alert. Is that a coyote in the yard? A mouse clawing at the wall? A sudden wind whips the side of the house, spraying sugar onto the window. Sugar. Snow. Eyes open. Temples pounding. Sit up. Gaze into the backyard through the window's remaining peephole. Round white lumps dots the parking lot. Trees hang heavy and low. Nothing moves. Everything is white.

White everywhere.

What day is it? What happened last night? Whose bedroom is this? BOOM! from clearly outside my head, high above the bedroom walls, up over the lower peaks, over the swinging frozen chairs and summit ridgelines. BOOM! Sharp, hanging cornices beg for mercy. Bump runs, deeply buried, are super speedways of bottomless fluff. Scraped out, icy chutes are wind-buffed perfection. BOOM! That rock. The nasty takeoff and sketchy landing are suddenly primo.

BOOM! Windows rattle, walls shake. Panic. Who's already in line? Where are my keys? Who gave me this hangover? Gotta get lazy ass out of bed. Caffeine!—screw it, takes too long, no milk anyway. BOOM! Out the door with one sock on, a desheveled gear-toting mess of electric anticipation.


 Discuss this story in our Workshop forum