Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Today's muse: Three Word Wednesday
Today's words: bulky, mist, resign
* * *
Perched on the edge of his chair, Justin sits at the kitchen table, his spoon poised above a bowl of cereal. He doesn’t dare eat the crisp honeycombs, as the crunching would drown out the radio announcer’s voice.
Resigned to this mundane torture, he waits with infinite patience as the man on the radio drones on about the recent municipal election, the looming transit strike, a movie review and rush hour traffic. The weather report is next.
Justin squirms while the forecast is mapped out for the next four days. But it’s today’s weather report he waits to hear.
“Say it. Say it.” His lips move in silent prayer, repeating the words over and over.
Then, the announcement he had waited for all morning. With a deafening woop, Justin leaps off his chair, thrusts his fist up in an air punch.
He races to the mud room, yanks down his snowsuit from the wall hook.
“Mom!” he shouts, balancing on one leg as he wiggles into the bulky gear. “I’m going over to Nathan’s.”
“Be home for lunch,” she calls back. “Tell Nathan to come with you. I’ll make grilled cheese sandwiches.”
Justin pauses, his fingers on the coat zipper. Grilled cheese. With milk. And pickles. Mom always serves grilled cheese with pickles. Awesome. He grins as he pulls his wool cap over his ears, slips on his mittens.
“See ya later!” The door slams behind him as he rushes out into the crisp cold.
“Whoa!” A foot and half of snow had fallen overnight and it was still coming down. The weather man had predicted more than two feet.
“Isn’t it great?” Nathan trudges up the driveway, pulling a toboggan behind him. “My mom thinks that school will be cancelled tomorrow, too.”
They wade through the snow, leaving parallel ditches behind them.
“Let’s go check out the new house they’re building over on Wilmont.” Justin scoops up a handful of snow, shapes it into a ball. “We can throw snowballs through the window openings.”
“Cool. Race ya.”
They’re breathless when they arrive at the construction site. Disappointment washes over them when they see that the windows have been installed.
“So much for practicing our pitching.” Nathan kicks at the snow.
“Let’s see if we can still get in.” Justin jogs up to the front window, presses his nose against the glass; his breath paints the window in a thin mist. With his mitt, he clears a large circle.
Nathan presses against him and peers through the glass. “Is that…?”
Justin’s breakfast threatens to resurface. His breathing is ragged and fogs up the window. He isn’t sorry that it blocks his view. He doesn’t want to look inside anymore.
“We…” Justin swallows. “We better call the police.”