With my hands pressed against the cold, frosty window, I looked out the window and tried to determine where we were, and how long I had been sleeping for.
"We passed Squamish a half-hour ago." My dad said, reading my mind. It was white outside the car. The trees were white, the meadows were white, the sky was white, the mountains were white. And each of their snow peaked caps shot skyward and poked the heavens.
"The ski report said they got about 20cm's last night," he went on, "that should do us, eh?"
"Whoa," I said and held me face closer to the window. With my hands I tried to approximate the what 20cm's looked would be from my memory of the 30cm ruler I used at school.
"Should be good," my Dad said, "I turned the news back on when you where sleeping."
"It probably put me to sleep."
"Want some more Willie?"
That's the last thing I remember before my body getting rocked by an overdose-sized hit of adrenaline. If I think back to the instant it happened, the acrid taste is still palatable along the back of my tongue. My entire body tensed, the wind howled like a jet-plane had suddenly entered the car and my lap was covered in thousands of tiny pieces of glass.
"Are you ok?!" My dad shouted above the roaring wind, eyes still on the road but with his right hand on my knee.
"I don't know."
"What?" He asked, not able to hear my tiny voice.
"I think so." I said loudly.
"Hold on, you're ok."
At the same time I felt my legs and back muscles unclench themselves, my body was permeated by tentacles of frigid air. The car slowed and we pulled onto the shoulder of the road.
"What happened?" I asked when my dad had come around and opened my door.
YOU ARE READING
Frost - #JustWriteIt #SportsShort Story
My father stepped into my bedroom and my body was still asleep, but when he spoke my mind was awoken. "Nick," he said from above, "did you hear me?" Both my eyes were still closed, "Yes Father." I answered. "Come eat." his hand touched my shoulder...