Window
Prompt: Window
Genre: Slice of Life
6:52 am.
Dougie ran through his bedroom, toothbrush in mouth, carelessly jamming his things into his backpack: his chemistry textbook that he was yet to crack at the end of the first semester, his chemistry notebook filled with drawings of sports cars (and a few stray drawings of her), whatever pencils he could find under his desk, his iPad, barely functioning and on its last legs, but his mother insisted he make do with it instead of buying a new one.
“Take care of what you have!” she would insist.
The sound of screeching brakes drew his attention out the window down to the street outside his house where the school bus was supposed to stop every morning at 6:55. The one time he’s running late, and the bus has to be running early?
There was a line of kids, and his heart skipped as he saw that she was at the end of the line. If he hurried, he might be able to score a seat next to her.
“C’mon, Dougie!” He growled, tearing out the bedroom door, open backpack in hand.
The teenager vaulted over the overflowing clothes hamper in the hall, his momentum carrying him down the three steps to the top of the staircase in just two strides. But the same momentum betrayed him – his socks slid on the slick faux hardwood, sending him careening down the stairs. He landed in a heap at the base, limbs sprawled and pride bruised.
“Dougie! What was that?” his mother called from her bedroom just off to the side of the staircase. She would also be rushing to get herself ready to go to work.
“No time,” he yelled, pulling himself up and glancing out the sidelight window, fumbling with his Reeboks at the same time.
Through the narrow pane, he caught a glimpse of her – hood up against the December chill, her breath fogging in the air as she lingered at the end of the line. She glanced toward the bus, her hand tugging the strap of her backpack tighter, oblivious to his chaos. The bus doors hissed open, and one by one the kids filed in.
Dougie froze for a moment, the small window cutting off everything but her. If he hurried, he might still make it.
Shoes on, he threw open the door and snatched his backpack from the floor. The unzipped bag bucked in his grip, spilling its contents in every direction—his chemistry book thudded onto the porch, his notebook flipped open to his most recent sketch of her, stray pencils scattered like pickup sticks, and his battered iPad skidded into the doorframe.
In the cold morning air, Dougie watched the bus pull away and through the school bus window he could see that she sat by herself.
“Mom,” he called out, and then he sighed.
“I need a ride again.”
This is a part of my Daily Writing Challenge, where I write a short story inspired by a single word and genre prompt each day. The goal is to rekindle my creativity and try to reignite the storytelling embers.
