In the Middle of Things - Jeff Thomas

Peter felt the usual impulse to flee. Wrapping paper and gifts coated the cavernous living room. Around him, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, parents, sister. People so familiar they were like extensions of his body. They filled the room and chattered. Joking, always joking. With a slight, almost physical, edge that compelled you to fight back. Being with these people was like sitting in a slightly too warm room wearing a sweater you couldn’t take off because maybe you weren’t wearing anything underneath.

Outside snow, purple in the late afternoon setting sun, reached almost to the window sill. Peter thought of opening the window, just for a moment of fresh air, but knew it really wouldn’t make that much of a difference.

He stood up, skated across the shag carpet in stocking feet, building up a charge. Slipping out of the room he touched a doorknob to give himself a shock. Slightly refreshed, he began to climb the hallways stairs. He moved quickly through the empty second floor to the uncarpeted attic floor stairs. His socks slipping a little on the shiny surface, he jogged up the flight, the yelping voices below grower dimmer. He reached the attic floor hall, and after a burst of running, slid the length of it, almost colliding with the bedroom door. He entered, closed the door, and, the bed creaking noisily, threw himself on the ancient cool satin bedspread. Complete silence. He grabbed his book and began to read.