Page 12 - Contrast1958Winterv2n1

ANOTHER DAY

Mary Harrison

My dark silent sleep is shattered by the relentless shriek of my
alarm clock. My eyelids seem glued together, refusing to open. I
struggle to open the warm COcoon of my blankets and stretch out
my arm, searching blindly for the clock. My hand crashes against a
pack of cards on the table and they flutter to the floor. Finally the
shrill alarm winds down and the sudden quiet echoes through the
room. With a great deal of effort, I open one eye to gaze at the sun-
shine which has so mysteriously invaded my room.

My roommate has already left for her eight o'clock class. Her
smoothly made bed is in direct contrast to my rumpled one which
contains tousled, newly-awakened me. My gaze shifts to the clock
whose fiendish hands show that I have wasted five minutes lying idle.
I resolve to start this day with the correct attitude. Carrying out this
noble resolution, I whisk off the covers with a mighty thrust. A blast
of cold air hammers at my tender flesh and I shrivel at its touch.
Back go the covers up to my chin and I hurdle under them in the
wild hope that the window will close itself. However, no such phe-
nomenon occurs and now ten minutes have passed since my rude
awakening.

I calculate the distance between my bed and the window and
between the window and the door. Outside that door I would be
warm again. This must be done and done quickly. Again the covers
are thrown aside, and I jump from the bed before I change my mind.
Gasping as my feet meet the icy floor, I hop to the window, slam it
shut and race for the door. The warmth of the hall envelopes me as
I fling open the door. I turn and back up against the radiator just
outside my room.

Across the hall-another door opens and out steps a vision. Her
eyes are half-opened, glazed with sleep. Her head has the appearance
of being wired for sound. Her tall frame slumps against the _door and
yawns noisily.

"Good morning," I say in what I assume to be a cheerful voice.
I am met with a blank stare which turns into hate. Undaunted, I turn
to brave my sub-zero room in order to grab my toothbrush and towel.
To my surprise, the girl follows me.

"Want me to make ya a cup of cawffee, Mat?" she asks in a
thick Brooklyn accent.

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