THE COLD INSIDE
By AL BRUNO III
Tuesday November 8, 1994
Tristam looked at his alarm clock. It was two-thirty. Wondering why he had woken he turned onto his side. A gasp caught in his throat as he saw the outline of a body lying next to him.
Panicking, he propelled himself away from the shape and found he was hovering a foot and a half above his bedroom floor.
His sigh of relief became a grin. Tristam flew straight up, passing from the first floor into his mother's bedroom, then through the ceiling and out into the night. The sky was cloudless, he rose up to join the night.
In moments he was hovering high above Albany, doing barrel rolls and loop de loops. From where he was the city was a network of sparkling illumination. Clusters of headlights flowed and paused, moving along the borders. Was he the only person in the world that could do this? If not then why didn’t he ever see anyone else flying around? Maybe he was crazy after all. He heard a roar and spun around. A jet was approaching, its wide winged expanse blacking out the stars.
This sky ain't big enough for the both of us. Tristam charged the aircraft.
A few seconds later they met, Tristam's ghost body passing through the fuselage to glimpse the cockpit and crew. It was no strain at all to keep pace with the airliner as it circled the Albany Airport, awaiting clearance to land. He wafted into the passenger compartment and looked at the people's expressions, they ranged from anticipation to boredom.
With a thought he slid through the airliner’s roof and trailed it down onto the runway. What if they crashed and I just kept pace and watched? He wondered, What would it be like?