#SmallTales: Bud

“Get that finance report to me by the end of the day, bud.”

At the office working my adult five-to-nine job, wearing uncomfortable adult clothes, and, suddenly, I was seven again.

I was seven again. In my room, wearing my favorite Spider-Man pajamas, pulling the rocket-ship blankets up to my face, and the lightening was crashing outside, and I swear, I swear, the shadows on the walls cackled as the trees shook in the wind, and just as a scream started to form in my throat—the hallway light and the door and a reassuring question: “You okay, bud?”