12 Minutes

The parks of my childhood are gone. Most of the people that I grew up with are also gone. Houses that I used to run around in belonging to deceased family members are no longer, and even though I often dream of those houses, nothing will ever bring them back. Out of all of these losses that every adult must conquer, I think the loss of my childhood dog was the second most painful event to ever ensue. The death of my grandmother comes in first place on the adult misery totem poll. See, when you grow up an only child, your pet becomes your sibling and best friend, and when they disappear, a void fills up your once energetic house. I often dream of him, my dog, and in those fantasies we’re often walking around the neighborhood. To commemorate his memory, I often walk our once usual route, pretending that he’s with me, and I think he is.

One day in March on the first day of Spring, I embarked on a voyage around my community and passed by a new park that replaced the one I grew up with. I imagined that my mutt was with me, and for a moment I didn’t feel like a sad young adult. As I was daydreaming, I noticed something placed on the slide, and I can’t explain why, but I gravitated towards it. It was a tiny black notebook with something stuck in between the pages. When I rattled it from the binding, I discovered a note and an envelope containing $20,000! Should I call the police? What should I do? I read the note, and wasn’t sure if I was being Punk’d or its intentions were serious. It read:

Accept the cash,

Or spend one hour back when you were happy,

Before the parks changed,

Before the important people left,

Before the houses were sold,

Before the death of your beloved dog,

But you only have twelve minutes to decide…

Twelve minutes to decide? Let’s assume for a moment that this is real. How could I possibly resolve something so huge and impactful like this in under a half hour? The clock was ticking and I needed to make my decision quick.

Weighing the pros and cons of having $20,000 verses seeing my gone family is surprisingly easier said than done. Okay maybe it’s not that surprising. Seeing my departed grandparents again in my grandma’s house that is now sold to strangers while being licked by my perished dog is an intoxicating feeling. Being $20,000 richer is an addicting feeling, and I’m not sure which feeling is more powerful. It’s viable that both feelings are equally matched. Ten minutes left.

What would I say to my grandparents whose ashes we now keep? Would my mutt recognize me? I have so many memories of my departed family enjoying life in that house, do I really need one more hour? I have no memory of owning $20,000. While I dream of my dog, I also dream of my grandma’s house. It’s funny, she passed less than a year ago, but it feels like I’m both mourning her, and her charming little house that she called home for seventy years. I miss its one small hallway, its outdated pink bathroom, its floral wallpaper, the candy pantry, the blue painted kitchen, and most importantly, her. I miss my grandmother terribly. But now her house belonged to outsiders and her ashes live in the house I share with my parents. Eight minutes left.

To witness my beloved childhood pet in motion again is another thing that I miss dearly. To have the opportunity to walk him one last time and kiss his snout goodnight letting him go without pain is something that he deserves. I must remind myself that, despite the sadness, he experienced his last walk with me, and I got to kiss him goodnight one last time, and once the needle finished with its formula, he no longer experienced pain. Six minutes left.

I wondered how $20,000 would change my life. With money like that, I could afford grad school, or fix my car, or start a business. The endless possibilities become overwhelming after a while. I could save up to one day buy back my grandma’s house should it ever go on the market, or purchase a new dog. I didn’t want a new dog though. Twenty-thousand dollars is the difference between being somewhat comfortable financially, or the opposite of that. Right now, I exist on the spectrum of not being financially stable. My friends all have great careers, and I’m stuck working two jobs. Some extra money would definitely boost my confidence, even if it’s only temporary. Four minutes left.

As I sat on the new park slide, I began to wander with my mind. I imagined being embraced by my dead family, and I imagined being the owner of $20,000. Where did this strange notebook even come from? Did it choose me specifically? Can it even promise its claims? I craved my perished family enjoying life in that house with my dog who was more my sibling so much that it hurt. But I knew that I had to let go and accept my reality like all adults are forced to do whether they’re ready to or not. Two minutes left.

When you’re a child, you foolishly believe that adults are these strong emotionless beings who always have the right answers to everything. You believe that adults don’t cry because they’re not children, and children cry. As a child, you don’t think about death and consequences unless directly presented with it, but even then you don’t fully understand it. When I was five and my grandpa died, my mom told me that his body would be lowered into the Earth, but my aunt told me that the angels took him above into Heaven. This confused me as a child because how could he be in the ground and in the clouds at the same time? When I was six, I believed that thirteen was the largest number ever, and now $20,000 was staring in my face. I needed to make my decision fast because time was running out. One minute left.

I recollected my emotions and thought of my deceased family and dog, remembering them in my mind like a shiny souvenir. I had my memories and love from them, and I would kill for one more hour with them. I also thought about the money. Thirty-seconds left. I thought and pondered for a few more seconds before making my decision that would change everything. I looked up into the sky, closed my eyes, and entered my decision, into the unknown.