A Time of Endings

Uncle lived in a trailer on the edge of my grandparent’s old property, where I now live. He was somewhat of a hoarder, and was different from the rest of the family. I didn’t mind his peculiar ways, and would visit him often.

He and I shared the same birthday, which according to him was why we got along so well. His trailer was filled with books, towering around him like a maze. He was into things like, extraterrestrial encounters and other mysterious phenomena. Sometimes I sat reading titles, imagining what they were about.

He had a little black notebook, always in his grip. I peaked at his notes once, but all I saw were symbols and page numbers, without the book titles from which they came. I asked him about it, but he said, I was too curious for my own good.

He found meaning in numbers. He was born on the 9th day of the 9th month, and had an affinity for the number 9. Numerically, his birthday added up to 9 and this was symbolic to him. He said 9 is the number of endings. As sad as this sounds, endings always lead to new beginnings. Not all endings are bad, as graduations and completions are endings too. He would explain how we are in and out of endings and beginnings throughout our lives, but the more consequential they are, the more significant they become. He said age signifies these transitions as well. That, after we turn 9, we start to see things differently and become more aware of ourselves. Ages 10 to 11 marks this transition towards new beginnings, before we start making choices at 12.

Across from his trailer was a field and an old fence that bordered the property. On a good day, I could convince him to walk along the fence with me, where we had carved out a decent path for ourselves.

One day, late summer, we walked the fence and made our way to the field. We sat braiding grasses and talked for hours. I told him someday I wanted to travel and visit all the mysterious places he had told me about. He said, traveling costs money, but he had no doubt the stars would align to guide me wherever I wanted to go.

He told me, I am a gift from the universe and that we’re the same. He said he knew for years that a gift was coming, but he didn’t know when. I was born when he turned 36. He knew I was the gift he’d been waiting for, when my birthday added up to 9 too.

Uncle looked out over the treelined ridge, squinting his eyes to focus, as if taken back to another time. His demeanor changed and everything got real quiet. Even the birds knew to silence their song. Wearing an emotion that he rarely succumbed to, he began to tell me something he had never shared before.

“A few days before my 9th birthday, I lost three days... Somehow, my timeline skipped a beat and kept going without me. I was supposed to be home before dark, but I lost track of time. I had found a bag of books in a free box earlier, so I balanced it on my handle bars. Then, something caught my eye. There was a twilight glow resting over the trees, but the sun had already set. I noticed a flicker in the light. My eyes came into focus on a large barn owl flying alongside of me. My heart quickened, and I raced to keep up. Its wingspan seemed as wide as I was tall. Suddenly, it veered towards me. I felt the gust of its wings, and my bag fell to the ground, spilling books out onto the road. I tried to see where it went, but it was gone. I picked up my books and continued home. When I got there, I leaned my bike against the house as usual, and went straight to my room. Dumped the books onto my bed, and one fell to the floor titled, A Wrinkle In Time. I felt like it was speaking to me, but then, my mom poked her head in and said, ‘You excited for your birthday tomorrow?’ I was taken back, and said, ‘What’d ya mean, my birthday isn’t for another 4 days?’ She replied, ‘I’m not sure what you’re trying to pull off, but that’s not the response I expected from you.’ I turned to my calendar, where I had marked off the days before my birthday, and to my relief, the last three days were still blank. I tried to show her, but she got annoyed, and said to come eat dinner. I was pretty upset, but also hungry. The radio was on when I started eating dinner. I heard the announcer say, ‘Tomorrow, on this 9th day of September, we’ll have thunderstorms throughout the day…’ and I nearly spit out my peas.”

My eyes were as big as marbles, soaking up uncle's every word. Although, I kept waiting for the punchline. I could see the pain behind his eyes, and knew he wasn’t making things up. This wasn’t some sci-fi fantastical journey he was taking me on. This was his life.

“My mom was worried.” He continued, “I tried to explain, but it made matters worse. Thunderstorms ravaged the property the following day. Everything felt charged. We had a piñata and when I hit it, it felt like an electrical surge move through me. One fell-swoop, and candy flew everywhere. As if in slow-motion, suddenly I was aware of everything and the room filled with laughter. In that moment, time stopped long enough to savor it and I realized, that was the happiest I’d ever been.”

His eyes welled with tears, so I looked away. I realized then, that he had never spoke about this to anyone. I was the first, and that was significant to me. He needed to speak it out loud, and I was his witness. By making it real through another’s eyes, he could finally put it to rest.

He looked up to the blue and continued, “I spent a lot of time in my room looking through books, especially the one I mentioned. I thought, ‘Did I slip through a wrinkle in time?’ After that, my books seemed to come to life. Words would light up and jump off the page, sometimes whole sentences. Somehow, I knew which words to put together and began to write them down. I developed a system to keep my findings in order, with the page numbers next to a symbol, that I also wrote inside the cover of each book. Some of the messages were unclear, while others started to make sense. When I read the words, I felt their meaning beyond their formal definitions. Sometimes it was indescribable, like a knowing. I began to find meaning everywhere I looked. I noticed how everything exists within its own system, including time, and how numbers are the hidden language of the universe. I could see myself in these patterns, showing me how I mirror them, all moving together within the intricacies of geometry in nature, this is how numerology became a second language for me and time became the format in which I interpret it all.”

I was speechless, but finally mustered the words, “So, what do you think it was all about?”

Uncle relaxed his shoulders and said, “I don’t know… What I think and what I know are two very different things, and while I’ve had plenty of time to speculate on these events, the search for answers is illusive and never ending. Everything is open to interpretation, and I have learned not to assume anything.”

I could tell he was apprehensive about filling my head with anything other than the truth. What I know for sure is, time had stopped for him, while it continued for everyone else, and he spent most of his life trying to figure out why. Whether it was true or not, that was his experience. It decided his future, and became the sole purpose for his life. Uncle was special, and maybe even chosen for the task. Interpretation is dependent on one’s thinking, but doesn’t always reflect one’s knowing. At some point he stopped seeking answers and was content with what he knew to be true. He accepted the task, and his ability to respond differently shaped the outcome. My task is to understand the significance of being his witness.

I was almost 11 then. I went back a few days later to wish Uncle happy birthday. I called out his name, but walked in without waiting. There was a hot kettle on the stove, but Uncle was no where to be found. I waited for a bit, then ran to the field, calling out for him. I felt a strange sensation, like a quiet I’ve never known. I wondered what the birds knew that I didn’t. Heat emanated from beneath my feet, and I just stood there, held by it. Somehow I knew he was gone, and that I was meant to take it from there.

I ran back to the trailer, and this time, I noticed his little black notebook, on a stack of books, held open by a black ribbon. I thumbed through the pages, and searched for books with matching symbols inside, but there were none. I started to lose hope, and even get angry. I wondered if he was just pulling my leg, and wasn’t right in the head after all.

I uncovered another bookshelf, and there it was. I moved in slowly. I was almost scared to touch it. A Wrinkle In Time really did exist. As I opened the cover, a dollar fell to the floor. I suddenly felt strange, touching his things, thinking badly about him. I put the dollar back, but when I opened the cover, the first symbol was staring back at me. I confirmed the page numbers, but didn’t know how he derived the messages. I felt defeated, yet I checked every last book, and found nothing. I searched the notebook and noticed a piece of paper tucked inside an expandable pocket along the back cover. On it was a message I then read aloud.

Time is a tool that allows you to exist. You also exist without time, and use time to experience your existence. Existence is experience, nothing else is needed to live. How you choose to live, within the confines of your mind is up to you, but be aware that the limits are an illusion. Knowing is limitless.

There is always a gift after every ending. One will come to help you, when completion is near, serving as your witness, in a time of new beginnings.

A transfer of inheritance, under lock and key, allows for a new task to begin. Only to be unearthed when the Gift is called to a time of choices.

After reading the note, I felt incomplete, and didn’t have anything new to go on. I collapsed on the couch crying, until I fell asleep. When I awoke, I noticed an envelope on the ceiling. I stacked books on the table to reach it. Inside was a key. I scanned the room to find its match, until I realized, there was a trunk beneath my feet. I cleared the books and tried the key. It fit perfectly. What I saw inside was more money than I’d ever seen. Now that Uncle was gone, it was my duty to inherit the next task. Counting $19,999, I returned each bill and locked the trunk. Beneath the warm earth, it now stays. I stacked Uncle’s books back into a towering maze, then collected the key, the notebook, and A Wrinkle In Time, that still holds the dollar that will one day become $20,000, initiating a time of choices. Until then, I will listen for the call.