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Thirty Seconds

The Legend of Time

By Christine HollermannPublished 3 years ago 3 min read
3
Thirty Seconds
Photo by Jamie Street on Unsplash

I saw what was unfolding. I saw our car continue into the intersection, and the fast approaching date we had with the car in the through street. I saw the headlights, and I saw our early reactions, but the sound came later. Time stopped. Twenty-eight seconds left.

Time has no rules. We try to restrict it, impose rules on it, manipulate it, but it never complies. In time’s life we are a spec at best, our existence doesn’t even register. If there is a God, thy name is time.

“Your cousin’s really sick”

I slowly sank into the nearest chair’s support as I was suspended in a support less turn of events.

“He has cancer and right now it doesn’t look good”

The word cancer rang in circles in my mind, mangling with the news and memories as they became one, and time swirled.

She lay on the vet’s floor, unable to move, a youthful sparkle in her eye resting in the body that was rapidly dying. I looked at her, into her, taking her in for the last time. My brother leaned down to pet her, comfort her. She began convulsing. We looked at each other and back down at her. Somewhere between start and stop her sparkle was lost. They hadn’t accepted a check to kill my childhood companion. Seconds sooner she would’ve been peacefully gone. Time has no heart.

Seventeen seconds left.

“We planted all these lilacs here…” starts a present day conversation. Suddenly I’m five and at a house strangely familiar and long lost in my memory. My uncle gives me lilacs. Beautiful in appearance and scent. An owl screeches in the woods and I feel bile rise in my throat. I don't know why, “and we also planted those over there…” present day’s returned and I’m looking at someone else’s lilacs.

Time teases.

I watched my brother and father playfully putting wrestling holds on one another. I wanted to play. They go back and forth between moves and smack talk. My father insists he can’t be beat. I say I know how. They turn towards me remembering my existence they’d forgotten in their jest, and I show them how. I kick dad in the crotch and he doubles over. I’m outside, guilty tears filling my eyes. I hurt daddy.

Time forgives.

Ten seconds left.

“Can I play too?”

“No, there’s already to many people playing.”

I hung my head in the shame of rejection. I went back to my spot. The only place I wasn’t in the way, the shorter of the two concrete tunnels set in the corner of the playground. ‘too many for tag’ I think to myself. I sit against the cold concrete, the warmest form of friendship I’d known, ‘What did I do wrong?’ I pondered as I tossed fellow outcast pebbles against the apposing tunnel wall.

Time doesn’t forget.

My adrenaline pumped as I embarked on my first scandalous adventure. The babysitter had put me to bed, but I had, under my own authority, left the obedient comfort and quietly crept down the stairs. I observed her, she appeared to be watching T.V. while simultaneously drifting in and out of consciousness. I made a dash for my goal, the freezer. I opened the door and took some frozen pepperoni, my then favorite snack, and returned upstairs to enjoy the spoils.

Time smiles sometimes.

Five seconds left.

The bus pulled up to the parking lot. I saw parents standing outside. I haphazardly collected my stuff, and scanned for a familiar face. The two people ahead of me just stood there. I began to get frustrated and attempted to tell them they needed to move before I broke down but my voice had been left somewhere along the way. My face must’ve expressed more then my words could’ve because they saw and we moved. I stepped outside and immediately saw the familiar white car and there in front of it was my father. I dropped my stuff, uninterested in anything it contained and hugged him. He chuckled at and hugged me. Never has anything felt so amazing or lasted so long. People mocked, but they didn’t matter. After two weeks away from everything familiar to me I realized how important home is, and more importantly family.

Time provides wisdom.

One second left.

The moment of impact occurred. I saw both participants being put into impossible situations, and it was eerily beautiful, as the glass shattered, creating a spectrum of understanding, it hit me:

We depend on tomorrow, but time makes no promises.

excerpts
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About the Creator

Christine Hollermann

Getting back into writing after a couple years break. Going to start my first book this year. Tips appreciated but never expected.

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