Time Is of the Essence

"Always follow the light. It will lead you to things you could never possibly dream of." I read my horoscope out loud to myself, wondering what the time was. Time. I was always worrying about time. There was never enough time for anything anymore. Reading my horoscope took up precious time. Going to the bathroom took up time these days.

"The time is now eight twenty-two and thirty three seconds," the clock on the wall said to me in a metallic voice. Eight twenty-two. I was late for work. Never enough time. I had missed my bus, and now I would have to walk the three miles to get to my office. Never enough time. I wondered if this was how everyone lived. I wondered if people woke up in the morning counting the seconds of each routine to make sure that there was time enough for everything in the day.

I put my dishes in the sink, grabbed the paper and walked out the door. The walk to work would take me at least a half hour, taking into account massive crowding. I would be there by eight fifty-two. That's an entire forty-two minutes wasted. I would have to skip lunch to make up for lost time. I was always making up for lost time.

I stopped at a cross section, waiting for the light on the other side of the street to turn green. I thought about what my horoscope had said. "Always follow the light." Which light was it referring to? There were lights on everywhere all of the time. There were lights on in the office during the day so that people wouldn't have to strain their eyes to read. There were lights on the streets at night guiding people through the dark. There were lights on in apartments and houses. There were lights coming from signs that beckoned travelers and shoppers to come in and stay awhile. There were lights everywhere. Which light was I supposed to be following?

The light changed to green and I ran across the street. People around me bustled by, but I hadn't the time to stop and think about them. I was late for work.

Colours blurred past my vision as I made my way to work. There were colours everywhere, too, but I hadn't time to stop and look at them. I wondered hurriedly what the colours belonged to, what they marked with their vibrancy or consistency. Maybe the blue I had seen was a patch of sky. Perhaps the red was someone's coat. Could that neon green really have been someone's hair?

I shook my head. I had to stop thinking these things. I had to get to work. I was just rounding my last corner - the time was eight fifty - when I saw something I hadn't seen before. Under normal circumstances I would have disregarded it and bound up the stairs to get to my office, but these were not normal circumstances.

There was a park across from my building. I was always staring at it during my lunch break, wondering what it felt like to be among the trees and feel the breeze teasing my hair and the grass underneath my feet. I had never had the chance to go to that park. There simply wasn't enough time. This park was relatively plain looking. It was exactly what one would expect a park to be. There were trees and benches and green grass growing. From my office I could see a little fountain where you were supposed to make wishes. There was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about it.

Except for today. Today there was a caravan of red wagons parked by the fountain, much like they would have in a circus. Petite women in gypsy skirts and bangles were dancing in the fountain, twirling round and round and kicking up their feet. Men sat on blankets on the grass, playing little wooden instruments. Children swathed in purple and green cottons and silks were running through the grass and climbing up the trees. Horses and goats were grazing on the freshly cut grass or drinking out of the fountain. And there was one man, dressed entirely in grey, sitting atop one of the caravans, holding a camera and taking pictures. You could see the flash from fifty feet away.

I stopped and I stared. No one else seemed to notice the spectacle. For a moment I thought that this was something staged; a plan, perhaps, by a theatre company. But wouldn't people be watching them if that were case? No, this must have been something different.

I glanced down at my watch. Eight fifty-two. I thought about work. I thought about how angry my boss would be if I wasn't there by nine. I thought about everything I needed to get done. I thought about all of the time I was wasting.

I saw a bright flash. The man in grey had taken another picture. I forgot about work; I forgot about the pile of things that needed to be done; I forgot about all of the time I was wasting and I walked to the caravan.

No one paid any attention to me as I walked across the grass. No one moved in greeting or glanced in my direction. I moved to where the man in grey was taking pictures. There was a ladder on the side of the wagon and I climbed it. The camera flashed again as I took my seat next to him.

"Hallo," I said.

"Hallo," he responded.

" are you doing here?"

"I'm taking pictures." His answer seemed so deliberate to me that I wasn't able to respond. Why hadn't I thought of that? Surely, that was what he was doing here. I could see the camera in his hand. What a silly question for me to ask. I glanced to where the women were dancing and suddenly longed to join them. What beauty, I thought, what magnificence to be able to dance there in the water without any cares in the world.

"What cares do you have?" the man in grey asked me. I waited a few moments, expecting him to continue or at least to look at me, but he just held up his camera and took another picture. The flash was brighter than ever.

"Are you reading my thoughts?"

"Just tell me what cares you have, sitting here and watching them dance."

I thought for a few moments, confused by his words. What cares did I have? I couldn't think of anything. It did feel as though something was missing, as though there was something else I was supposed to be doing, but I couldn't for the world think of what it was. "I suppose I haven't any cares," I said to him, "At least none that I can think of."

"So why don't you join them?"

"Oh...I couldn't."

"Why not?"

Again, his words confounded me. Why couldn't I join them? Were there some conventions I was supposed to be following? I was at an utter loss for words, so I said nothing. Instead I climbed back down the ladder and walked to the fountain. People were beginning to notice me. The men smiled at me and the women beckoned with their arms and their eyes. Why couldn't I dance with them? I couldn't find an answer. Melodies floated up around me, soft and light and happy. My spirit was lifted by them. I took off my shoes and stepped into the fountain, twirling and kicking with the other woman. The world around me lost its form. Water splashed and magnified all of the wonderful colours I was seeing. Every now and again a bright light would flash, accentuated by the falling drops of water.

I danced and I danced and I danced. I danced until my heart was pounding in my chest and I couldn't feel my legs anymore. And even then I continued to dance. I didn't want to ever stop. The dancing brought me such freedom, such wonderful feelings of being able to let go of any bad thoughts I had had before. How could I have ever doubted such a wonderful thing?

I stopped when my breathing became too labored. I climbed out of the fountain and lay on the damp grass beside it. The sky was a dusky pink, and I vaguely wondered when it had turned that colour. The men were still playing their light melodies and most of the women were still dancing, but the children had grown tired of their games and were sitting with the goats and horses, curling up into tiny balls and drifting off to sleep. I glanced towards the wagons, scanning the roofs for the man in grey, but he wasn't there. I turned over onto my back and wondered why I was so concerned with finding him. Was there something I wanted from him? I dismissed the complicated thoughts and watched the clouds swim across the sky, letting my mind wander.

"Do you always fall asleep during parties?" a man's voice asked me. I opened my eyes, though I wasn't aware I had closed them, and the man in grey was standing over me, camera in hand.

"I'm sorry," I said slowly, sitting up, "I wasn't aware I had fallen asleep." He laughed and sat down next to me. "Do you always watch sleeping women?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," he replied, laughing again. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"I haven't stopped you so far."

"Do you remember anything from this morning?" The question startled me, as most of his questions did, and I admit I had to think about it for quite a while. What had happened that morning? I couldn't even remember getting out of bed. Had the sun risen? How had I gotten there? Surely, there must have been a morning; otherwise there couldn't be a now. But I couldn't remember anything. My consciousness seemed to start with the caravan. When I shook my head, the man in grey laughed and said, "I didn't think so. Most people don't. That's what they do to you."

"Who does what to me?"

"Them," he gestured to the men and women who were beginning to wind down in the coolness of the night. "They make you forget things. That's how most of them are here. They wandered into the caravan and simply forgot." I watched the people. Some of them were kissing. Some of there were eating and drinking. All of them were happy. Had they really done that? Had they really put a spell over me? I didn't believe in magic, though. At least I hadn't before.

"What about you?" I asked, suddenly curious to know everything about this man in grey, "What are you doing here?"

He smiled, clearly amused by my words. "As I have already told you, I am here to take pictures."

"Did they make you forget, too?"

"No, they did not make me forget. I am here by choice," he said, though he said the words as though they weren't true. There was another flash, and the man in grey leaned back, resting on his elbows. We watched the men and women around us, a heavy silence falling towards the ground. I tried to sort out everything that had happened that day or at least what I could remember. I tried to remember the morning, and what I had been thinking, but all my mind could come up with was the caravan and the dancing. And every time I tried to think about why my mind couldn't come up with these thoughts I got distracted. It seemed as though I was incapable of any complex thoughts. True enough, I was content enough just to sit and watch everyone laughing and kissing and eating.

"You'll get used to it," the man in grey told me after a while.

"Will I? It almost feels like something is missing, but I can't figure out what it is, and I don't really want to."

"Yes, you'll get used to it. They all do eventually. I just wish you wouldn't have to." His voice was sad, somehow.

"Can you change it?"

He fell silent.

At this point the moon had risen and illuminated the cornflower sky. It washed the caravan party in its light, dancing in wine bottles and the black hair of the beautiful women and men. The sky was dotted with diamonds floating in a river of darkness. It made me want to think of the things that had happened today, something that my mind wouldn't let me do. Instead I studied the mysterious figure sitting next to me. He was dressed completely in grey, from his sweater down to his shoes. His hair was non- descript, looking exactly like what it was defined as. He had a firm jaw that suggested strength, but there was a softness in his grey-blue eyes that contradicted the suggestion.

He must have felt me staring at him. He must have felt my eyes following the contours of his body, running from the top of his head to his hands, down his back to his feet. He turned to face me, and I tried to look away but his hand reached out to touch my face. Why was my heart beating so hard? What was I so anxious about? I wanted to run and I wanted to stay. The man in grey leaned forward and I felt his lips brush against mine. And all of the sudden it flooded back to me. My memories of the morning, of what I was supposed to be doing, trailed back and swarmed around my brain. His lips touched mine once more, and then he vanished.

* * * * * * * * * *

"The time is now eight twenty-two and thirty three seconds," the clock on the wall said to me in a metallic voice. Eight twenty-two. I was late for work.

I looked down at the paper and reread my horoscope. "Always follow the light. It will lead you to things you could never possibly dream of." I smiled. Perhaps the words held some truth to them. Perhaps they were right.

I put my dishes in the sink, left the paper on the table, and walked out the door. I was going to the park, no matter how much time I might be wasting.