Time Flies

Sixty ticks of that straight red line have never pounded in my ears as loudly as they do right now. Tick, tick, tick. It makes me want to jump over the stiff, hospital bed and wrench the clock off the wall. Yank it off and slam it on the ground until the springs fly everywhere and that infuriating red needle is bent and broken and no longer ticking.

33, 34.

I force my gaze away from the black and white circle and fix it on your face. You are staring at me with wide, questioning eyes, as round and aggravating as the clock. (35). I swallow the lump in my throat and focus on the steady trills of your heart monitor. Their shrill whine tells me that you are alive.

Funny, the clock reminds me exactly how alive.

38, 39.

"Talk to me." Your voice is uncertain. "Sadie, what happened?"

Brown hair falls into your eyes and with sudden panic I reach forward to move it away. I need to see your eyes, just as I must keep watching the clock. How can your eyes look so normal, when I know the damage that is now there beneath them, taking you away from me?

"Sadie."

40.

One word from you can shred every defense I have and tear me in two as easily as if I were made of paper. I can almost hear myself ripping.

"You're in a hospital. There's been an accident."

My voice is mechanical, as if my heart has stopped working. Maybe it has. I certainly don't feel alive, here in this room full of machines and needles and men in white coats.

I look back to the clock. 45.

How can time be flying so fast and yet feel like an eternity?

You turn your gaze to the clock as well. Maybe it is better if we don't speak. Why say something, only to have it washed away like a pebble on the shores of time?

"What kind of accident?"

"Car." I don't want to prolong these moments by weighing them down with words.

52.

You fall silent for a second and watch the clock with me. For a moment, that fragile red line is the only thing connecting us.

54.

"Sadie, I love you, you know that?" you whisper. "Whatever happened – whatever happens, I love you."

55.

"Sadie, why aren't you talking to me?" you plead. "Am I dying? Is that it? Then TALK to me – use what little time we have!"

I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose. This is too much – far too much emotion for sixty seconds. "You're not dying," I say back. "But I'm losing you all the same."

57.

"How?" you ask, sounding helpless and alone.

The tone of your voice sends a wave of despair rushing through me and I open my eyes. Leaning forward, I fix my eyes on your face and struggle to hold back my tears. "I love you too," I cry out urgently. "I love you too, but will you remember that?"

59.

"Of course I will," you say, looking shocked. "I'd never forget-"

60.

I grip your hand in a panic as your eyes slide out of focus, my heart doubling its tempo. When you focus on my face again, you look lost and confused.

And we start all over again. "Sadie? Where am I?"

A sob wrenches itself from my throat and I turn my gaze back to the clock, the tool on the forefront of our mutual enemy: time.

Another sixty seconds, and I've lost you all over again.

They say that time flies.