nine seconds of your life

nine seconds on day 975 of your life. in the morning. your mother drops you off at day care. you are crying. and crying. and it feels like the very last moment of your life.

nine seconds on day 5,687 of your life. there is a hand reaching under a t-shirt and moving upwards. brushing against a breast for the very first time. it's either your hand or your breast. you gasp. you want this moment to freeze in time. and it will. for many years. but not for your entire life.

nine seconds on day 10,305 of your life. the phone is about to ring, you can feel it. this is an important call. did you get the position or not? your phone rings. it’s the call! this could be your big break, your future could start right now. “Hello?” you say, “This is…”

nine seconds on day 10,312 of your life. a hand is covering the slender test. a plus means pregnant and a minus means… no need to think about that. the hand, is it your hand?, slowly opens. you aren't even sure what you are hoping to see, but you know, in either case, that this will be the very beginning of a long terrifying fall off a cliff. or an exhilarating flight. in either case, it’s not the first cliff.

nine seconds on day 18,249 of your life. it’s the evening before your 50th birthday. you are holding a drink and looking at your friends talking. the party is for you, but you are standing alone thinking back to that first time you had sex. you smile as you remember. awkward! then back further to that first kiss. so terrible! you laugh out loud and one of your friends catches your eye and smiles, glad you are having a good time. and a curious look as he realizes you are standing by yourself. then you think back to the first caress. the first time under the t-shirt. and you can’t remember. your smile fades. you can't remember. it’s gone. which feels like the beginning of the end.

nine seconds on day 19,978. you are both standing still, looking directly into each other’s eyes. there is nothing more that can be said. nothing more that can be shared. one of you turns away and starts walking. there is hope that your eyes will reconnect, but they do not. it's an end. there is a dead hole in your chest that can never be refilled.

nine seconds on day 22,748 of your life. you are lucky, you know. some of your friends, some of your family didn’t make it this far. you think of your cousin who died a half a life ago. but living this long is small consolation as you close the cardboard box, which seems far too small to be holding so many years of your life. you consider dropping the box, contents and all, into the trash outside. or leaving it where it lies and just walking out, carrying nothing. you are looking over the edge of a cliff, another cliff, one of many you now realize. but this time you can easily see bottom. not that far of a fall.

nine seconds on day 25,400 of your life. why are you laying on the floor? what day is it? what time is it? did you fall asleep while… while doing what? why are you laying on the floor in the living room. there is a glass of … what’s in the glass? but it’s not turned over. it’s standing right side up, full of … full of what? Hard to tell from this angle and in this light if the liquid is colored or clear. did you lay down on purpose? why are you laying on the floor? what time is it?

nine seconds on day 28,105 of your life. it’s your birthday. you can’t move your right arm or your right leg. happy birthday to me, you think. the doctor is looking down at you and saying something but you stopped listening halfway through her explanation. your niece is asking a question, which you can hear and you can understand, and yet you choose not to listen. just sounds, just words, just two people talking about the last day of your life. they are nodding, agreeing that you lived a good life, but you want more. much more.

End.