Time
My mum used to talk about time, as though it were an abstract concept and not a real thing. In fact, she was very interested in the word ‘real’ because she believed it to be a lie. Both facts about her may lead you to believe she was a serious person. I think she might have been when she first met Bear, in that other world. She was studying, one of the few who still considered that a reasonable way to spend their time. Unlike her peers, she wasn’t from a wealthy family, and she worked hard to support her studies. That was her focus, until she met Bear. It’s not that meeting dad stopped her studying, “It was the timing of the world.” She liked to say. In the beginnings of their relationship the world was shifting. Sitting around discussing the merits of a word like ‘real’ was no longer justifiable, even for the rich. There were bigger things a-foot and for the survival of our country, all hands needed to be ready and able. Or so it goes.
My memories of mum are fresh and alive, unlike those of my brother and sister and I don’t know why. When I see her, she is laughing, joking, pinching my cheek, covering me in kisses. She is standing tall with an elegant posture, with rags in her hair and she has a child following behind her, not necessarily hers. She was the kind of women people wanted to follow. And I suppose I am grateful that I didn’t see her in those last moments, if I had, perhaps those would be the images I carry with me now.
But time was something she considered especially in relation to our family life. She tried to make us reject it and live only in the moment. There were no clocks in our home and my mum didn’t rush anything, “Be here, with me. Now.” She would repeat and we would make faces at her. My mum always had space for other people, even if she was running out the door. When someone visited, she stopped what she was doing or was about to do, and she gave the visitor the floor. I can appreciate this more now. I don’t have this quality. I find it hard to ‘be’ with a person. I am always planning and waiting for the moment for action. I am aware of time- even if it isn’t real. And recently, call it a premonition (I am not an empath so no one would listen) but I feel like time is running out here.
The diamond is one attempt to appreciate time. To stop the chatter and the planning. There is one thing that I do that allows me peace. It is unfortunate that the one thing, has no actual usefulness and would anger my dad. He would say that is a luxury and one, that served no purpose. He would say it was a waste of precious time and resources, and he would say that ultimately, given my position, I was setting a bad example. A few years ago, the bad example might have held more weight. Even after my own brethren died, there were still young people to whom I owed allegiance and therefor this argument stood. But now, the children of the tribe are like our dwindling stores. There are less and less. In fact, we are down to five. I don’t want to even write how many we once had. If I sound like I am making youth a commodity, well I am. But not for the reasons we are supposed to believe. The enemy kill our children because they say one day they will want revenge. This argument doesn’t make sense. The enemy keeps changing, how could we keep up enough, to find revenge. The reason the young are a commodity is what they represent. And when the last one dies, all hope will be gone. So even though we only have five left, my father still sees it as my responsibility to be an example, in all that I do. There was a time when I would have tried to reason with him. He used to listen to me. He used to respect my point of view. But he is jaded and the more time strategising, the worse he gets. He can’t see anything else. I wonder if he ever really sees me anymore. I don’t blame him. He didn’t ask for any of this and I think he wouldn’t have chosen his position. Most leaders are terrible because they search out the power. My dad had it thrust on him and now it consumes him.
It isn’t totally true that I don’t understand why I can’t remember my brother and sister with the same colour as my mum. Charlotte was a part of me. She was connected to my hip most of the time (but not on that day) and Kyle was serious. Kyle spent his days reading and in thought. He was allowed that because everyone understood he was different. Time is the reason I can’t see them in all their beautiful colours. It was time that killed them and all the while I was in Merv’s chatting with him and oblivious. I was enjoying the freedom of Charlotte not being stuck to me. The freedom of being a lone person, only worrying about myself, for just half an hour. But that was all that it took. That sensation of liberty has become a wound of guilt. “Be careful what you wish for.” My mum would joke before we blew out the candles of our birthday cakes. Kyle was eight the last time we blew his. And it is so true. In that half an hour chatting with Merv, loving my freedom, it was never worth this. I would choose for Charlotte to be constantly at my side, never to leave me, instead of the hole she has left. And the hole is faceless because I can’t see her. I won’t see her.
‘Time heals all wounds’ is a good one. I wouldn’t dare to say that out loud to someone in our tribe. Time is a thief, time is borrowed, time is wisdom and obviously, time is a thief. All of these expressions contain a truth and that is, time is an idea. What we make of that is our choice. We don’t get to choose our circumstances. We don’t get to choose our family, our body, or our place of birth. We do get to decide about how we use this entity that defines society and daily life, even when there isn’t killing on our doorstep. This word that marks the passing of existence, holds so much power. There was an age where people feared getting old and losing their beauty. Now, beauty has become something else altogether. It is no longer an aesthetic, not on this street. Beauty is a behaviour and an embodiment of truth. I would like to talk to Bear about these things. Not as my dad, but as a fellow human on this planet. I know that I can’t and so I talk to Merv,
“It’s like talking to Silver. You are so like her.” He said, before digging into the contents of my words.
It’s not unusual that I don’t know how this makes me feel. Later on in the conversation where we had explored all angles and come up with no resolution, I asked him, “Why don’t you leave the street, Merv?”
“Thanks.” He laughed while polishing his immaculate bar top,
“I don’t mean it like that. I am happy you are. But you don’t have family here and you talk about the North often. You could sell this place and get enough to leave here.” I was slumped on a bar stool. It hadn’t been a good day and even the diamond couldn’t revive me. There are days like that, I know them well enough, they pass.
“Well,” He stopped polishing and gave me his full attention. “I am waiting for Mike. This was where we agreed to meet. It wasn’t my bar then, but this was the spot we decided on. And…” Then Merv said something so out of character, it silenced both of us, “You and Bear are the closest that I have to family, after Micheal.”
I was exhausted after a full day of repairs and a delivery that took the last of my strength. If I wasn’t, I would have asked more about Micheal and why they separated and how long ago it was. But I was deeply tired, and Merv had just said something closer to love than I had heard since mum. I figured it best to drag myself home and wait for night to come and sleep to take me. Then I could wake up and start again.