2003 I'm sat in front of mum's favourite roman numeral clock, watching the seconds tick on, one right after the next. I stare, I concentrate with all of my might, convinced I can stop it. Freeze time right where it sits, but round and round it continues. I mark this moment. It's my first confrontation with the concept of Time. It keeps moving and there's nothing I can do to stop it, no way for me to get it back. I make a mental note of this moment, bookmark it in my mind, and wonder if I'll ever remember it happened at all.
2010 I'm sat again in front of mum's favourite roman numeral clock, older but still too young to realise. I'm willing the second hand to come to a halt. One of these days, I think to myself. I have all the time in the world to figure this out. I remember that first failed attempt as a kid. It wasn't so long ago, but what did I know then? I bookmark this just the way I did before, saving this time and place, this singular moment in my life like a checkpoint in a video game. If I ever get to go back, this is where I'll start again.
| 2018 Mum's clock is gone. I was in the States when she decided to redecorate, but I can still see the outline on the wall somewhere beneath the fresh paint and framed photo of Billie that hangs in its place. Even absent from my view, I hear it ticking in my mind, like some sort of warning, a bomb I can't disarm. I think back to the moments I've sat in this spot and try to grasp that they're gone. That they're so far behind me. Where did that time go? How am I already here? My relationship with time just got complicated. I have to focus on my breathing to stop the panic when I finally realise I'm on a ride I can't stop, can't even slow down. I've no control over anything. How oddly freeing. How utterly terrifying.
2022 I jolt up in bed and scream when I let my mind wander a little bit too far. One day, this will all be over. My life. My consciousness. And there's nothing I can do about it. Maybe I'll be a fossil someone dusts off and studies. Maybe I'll just disintegrate into the earth. It doesn't matter, because there's nothing I can do about it. My whole collection of saved checkpoints will have never mattered, never existed outside of my own mind. (What if I've never existed outside of my own mind?) Maybe this life is just an unending carousel ride, each horse a new checkpoint. Maybe life really is just a simulation. When one ride ends, we hit restart and hop back up on a new horse so I can find myself sat in front of mum's favourite roman numeral clock, watching the seconds tick on. |