Last week on June 13th, I watched the clock’s minute hand spin for hours.
I had woken up that morning with a foggy blurring of thoughts and movements that rose with me, and I was powerless to shake it away.
“Today is the day”. Dread is a terrible means to rise up, and there is no stopping it. The sun saturating my curtains wasn’t beautiful that day, instead it was a stale glow that I wish I could wipe away. I put my feet on the floor. I lifted the soles up just enough to delay the reality of truly moving up and forward. I thought of the day I had risen 5 years ago just like the start to my normal routine but it was hours of wall clock ticking before I would learn The News.
Every moment of the day from the morning to the afternoon I was trying to have a normal routine which would appear neutral to my coworkers.
The clock was approaching 3:30p.m.
At 1:30 p.m., on the afternoon of June 13th 2012, was the moment I saw the double lines.
At 3:30p.m., on the afternoon of June 13th 2012, was the moment I saw my blood test result.
The HCG level was real. I’ll never forget the number sequence that was there, plain as day, in front my my eyes and my face going pale. I hated my blood and myself and I wanted to disbelieve it, but how could I?
On June 13th 2017, I left work to have lunch and could not eat. It had been on my lunch break, 5 years ago, that I had seen the double lines.
I just sat there with food in front of me, which I only made out of routine and obligation, and my tangible memory practically felt the plastic test case between my fingers.
I thought maybe I could recreate that day and that time. Maybe I could take another test, just for the sake of seeing only one line, to relive that day and that time as if it never happened. Maybe I could replace the memory, which I’ve always wished never ever occurred, with a new moment which could take its place. I was like when I was a kid and thought if I squeezed a moment, fantasy, illusion, which I wanted so deeply to come true that maybe it could come true.
I watched the paper in its case soak up the liquid and moving sideways towards the end, passing through the center of the strip where the lines lay hidden, manufactured somehow to provide an end result of a spectrum of emotional results.
When it passed over the hidden lines, I got a lump in my throat and suddenly hoped for a set of double lines. As a source of redemption, or a sudden hope granted.
How different would my entire life be now had there been only one line at 1:30 p.m., on the afternoon of June 13th 2012?
How different would my entire inner world be now had there been only one line at 1:30 p.m., on the afternoon of June 13th 2012?
Years of change flashed before my eyes. Heavy, heaving grieving for the obliteration and desecration of the woman who I might have been now on June 13th 2017. I’ll never know the woman that I might be now. I’ll never be that woman, no matter who she might have been.
I threw the one line in the trash can. I put the lunch away and never ate it. Then I had to wait for the inevitable 3:30 p.m. to come around, and re-lived my phone call that I had made to my best friend at 2:30 p.m. that day.
Two lines equals 0 time remaining.