"Time"

Time

by Nicole T.

Composition - Assignment #4

As I walk around the empty house, I breathe in the smell of ammonia and wood polish. Everything’s ready now. The house is clean and the furniture is all gone. The “For Sale” sign is in the yard and soon a new family will be living here. I’m holding the last thing to be taken out. The grandfather clock, I can still hear it- faintly, quietly. Memories flood my mind. Laughter, tears, arguments, all with the background of its steady, deliberate ticking. I can still picture my grandfather checking it every night. The clock that hung in the same spot for as long as I could remember. It was always moving forward, a constant reminder that no matter what happened, time moved on.

Except for last Thursday, when my mother came out of his bedroom and with tear filled eyes, simply said, “He’s gone.” Time seemed to stand still for the first time and I truly believed that it had stopped. It’s a day I’ll never forget. As the days flew by and the funeral came and went, I could still see him checking that clock. I could see him glancing at it while he waited for a phone call, or the mail to arrive. I could see us playing cards in the dining room with the clock over his head, ticking away. One, two, three hours- it never seemed to be long enough. Time spent with him always went by fast. Now it all ran together.
I cried as I carried it to my car. It seemed like the final step. The one that said, “Yes, he’s truly gone.” Later that day as I re-hung it in my own dining room, I knew it was what my grandfather would have wanted. He’d say, “That’s good, you’ll be fine, and time will move on.” I think that’s why that clock means so much to me, because in many ways, it reminds me of my grandfather. He was always there, steady and reliable. Strong, but gentle at the same time. Every time I look at that clock I think of him. At night when I hear it sound off the hour, I imagine us playing cards and he would look up and say “My it’s getting late, aren’t you tired yet? Don’t you know I need my sleep?” I’d smile and we’d play one more hand. Then he’d tell me goodnight and say he would see me in the morning. I’m not sure when the next morning that I see him will be. It could be years. But I know that until then, I can take comfort in the fact that time will always be moving forward. A constant friend and reminder that life is always changing.