Time Doesnt Fly by: It falls and crumples and burns

It wasnt a very smart idea of Kasey to give me this job. Even

though it was obvious I knew him the best, I knew him for the
shortest time. I had mustered an appreciative and somewhat
solemn smile as Kasey delivered me the news as if she was in
charge of all of this. In charge of an exit that was drowning in tulips
and extensive graphic designs. I arduously read the invitation,
immediately turned off by the mustard yellow font and maroon
elements and became entrenched with the fluff I was witnessing.
Mark wouldnt have wanted any of this, I whispered to myself. He
was externally a man of simple taste, little pleasures and lacked in
appropriate haircuts. Internally, he was something else. Something
so different and dangerous that couldnt stop me from analysing.
This in turn made it difficult for me. The challenge of encapsulating
all of these elements into a 400-word synopsis of paper that was to
be delivered in two days. It just didnt seem right.

Shifting my eyes up to the clock that hung haphazardly above my

bed, I took note of the unearthly hour and anticipated the knocks
from my mother pressing against the only means of protection in my
haven.
Kind, Loving, Brave.
Irreplaceable
Intrepid and Daring

These were the only phrases I managed to create in the space of a

day. I didnt want to write a eulogy that could be universally
presented. Mark was different, He deserved different. I sunk my feet
even further into the floor and pressed the tip of my pen on the
page. I watched it stain and spoil. I noticed the way it bled and
destroyed. The way it had the capacity to ruin a fresh piece of
paper. This action was better than my writing. I knew that what we
experienced together couldnt be spoken in words. I have to write
what they want to hear, what will deliver the tears and convince
them of our normality together.

The wordless minutes soon became hours and welcomed the gleam
of sunshine from a sleepless night. I gathered my useless sheets of
small anecdotes and descriptions to the side of my desk and began
to walk towards the door. Upon opening it, I am met with the ticking
of a two-minute fast clock, the smell of stale cereal and the
deafining silence coming from beneath the ground. Patting my feet
down the stairs I make my way towards my mother. Her life is slow,
slower than the description above and her almond shaped eyes tried
to make sense of my late awakening.
I spoke to Dr Gates yesterday and she said that you might be tired
because youre lacking in Vitamin D. And I mean I dont want to
force you to go out for a walk, because I know that of course you
dont want to, so I bought you these tablets and they have calcium,
vitamin B

Mum, I interrupted, I can go for a walk. I dont need this stupid

stuff.
I didnt mean to offend her, I know that she meant well. Shes doing
what she is supposed to do I guess and I couldnt blame her for that.
She returned back to pretending her pancakes werent burnt and I
made my way towards the television. Ever since I told him the news
last year, my father acted differently. Standing directly behind him, I
notice the way he sits on the couch. The way his hair wasnt cleanly
shaved at the back. The way he could never press into the support
of the sofa. I edged forward releasing my right side from the comfort
of the doorway.
Hi Dad I hesitantly spoke, my voice coming out softer than
expected.
He didnt turn his head but instinctively raised his fingers as a sign
of acknowledgement. I hated the way he did this. He was so
talented at making me feel that it was my fault. My mother couldnt
find the right tablets to consul this problem and so I didnt bother to
even try with him. He stared blankly at the TV that was programed
on the news. It was always like this.

I walked to the front door and closed it shut as soon as I walked out.
I wasnt in the mood for congratulations from my mum. Smashing
my feet against the grey pavement, I recall the many times Ive
walked this route before. It used to be somewhat exciting making
my way to the bus. Id leave at approximately at 7:38 from my

house and I knew exactly where I needed to be at what time on my

walk to make sure I made the bus. I pass my first point, the tree at
the end of my street. It was still clambered with advertisements for
babysitting, concerts at the theatre on the opposite end of town.
Walking forward, I meet my second stop. This was the one that I
feared the most. Pacing past the navy denim Volvo in the driveway, I
look down to avoid any possible interaction. I thought about all the
times I used to race here and eagerly hug my old best friend Macey.
Like my father, Macey pretended not to know me when I told her
what happened. She stopped walking to the bus stop after that. I
hated the way the Volvo would zoom pass me every morning.
Continuing on, I made it to my third and final checkpoint. This was
the moment I lived for, knowing whether or not Id have to run the
next stretch. It was the corner between high street and Central
Avenue and it was where I first met Mark. I used to catch him just as
I was turning the corner. He would emerge from his colonial house
with one earphone in and the odd creased book in hand. I couldnt
bring myself to walk any further and to reach the checkpoint. That
would mean that I would have to explain, and explaining is a thing I
dont want to do.

Upon shutting the door, Im met with another. My father stands in

front of me and hands me the phone without any prior knowledge.

Hello? I inquisitively ask.

Oh um hi, its Macey
Oh Macey, how are you going? I hesitantly reply, whilst my heart
rate continues to spiral.
Im good, well Im mean not good, because who can be good at a
time like this, but I mean you, you must be feeling horrible and I
dont mean to sound like I know whats going on and
She kept rambling into the phone as if she expected me to keep
listening.
And you know I just want to let you know that Im here for you,
that I was always here for you and you just didnt know it She
made sure to put emphasis on the last part of her sentence, as if
she was positive Id buy her bullshit.
Nevertheless, I did what Ive being doing for the past couple of 18 or
something years of my life, I pretended I cared.

Thanks Macey, I always knew that I could count on you in times like
this.
She ended the conversation pleading for us to catch up soon. I knew
that time frequencies meant nothing to Macey and that she will in
fact continue to pass me on the street. But hey, if she feels like
shes done her penance for the month as others have, then why not.
Theres nothing quite wrong with being a charity case.

But what is wrong is this thing with time. Im confused about how
everyone and even myself have become prisoners of the clock. Im
over leaving seven minutes early to be on time to somewhere I
dont even want to be, Im sick of my father turning the TV on at
exactly 5:02 so he skips the adds and I cant handle the way my
mother feels compelled to wake me up at exactly 7:30 every
morning. Mark didnt worry about time he would always tell me not
worry when I looked at my watch and always reassured me in the
middle of the night that it was okay to call him. I think thats what I
miss the most about Mark. The fact that time was metatemporal to
him, just something that made the sky change colours.

Trudging my way up the stairs I sit immediately at my chair and

promise to not write any of that tumblr crap. I try to make sense of
that sudden catharses I had downstairs and let Mark guide my
writing. With every glide my pen makes I feel the presence of Mark
behind me urging for my creativity to stay this way. I start to write
about roads and pavements and doors and nice company. I basically
just wrote what Mark liked, because this eulogy isnt and never will
be about me. I feel like more of an objective intermediary trying to
make a connection between the audience and Mark. A figure who
has the capacity to make people cry, laugh or smile with the drop of
one word, tone or look. My pen didnt stop moving and my brain
didnt stop thinking for the next few hours. The moon soon
swallowed the sun and I found myself content with looking at the

thoughts below me. Typing them up after proved to be somewhat of

a challenge but I was well aware that no part of this was meant to
be easy.
*
The sun soon appeared through the fog of my window and I knew
that it was time to get up. I look over to the clock that read 7:29 and
smirked to myself. I managed to get a decent sleep despite the
events that today holds. I dont know if Im more worried about
delivering the speech or seeing people. Seeing people. Seeing
people definitely. I got dressed and made my way to the car with my
parents.
Be brave sweetie, were here for you My mother reassured me.
My dad gave me a nod that didnt suggest anything, so I just
opened the door and sat in the back.

We drove past the streets that were all too familiar and I thought
about the events of last night. It was at the seventh hour that I had
an epiphany. We share what is necessary, feel what we are expected
to and release only what we need to. Mark knew what I would have
said to him, and I dont feel as if the whole world should be opened
to our relationship. But what I can say is that we are nestled in this
net of apparent safety of daily routine. That time will never run out
of time and when on that day, we will realise our lives are not
eternal as we stop hearing the ticking of the clocks and see that
everything has stopped.

Mark and I would already be running

somewhere else. Somewhere so far away, that time doesnt have a

reason to exist. We all tend to learn about this apparent safety
when its far too late. If only we could all stop leaving everything to
the last minute.

Arriving at the church, I catch a hopeful glimpse of Macey.

IM NOT EXACTLY SURE WHAT I WANT TO SAY HERE BUT I KNOW I

WANT TO TALK ABOUT SEEING MARKS PARENTS BEFOREHAND AND
ACTUALLY GETTING UP AND DOING THE EUOLOGY. SORRY ABOUT
THIS BRIEF INTERLUDE

(Comes back to row after saying eulogy about

time and stuff and Mark)

I dont feel any sign of relief when I sit down until I look at the
booklet in front of me and see the picture of Mark smiling move. I
know I promised that I wouldnt tell you any of that tumblr crap, but
thats true! But hey, why would I need to persuade you, it was my
moment. I look back up to the events of the funeral and straighten
my bow tie and tighten the belt on my trousers. I feel a knock on my
shoulder and turn to see my dad staring at me, I know that Ive
never told you, but Im really proud of you Son.