I want time to move fast. I want to be able to spend all my time with him. All the days. All the dinners. All the hugs.
I want time to move slow. I want to be able to spend a little more time here with the people I love.
One more day. One more dinner. One more hug.
I will always be the person with her feet in two different boats, going two different ways.
I came home from my (two years late) A-level graduation ceremony and proudly showed him my medal.
He was delighted, and immediately fished out some cash from under his pillow (where he generally kept it) as a token of his love and appreciation.
Although he wasn’t well, when I told him I wanted to take a picture with him to commemorate the day, he insisted on getting up and sitting with me for it.
It’s only been 5 years. It’s already been 5 years.
Miss you, grand father.
My sister burst into the room, eyes shining with excitement. Her team had made it to the second round of a competition they were participating in. She was breathless, laughing, jumping. In a matter of seconds, she had already left the room to break the news to our mother.
And I just sat there wondering how to tell her that this was at the best part of her life, that she needs to always cherish this little moment and make sure she has many more like these.
Just sat there wondering if there was a way to stop time; longing to stop time. For her to be this happy. To have this happy. Forever.
So I saved the lecture for another day, went up to wish her luck and said a silent prayer for her happiness.
I see her old and frail and sick. Barely able to articulate anything. Shaky. Disoriented. This is what it comes down to, after ninety years of living: being a child, but without the perks. Slowly disintegrating.
Seeing her feels like a gut punch. Every time. A gut punch of pain and guilt pangs.
I can’t imagine what must go through her mind. I can’t imagine how it feels. Or what my father feels.
God, please, please, please give her health. Please, please, please give both my parents the strength, both physical and mental, to help her as much as possible. Please, please, please.
He looked around the room again as he dabbed the sweat on his forehead.
Lots of people milled about. Too many! But he knew this was it: it was time to run. He shouldn’t waste another seco-
He jumped at the sound of the main door banging open, stricken with panic. Too late.
A vision in white was gliding down the aisle and then in front of him. His fears seemed to melt into oblivion. He realized he’d do anything for her. He was ready to give in!
The minister cleared his throat and began: We are gathered here today…
(Originally written for Reader’s Digest’s 100-word Short Story Competition 2013)
We never do much together but the house seems empty without my sister. I’m sure she’ll have a blast. It is indeed the experience of a lifetime.
Everyone’s really glad that her trip is only for two weeks though, including traveling time. It’s hard to admit that the baby of the family is old enough to leave the nest and step out into the world by herself.
Meanwhile, I use all the technology available to me to stalk her to hide the i-miss-her and the small twinge of green. Flight live-tracking and hotel websites for the win!