Grace
I had 60 years and 2 months left to live. At least, that’s what my clock said this morning when I checked it before heading to the airport. This morning, I was considered one of the lucky ones, one of the people with enough time to fulfill my dreams and goals. Some people would disagree, and wish there was more time, but truly I think everyone would rather live forever if they could. They want to see it all, do it all, but personally I choose to live in the moment and enjoy the time I have, because there is absolutely nothing I can do to alter fate. 79 years of life should be more than enough time to complete my bucket list; travel to all 7 continents, go skydiving, and write a book, all of these opening new worlds to me or others.
The airport I have just arrived at is huge. A big sign reaches out over the top of the building reading “PARIS ORLY” in blinding white letters. To help complete the travel aspect on my bucket list, I spent the last semester of my sophomore year studying abroad in France. I can now proudly say that I speak four different languages, English, Spanish, French, and Arabic.
My taxi pulls to a stop at the large automatic doors leading into the airport and I step outside, dreading how my hair will look after even spending a second out in this humidity, while the driver retrieves my bags from the trunk. After a polite and slightly rushed session of “thank you’s” and “goodbye’s” I tip the slim and scruffy white-haired man, and he is on his way. Quickly, to avoid being run over by the other taxis filling in quickly to the airport parking lot, I grab my large suitcase and a bright blue carry-on duffle bag before sliding through the doors and into the airport filled with large lines, uncomfortable plastic chairs, and the smell of fast food and soft pretzels.
In 22 long hours I will land safely in Sydney, Australia, where I will further complete my travels, and then on to somewhere else, not only for my enjoyment, but also for my sanity. Everywhere I look I see strangers passing by, stressed about the deaths of others, their deaths. They are constantly asking themselves question that I can help but think are absolutely pointless. They spend their lives asking, when will I die? How will I die? when will they die? How will they die? The worst part is that no one can answer these questions, but that doesn’t stop them from wasting their lives on them instead of enjoying what they have.
My mother ran out of time 9 months ago. She woke up one morning and realized that her clock had shortened form 25 years, to 6 hours. We all have these clocks, you see, that tell us how much time we have left to live. One moment you could be driving around with several years left on your clock, and then suddenly you take a wrong turn on the highway and end up with 12 seconds.
Well, when my mom saw that she had lost so much time, she went crazy trying to figure out what it was that she had done to change her fate into something this terrible. She was still so young, only 45 years old. As soon as she told my dad about her 6 hours, he became determined to protect her. He spent all day watching her, making sure she stayed at home, didn’t eat anything that could have made her sick, and followed her everywhere. In the end though, everyone will suffer at the cruel hands of fate, and apparently my mother’s time was earlier than some. She got out of bed for only the third time that day to go to the bathroom. With dad at her heels, she stepped onto the tile floor and slipped.
My father reached out and caught her before she hit the ground, but not before her head slammed against the granite countertop spread around the sink. With 10 seconds on the clock, dad laid her down on the white tiled bathroom floor with tears in his eyes and watched as her clock ticked down to 0 to end the life of Eleanor Ferryn.
As of that day I gave up on the idea that you could change your destiny. I 100% believed that if you did something right and you got more time, then great. And, alternatively, if you did something wrong, and ended up with less time, so be it. The best you would be able to do is get lucky and do something right again, otherwise it was, quite simply, your time to go. After her death, my father went crazy, and when I planned to study abroad, I had no intentions of returning home for a very long time. I would travel the world, see new people, learn new things, and create a new and improved life for myself than my alcoholic, crazy dad would ever be able to provide me with.
I chose my seat in the back of section C of the airport and sat down before pulling out my headphones to listen to alternative rock while I occupied myself for the next hour by people watching. A young girl, around 4 or 5 was running around the airport like a maniac, laughing her brains out about something her older brother had done. Around the corner was a woman crying, probably about a death. I knew the look in her eye, it was the same look my father had when he told me that mom had passed away.
In the front row of seats was a younger man, maybe a year older than I was, who I had to admit was very attractive looking, and a few seats over was a teenage girl around my age. She was very good looking as well, though not in the way you would expect. Her light brown hair reached just below her shoulder blades, and she had dark green almond shaped eyes. She was also a good 5 inches taller than I was and had an olive complexion. The thing I liked most though, was that her facial features were not soft or pretty, they were… striking, sharp and intense, and beautiful in a way that you could see hidden in the depths of her facial expressions.
The boy was reading what looked like a murder mystery, and the girl had a game going on her cell phone. Both of them wore their clocks as an open-faced watch hanging tightly around their wrists as if losing them would mean the end of life as they knew it, which in all fairness was true. The thing that's different about our opinions of losing the clock is that personally, I believe losing their watches would make a change for the better.
Some people wear them like watches around their wrists, and others as anklets, necklaces, belts, etc. but I made the personal decision of a locket because I would not have to look at the clock. I could have just as well thrown it away, but this locket is all i have left of my mother, and i do occasionally check in if something major is happening. I've found that when people are worried all the time about dying, they never really get the chance to live.
After around 30 minutes or so of people watching I went to the bathroom to freshen up before getting on the plane. The first bathroom I come to has an insanely long line, and I make the decision I am sure I will regret later when I am late for my flight, which starts boarding in 10 minutes, and go to the next bathroom with a reasonably sized line. That bathroom, surprisingly is the one in the food court. I take my time to look in the mirror and fixing up my hair.
After spending almost half of my summer outdoors, I have a slight tan, but I am, in all honesty, still pretty pale, and the parts that aren’t the light color of my slightly tanned skin are burnt. My blonde hair has gotten lighter with the sun, and is now a sandier shade instead of its usual honey. I recently trimmed it to look more like a pixie cut. I look a lot like my mom doe- did. Round blue eyes-like the ocean-with a half of a light brown dot right above my pupil. And although the saying “the grass is always greener on the other side” is definitely accurate in the area of height, being vertically challenged does have some drawbacks. I do have my dad’s fair skin though, of all the things I had gotten from my mother, I just couldn’t have gotten her beautiful beachy skin tone. I comb through my hair a few times until it’s laying decently over my head and renew my mascara before rushing out of the bathroom in the vain hope that I might catch my flight.
Rushing through a crowded terminal is not exactly the ideal situation for someone with claustrophobia. The whirls of colors rushing to their planes distract me until about five minutes later I realize two things; I am lost, and I missed my flight. I sigh loudly before grabbing my heavy luggage and haul it around until I find a desk where I can check on to another flight. Up at the desk they inform me that I will be able to catch the next flight which leaves in an hour. Determined to catch this one, I sit down in my seat, put my earbuds back in, and stare at the clock like the stubborn person I am, until finally, after what seems like forever, I hear the annoyingly calm and robotic voice from the loudspeakers saying that we should all get aboard our flight.
Passengers load onto the plane, and it is all I can do to not concentrate on my serious claustrophobia. As soon as I am crammed into seat c-24, and am breathing somewhat normally, I realize that I recognize the girl sitting next to me. She was the girl I was people watching in the airport with the dark green eyes.
Since this is almost a day long flight, I figured I might as well get to know the person sitting next to me that I have begun to refer to as “the green-eyed girl” so I would have something to do during the flight. I don’t think I would be able to survive a long flight without talking at least one person’s ear off.
“Hi, I’m Grace” I say, reaching out my hand.
“Aspyn.” She replies.
I can already tell how different we are. Even the littlest things give hints at it. The way she wears her clock so visibly and looks down at it nervously every 2 minutes or so, the way she sits, as though someone has kept a close watch over her entire life, and now that she has some freedom, she wasn’t sure how to use it. Even the way she said her name gave a sense of insecurity and uncertainty.
“What were you doing in the UK?” Is the question I choose to ask in order to break some ice.
She is clearly American, with her southern accent, and doesn’t exactly seem like a person who's really gotten out there, so I figured this one might have an interesting enough story behind it.
“My parents wanted to travel somewhere, and they chose France, but they said I should ‘get myself out there’ so here I am.” she said, gesturing towards herself and then the plane.
There was something about her answer, the subtle but definite way that she was annoyed made me wonder what was going on. I didn’t want to pry, but I knew I would ask eventually, so why not now?
“What exactly are you doing in Australia, Aspyn?” I pose my question in a friendly way to try to hide the curiosity that, by the look on her face, is clearly leaking through.
I can see she is contemplating whether or not to tell me, but when she sighs, it’s more out of relief than frustration.
“I wanted to stay with my family because there is so much to worry about, leaving them, and I’m not really even ‘getting out there,’ they are sending me to live with my aunt.” She spits out ‘aunt’ as though it is the nastiest word in the world, but also like she wanted to show respect at the same time.
My mother used to say that I am very good at observing people, which is both a blessing and a curse with my big mouth. She clearly wishes she didn’t worry about things so much, but couldn’t help it because that was how she was raised, I can tell all of this especially well, since that was how my little brother was raised. Suddenly, I have an idea.
“So you are going to see your aunt right?”
“Yeah?” her answer is more of a question.
“Wrong.”
The look she gives me is both hopeful and surprised, and also reads, this girl is completely insane. I’m starting to believe that too. But if she wants a chance to be free, this is it.
"You could come with me. I’m traveling the world, which sounds a bit crazy, I know, but I’ve made due, and it would be really nice to have a friend to do it with, and this is an insane offer from someone you just met, just think about it though, it could be really amazing, and you have a full 22 hours to decide if I’m a crazy person or not.” this all pours out of me in a matter of seconds, like a fountain that I cannot shut off.
I look at her to see what her answer is. yes, no way, I’ll think about it, or I need to get away from you, but just then the rumbling starts and we begin flying down the runway.
I try to read the look on Aspyns face, but it’s displaying very wide range of emotions. I am actually surprised she is even considering this. My offer was so sudden and not thought out, and she is so sheltered. we are up in the air and she almost seems stressed out, to the point where I am sure she will say no, which was expe-
“Yes.”
“What?” I reply, trying to process what she just said.
“Yes, I will go with you.” she says it with less certainty this time, and I realize I need to reassure her.
“That is so great! I’m so excited. You are gonna love it!” I can’t wait to travel with her, we may have our differences, but I have been alone all summer, and truthfully since the middle of the school year when my family life went downhill. I will tell her all of that with time but I don’t want to ruin anything, so I start to tell her about my French experience before dozing off.
I had 60 years and 2 months left to live. At least, that’s what my clock said this morning when I checked it before heading to the airport. This morning, I was considered one of the lucky ones, one of the people with enough time to fulfill my dreams and goals. Some people would disagree, and wish there was more time, but truly I think everyone would rather live forever if they could. They want to see it all, do it all, but personally I choose to live in the moment and enjoy the time I have, because there is absolutely nothing I can do to alter fate. 79 years of life should be more than enough time to complete my bucket list; travel to all 7 continents, go skydiving, and write a book, all of these opening new worlds to me or others.
The airport I have just arrived at is huge. A big sign reaches out over the top of the building reading “PARIS ORLY” in blinding white letters. To help complete the travel aspect on my bucket list, I spent the last semester of my sophomore year studying abroad in France. I can now proudly say that I speak four different languages, English, Spanish, French, and Arabic.
My taxi pulls to a stop at the large automatic doors leading into the airport and I step outside, dreading how my hair will look after even spending a second out in this humidity, while the driver retrieves my bags from the trunk. After a polite and slightly rushed session of “thank you’s” and “goodbye’s” I tip the slim and scruffy white-haired man, and he is on his way. Quickly, to avoid being run over by the other taxis filling in quickly to the airport parking lot, I grab my large suitcase and a bright blue carry-on duffle bag before sliding through the doors and into the airport filled with large lines, uncomfortable plastic chairs, and the smell of fast food and soft pretzels.
In 22 long hours I will land safely in Sydney, Australia, where I will further complete my travels, and then on to somewhere else, not only for my enjoyment, but also for my sanity. Everywhere I look I see strangers passing by, stressed about the deaths of others, their deaths. They are constantly asking themselves question that I can help but think are absolutely pointless. They spend their lives asking, when will I die? How will I die? when will they die? How will they die? The worst part is that no one can answer these questions, but that doesn’t stop them from wasting their lives on them instead of enjoying what they have.
My mother ran out of time 9 months ago. She woke up one morning and realized that her clock had shortened form 25 years, to 6 hours. We all have these clocks, you see, that tell us how much time we have left to live. One moment you could be driving around with several years left on your clock, and then suddenly you take a wrong turn on the highway and end up with 12 seconds.
Well, when my mom saw that she had lost so much time, she went crazy trying to figure out what it was that she had done to change her fate into something this terrible. She was still so young, only 45 years old. As soon as she told my dad about her 6 hours, he became determined to protect her. He spent all day watching her, making sure she stayed at home, didn’t eat anything that could have made her sick, and followed her everywhere. In the end though, everyone will suffer at the cruel hands of fate, and apparently my mother’s time was earlier than some. She got out of bed for only the third time that day to go to the bathroom. With dad at her heels, she stepped onto the tile floor and slipped.
My father reached out and caught her before she hit the ground, but not before her head slammed against the granite countertop spread around the sink. With 10 seconds on the clock, dad laid her down on the white tiled bathroom floor with tears in his eyes and watched as her clock ticked down to 0 to end the life of Eleanor Ferryn.
As of that day I gave up on the idea that you could change your destiny. I 100% believed that if you did something right and you got more time, then great. And, alternatively, if you did something wrong, and ended up with less time, so be it. The best you would be able to do is get lucky and do something right again, otherwise it was, quite simply, your time to go. After her death, my father went crazy, and when I planned to study abroad, I had no intentions of returning home for a very long time. I would travel the world, see new people, learn new things, and create a new and improved life for myself than my alcoholic, crazy dad would ever be able to provide me with.
I chose my seat in the back of section C of the airport and sat down before pulling out my headphones to listen to alternative rock while I occupied myself for the next hour by people watching. A young girl, around 4 or 5 was running around the airport like a maniac, laughing her brains out about something her older brother had done. Around the corner was a woman crying, probably about a death. I knew the look in her eye, it was the same look my father had when he told me that mom had passed away.
In the front row of seats was a younger man, maybe a year older than I was, who I had to admit was very attractive looking, and a few seats over was a teenage girl around my age. She was very good looking as well, though not in the way you would expect. Her light brown hair reached just below her shoulder blades, and she had dark green almond shaped eyes. She was also a good 5 inches taller than I was and had an olive complexion. The thing I liked most though, was that her facial features were not soft or pretty, they were… striking, sharp and intense, and beautiful in a way that you could see hidden in the depths of her facial expressions.
The boy was reading what looked like a murder mystery, and the girl had a game going on her cell phone. Both of them wore their clocks as an open-faced watch hanging tightly around their wrists as if losing them would mean the end of life as they knew it, which in all fairness was true. The thing that's different about our opinions of losing the clock is that personally, I believe losing their watches would make a change for the better.
Some people wear them like watches around their wrists, and others as anklets, necklaces, belts, etc. but I made the personal decision of a locket because I would not have to look at the clock. I could have just as well thrown it away, but this locket is all i have left of my mother, and i do occasionally check in if something major is happening. I've found that when people are worried all the time about dying, they never really get the chance to live.
After around 30 minutes or so of people watching I went to the bathroom to freshen up before getting on the plane. The first bathroom I come to has an insanely long line, and I make the decision I am sure I will regret later when I am late for my flight, which starts boarding in 10 minutes, and go to the next bathroom with a reasonably sized line. That bathroom, surprisingly is the one in the food court. I take my time to look in the mirror and fixing up my hair.
After spending almost half of my summer outdoors, I have a slight tan, but I am, in all honesty, still pretty pale, and the parts that aren’t the light color of my slightly tanned skin are burnt. My blonde hair has gotten lighter with the sun, and is now a sandier shade instead of its usual honey. I recently trimmed it to look more like a pixie cut. I look a lot like my mom doe- did. Round blue eyes-like the ocean-with a half of a light brown dot right above my pupil. And although the saying “the grass is always greener on the other side” is definitely accurate in the area of height, being vertically challenged does have some drawbacks. I do have my dad’s fair skin though, of all the things I had gotten from my mother, I just couldn’t have gotten her beautiful beachy skin tone. I comb through my hair a few times until it’s laying decently over my head and renew my mascara before rushing out of the bathroom in the vain hope that I might catch my flight.
Rushing through a crowded terminal is not exactly the ideal situation for someone with claustrophobia. The whirls of colors rushing to their planes distract me until about five minutes later I realize two things; I am lost, and I missed my flight. I sigh loudly before grabbing my heavy luggage and haul it around until I find a desk where I can check on to another flight. Up at the desk they inform me that I will be able to catch the next flight which leaves in an hour. Determined to catch this one, I sit down in my seat, put my earbuds back in, and stare at the clock like the stubborn person I am, until finally, after what seems like forever, I hear the annoyingly calm and robotic voice from the loudspeakers saying that we should all get aboard our flight.
Passengers load onto the plane, and it is all I can do to not concentrate on my serious claustrophobia. As soon as I am crammed into seat c-24, and am breathing somewhat normally, I realize that I recognize the girl sitting next to me. She was the girl I was people watching in the airport with the dark green eyes.
Since this is almost a day long flight, I figured I might as well get to know the person sitting next to me that I have begun to refer to as “the green-eyed girl” so I would have something to do during the flight. I don’t think I would be able to survive a long flight without talking at least one person’s ear off.
“Hi, I’m Grace” I say, reaching out my hand.
“Aspyn.” She replies.
I can already tell how different we are. Even the littlest things give hints at it. The way she wears her clock so visibly and looks down at it nervously every 2 minutes or so, the way she sits, as though someone has kept a close watch over her entire life, and now that she has some freedom, she wasn’t sure how to use it. Even the way she said her name gave a sense of insecurity and uncertainty.
“What were you doing in the UK?” Is the question I choose to ask in order to break some ice.
She is clearly American, with her southern accent, and doesn’t exactly seem like a person who's really gotten out there, so I figured this one might have an interesting enough story behind it.
“My parents wanted to travel somewhere, and they chose France, but they said I should ‘get myself out there’ so here I am.” she said, gesturing towards herself and then the plane.
There was something about her answer, the subtle but definite way that she was annoyed made me wonder what was going on. I didn’t want to pry, but I knew I would ask eventually, so why not now?
“What exactly are you doing in Australia, Aspyn?” I pose my question in a friendly way to try to hide the curiosity that, by the look on her face, is clearly leaking through.
I can see she is contemplating whether or not to tell me, but when she sighs, it’s more out of relief than frustration.
“I wanted to stay with my family because there is so much to worry about, leaving them, and I’m not really even ‘getting out there,’ they are sending me to live with my aunt.” She spits out ‘aunt’ as though it is the nastiest word in the world, but also like she wanted to show respect at the same time.
My mother used to say that I am very good at observing people, which is both a blessing and a curse with my big mouth. She clearly wishes she didn’t worry about things so much, but couldn’t help it because that was how she was raised, I can tell all of this especially well, since that was how my little brother was raised. Suddenly, I have an idea.
“So you are going to see your aunt right?”
“Yeah?” her answer is more of a question.
“Wrong.”
The look she gives me is both hopeful and surprised, and also reads, this girl is completely insane. I’m starting to believe that too. But if she wants a chance to be free, this is it.
"You could come with me. I’m traveling the world, which sounds a bit crazy, I know, but I’ve made due, and it would be really nice to have a friend to do it with, and this is an insane offer from someone you just met, just think about it though, it could be really amazing, and you have a full 22 hours to decide if I’m a crazy person or not.” this all pours out of me in a matter of seconds, like a fountain that I cannot shut off.
I look at her to see what her answer is. yes, no way, I’ll think about it, or I need to get away from you, but just then the rumbling starts and we begin flying down the runway.
I try to read the look on Aspyns face, but it’s displaying very wide range of emotions. I am actually surprised she is even considering this. My offer was so sudden and not thought out, and she is so sheltered. we are up in the air and she almost seems stressed out, to the point where I am sure she will say no, which was expe-
“Yes.”
“What?” I reply, trying to process what she just said.
“Yes, I will go with you.” she says it with less certainty this time, and I realize I need to reassure her.
“That is so great! I’m so excited. You are gonna love it!” I can’t wait to travel with her, we may have our differences, but I have been alone all summer, and truthfully since the middle of the school year when my family life went downhill. I will tell her all of that with time but I don’t want to ruin anything, so I start to tell her about my French experience before dozing off.