A Measure in Time
3:45 pm. Okay, only an hour and 15 minutes to go. Carmen looked at the clock on the wall, then to the watch on her wrist, then to the tiny icon on the bottom right of her computer screen. How silly. She thought to herself. As if one clock is faster than the other; and as if that one faster clock has more authority over the others. Regardless of the measurement, you can’t change time – it continues without regard for anyone. You can only kid yourself into believing you’ve beaten the clock…
“Carmen, have you finished that draft yet? I need that sent out to Mrs. Shelly today.”
Carmen was snapped from her daze and firmly secured back into her seat. She nodded and stared down at her key board. The slight ringing of the word ‘today’ confirmed that Alice noticed she was later than usual this morning. Carmen was not particularly great with time. Always either just on time or a couple minutes behind. Alice never seemed to mind as long as she got all her work done. However, Carmen had already left work already left work early two days this week. She thought she could make that time up by working through lunch but perhaps the loss of time was starting to seem unforgivable.
Carmen was never the type to leave early and more likely to stay late. Partly because she never wanted to feel like she didn’t get the job done; but also, because she tended to schedule her time out to the second but never budgeted time for the life that just happens without plan. She was always the first to volunteer when it came to working the Canadian holidays that American markets ignored. She was the definition of a workaholic with the bad habits of a natural procrastinator.
However, this week was different. At the beginning of the week, her grandma admitted to the hospital to run some test. It was nothing too serious, but Carmen knew it was getting to that time when hospital visits would become more frequent. Carmen always spoke fondly of her grandma but never enough. The kids aren’t old enough to understand, but in time, I’ll tell them. Her grandma was the reason Carmen had lived such a fortunate life. She tried once, to tell the kids stories from back before they immigrated to Canada. But it had been such a long time she didn’t even know how to talk about it anymore.
4:45 pm. Perfect. 15 minutes left. Just enough time for me to finish the closing report and be out the door on time today. Carmen hammered down the last period and hit send. She had just enough time to pack up, run to the bathroom, and collect her lunch containers from the staff room. But wait – shoot! My coffee mug. She hated being that person who left their dishes in the sink.
5:10 pm. Out the door. There was a great little bakery that offered 50% off after 6:30 pm. Carmen knew if she went straight there, then home to drop everything off, then to the hospital, she’d make it there by 7pm and she would still have an hour of visiting time left.
6:55 pm. Damn it. Shouldn’t have stayed back to eat that cake. She wasn’t necessarily hungry at the time, but she had only bought one slice of chestnut cake and if she didn’t eat it then surely her husband would have sunken his teeth into it. Only 15 minutes behind. I’m still making good time. Carmen arrived at the hospital 30 minutes later than she originally planned. But she had already allotted 2 hours the following day to visit with grandma, so she didn’t feel too bad.
7:32 pm. She walked into her grandma’s room. At first, she saw her mama and her two sisters sitting in their usual spots around the bed. They all looked up and acknowledged her. Carmen’s eyes fell to her grandma’s face. Her head was tilted to watch the door, her eyes were strained as if they had been staring at the threshold for just a moment too long. Her grandma held on for just a second to give a weak smile then the life left her lips. Carmen had arrived just in time.
9:10 pm. I should probably go in. They will be wondering were I’ve been. Carmen walked though the back door and slowly sunk to take her shoes off. She could hear her daughter’s foot steps flying down the staircase.
“Ma? Is that you?”
A frantic little figure entered the room to find her mother’s face buried in her hands.
“It’s like she was waiting for me.”
The words escaped through the cracks in her finger, she had no time to take them back. She lifted her face to meet her daughter’s. Her daughter didn’t say anything. She sat beside her and began to cry – not because she understood death or loss or mourning, but because she had never seen her mum cry before and it made her inexplicably sad.
9:30 pm.
“If it’s not too late. I want to tell you a story about your tai po.”