The Hourglass

Seventeen

I'm back in my apartment, sitting cross-legged on my bedroom floor in front of the closet. It's getting late, and I told myself I wasn't going to look at it tonight, that I was just going to put it away in the closet and deal with it another time. But something kept gnawing at me.

I opened the cover and started flipping through the photos one by one. It starts with a picture of Mom holding me in the hospital after I was born. She looks tired and sweaty but happy. My skin is pink and wrinkly, and it's hard to imagine I was ever that tiny.

Next there are pictures of me in the hospital after I was cleaned up and put in cute pink clothes. A tag with my name, weight, and height are laid on the bed next to me.  There are several baby pictures of me that I've never seen before. In most of the pictures it's just me. But there are a few of mom or dad holding me. Some with my grandparents before they died. I see pictures of me on each birthday, pictures from when I learned how to ride my bike, pictures from Christmases. They all come to a sudden halt, shortly after my seventh birthday, and when I get to that part, I realize tears are falling silently down my cheeks.

I could see the progression in Mom's face in the few pictures she was in as I got older. She continued to get thinner and her expressions are less animated. Her smile was more tight and fake. Her eyes more hollow.  

What could have been so bad about her life? I know Dad loved her and could never have mistreated her. Dad always says I was a good kid growing up. That he was blessed to have such a well-behaved child. So what was it? What caused the scene I discovered that day in the bathroom as a child? 

I wipe my eyes and toss the photo album into the closet. I need to take a shower and clear my head. By the time I emerge from the steam and get ready for bed, it's nearly eleven. My phone rings as I crawl into bed and get under the covers. I glance over at the screen and see Adam's name. I momentarily forget my melancholy state and answer the phone. 

"Hello?" I answer hesitantly. 

"Oh, good, you're awake still." He says when I answer. "I wasn't sure how late you usually stay up," he adds. 

"About this time," I say. "Are you normally up late?" I question. 

"Just about every night." He says, sighing. 

"When do you usually go to bed?" I ask, curiouser now. 

"Whenever I pass out. Usually two or three in the morning." 

"That sounds rather unhealthy," I comment, though I'm not entirely surprised to hear his response. 

"It probably is. I have a hard time falling asleep." He admits. 

"Why's that?" I question. 

"Too much on my mind. It never shuts off, really, my mind." 

"What's on your mind tonight?" I ask. 

"You." I blush deeply at his blatant transparency. 

"What about me?" I ask, a smile creeping. My heart skips a beat as I wait for his answer. 

His breath sounds husky when he says, "Everything." I don't say anything. Waiting to see if he elaborates, and he does. "I'm thinking about your beautiful face and hair. About your sweet, kind nature - How I can't believe that you just walked up to me that day. That I didn't have to approach you first. That you're somehow still here after spending an entire day with me. How I've never done that before, and it seems odd, yet not..." he rambles on.

I want to ask him if he's drunk, and I suspect he is, but don't say anything. I don't want to ruin the moment. Besides, I've learned that people are often very honest when they're drunk. "Wow, I must have made a very good impression on you," I say, chuckling. 

He chuckles, too. "Yeah, I guess you have. Strange.." he says, trailing off.  Then suddenly, "Hey, do you want to grab a coffee in the morning? Our usual place?" 

I think about my work schedule and decide I could probably make it work. "I could probably squeeze that into my schedule," I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

"How about around ten? You can get a little work done first, then." He suggests. 

"Okay, ten it is," I say smiling.  

He sighs. "I suppose I should let you get some sleep now." 

"Yes, I'm pretty worn out after today. I hope you can sleep, too." I add, though I really don't want to hang up. 

"I'll do my best. Sweet dreams, Rosaline." 

I sigh blissfully as I lay back down in bed and get comfortable. I can't wait for the morning to come.