Expiration Dates

6 years ago: Confessions

As you could probably tell, my first experience with the numbers wasn't with Nana. I wasn't exactly used to or comfortable with the ability of knowing people's, well, let's call it expiration dates, but the first time I noticed my ability was when I was a tiny child. At that time, I did not understand what the numbers meant, considering I was an innocent, ignorant baby.

It was 2004, July 24th, about noon when I was just 5 years old.

"Mom!"

I waddled over to my mother, who was situated on a stool, furrowing her brows as she typed on her laptop. I was holding Connie -my white labrador- in my arms, looking into its beady eyes with curiosity. Connie was so small, for he was only a month old, and he looked exactly like the dolls other girls would play with. I looked up at my mother, and tugged on her skirt.

"Why are there little numbers on Connie's eyes?"

She wasn't really listening. She replied with a vague 'Mhmm,' and I was left there staring into my puppy's eyes, wondering what '2012-09-17-2:38' meant.

Little did I know that it was the dreadful timer ticking in his soul, patiently waiting for the end to come.

That night, I saw in my dreams, countless different clocks of all sizes, gold and silver, analog and digital. I was walking down the aisle of darkness, clocks everywhere, and I remember attempting to touch one, but my hands repelled against it as if there was a magnetic force. The sound of them ticking were overwhelming, and I screamed as I ran and searched desperately for an end, slamming my hands to my ears.

Connie was just a puppy, and it still hurts to know that my mother willingly let him die of a disease, because we didn't have enough money to supply the whole family, much less with the dog combined. My father was overwhelmed with debt, and my mother, who is a lawyer, threatened to leave or divorce with him if he doesn't get his job together. We used to be a happy family, believe it or not, and I used to have an older brother, Joseph, too. Everything started to fall apart when I confessed my concerns about the numbers with my parents.

"I'm not lying, dad! Why won't you believe me?" I yelled, furious, hot tears trickling down my face.

"Honey, calm down." My father tried to console me as he tried to reach and grab my hand across the table.

"No! I could prove it! The numbers won't change. I can tell yours if you want!" I shouted angrily, but despite my words, I didn't make eye contact with my parents. I was never ready to carry the burden of that particular knowledge.

"Quiet, Leigh." My mother said sternly, as always, really. She was a smart woman, but never kind or gentle. In fact, my tears seemed to have annoyed her, for I can see the little muscle that ticked just below her eyes that appeared every time she was irritated. My father on the other hand, looked sorry and guilty, but I knew for a fact that he wasn't necessarily on my side at all.

"Would you like to know, mom?" I challenged, and regretted as soon as the words left my tongue. I knew for a fact that I would never have the courage to look at anyone in the eye, not after what happened to Connie.

Tap. Tippety-tap. Tap.

I heard light, rhythmic footsteps. Joseph, who was probably upstairs in his room studying, came down to our table, probably expecting dinner to be ready. His eyes went from me, then my parents, then back to me, as he raised his eyebrows as if to ask 'What's going on?'

"Joe!"

I ran to him, my gaze hazy with tears, and held onto him as if he was a rope down a cliff.

"They won't believe me," I said, struggling to catch my breath from crying and shouting at my parents. "T-they think I'm crazy, Joe. You b-believe me, right?" Please don't leave me.