The Time Between Seconds

Vain

"I have measured out my life in coffee spoons."

T.S. Eliot

I hand the teller my card and she smiles at me, where not a moment ago her eyes had widened at the sight of the amount I owe.

I pay and leave without a thank you or a goodbye. I don't have time for her judgement. No, I can't afford their overpriced clothes, but these are for a once in a lifetime event.

I continue to walk past the row of shops, my handbag slung over my shoulder, my heals click-clack on the floor and straight out of nowhere I'm hit with a wave of exhaustion. I lean against the wall with one hand as I make my way, on wobbly legs, toward the nearest coffee shop and take a seat.

By the time I sit down, I'm breathing heavily, but no matter how much I inhale the oxygen never seems to make its way into my blood stream.

I knew I should have stayed home, but I have nothing to wear.

A concerned-looking waiter puts a glass of water down in front of me with a smile. Once he turns his back I silently push it away – I never asked for it.

I never asked for any of it.

I wish it were as easy to push away my diagnosis as it is to push away an unwanted glass of water.

I lay down on the table top and fold my arms underneath my chin. It's as though I were that ninth grader again, trapped in the eternity of a boring Math class - yet somehow believing that because I was now allowed to drink coffee I was to some extent grown up.

I stare at the full glass at the other side and find myself getting angry. What an insult! Not leaving enough room in the glass for the age-old debate between optimist and pessimist and just forcing down the truth – the glass is completely full, "Our suspicions were confirmed,", "Yes, Mam. You are dying."

Full stop. The end. No debate.

And when I rummaged through my walk-in closet this morn, I realized that I didn't have the perfect outfit to be buried in. Truly a once in a lifetime event.

I will be the best dressed in the cemetery. My clothes will show that I lived a successful life and I will enter whatever world lies after death with pride - I repeat to myself again - but I am not convinced. This wasn't always my belief.

For a second longer I stare at the up-side-down vision of the world and I look at the people beyond, through the water, before I shove the glass off the table. I sit up and wait for all heads to turn in my direction, for someone to maybe even let out a little yelp at the sound of shattering glass, but no one does. I look around and realize that everything stopped, everyone around me is frozen – as though they were statues.

Waiters stand perfectly still, balancing plates and drink on trays, between the round tables where their customers are seated.

I look around. It's almost eerie to see the family of four, whose children were chattering a second ago, playing, teasing, completely silent and frozen half way in motion.

No sound. No movement.

For the first time I notice my surroundings and my eyes rest on a woman pushing a pram. I look away, but for some reason my eyes start to tear as they are drawn back to her.

I never had time for a family. I never had time for love. I never had time for anything but work and shopping and now I don't have time at all. All I'm left with is a closet full of clothes and an empty home.

Regret takes hold of my mind, as it does so much these days, and my thoughts start to spiral down the list of all the things I missed out on.

My anger flares up again. Determined to prove that my life wasn't in vain, I start reciting everything I have achieved, but before I can finish a tiny bit of movement catches my attention out of the corner of my eye.

There's a little girl, no more than five, peering around one of the human statues, looking at me. For a second, I wonder if she really did move, but then she blinks again and shyly waves at me. I wave back.

I blink and suddenly she's sitting opposite me, drinking a green, lime milkshake. That used to be my favourite flavour as a kid.

"Don't be sad," She says and takes another long slurp. "Mommy says Heaven is nice."

I smile at her words and look down at my clasped hands on the table top.

"When did you stop believing?" She asks, but her voice is different. I look up and find that she's aged ten years – and drinking coffee now. "Pass me a sugar, will you?" She points at the packages of sugar next to my hands.

I look away from her and pick out a packet, there's an inscription on it. It reads: "There's always a moment that separates the past from the future, and that moment is now."

I look up and hold out the packet to her. She's aged another ten years. She lifts an eyebrow. "No, thank you. I haven't drunk sugar in my coffee for years. You can put it in yours though."

I look down at my cup of coffee and frown. "No, I haven't drunk sugar in my coffee for years." I say, look up and find she's my age now.

"That's a good habit," she winks as me and we both lift our cups to our lips and take a sip. "It keeps us girls skinny. You were telling me about your new outfit, can I see?" She says and I frown, having completely forgotten about the clothes.

"Weren't we talking about Heaven?" I ask.

"Oh, please! That old fairy tale? We've agreed that all that matters are the here and now."

My skin crawls with disgust at her words, my words. I did agree, but now something just feels off about it. I think back over my life. When did I stop believing?

I shake my head – it only took a death sentence for me to realize that somewhere along the line I got caught up in the material and lost sight of The only thing that ever mattered.

I blink, the world comes back to life and suddenly I'm laying on my folded arms again, staring at the up-side-down picture of the world in the glass of water on the other side of the table.

I sit up and order a coffee – this time I'm drinking it with sugar.