Sound of a Broken Drum

Chapter 3

Have you listened to a clock when you're trying to fall asleep? That ticking, it's so rhythmic, so predictable. You know exactly when the next tick will happen like a beat. It's so soothing and safe, you can rely on it so well. That's how it lulls you to sleep.

But then just as you are about to cross over, something happens to the rhythm. A tick just doesn't happen. Or it happens a little too slow, like the clock missed time. Simple mistake for a human, but for a machine? Now you wonder if that clock is broken. Or if it is reliable. Time depends on it after all. The whole concept of time just gets thrown out the window with a broken clock. Now, you are left wide awake for the rest of the night, wondering if you need to replace that clock.

That's what life is a lot like sometimes. Everything goes smoothly, you keep beating right in time with everyone else like drums in a marching band. It's all in harmony. Then one day, something goes wrong, your drum misses and all of a sudden, you don't sound like anyone else in rhythm. You're off and everybody knows it. You try hard but you can't quite get it back to the way it was before. With everyone else. All you are now is a broken drum. And you have to live with its sound.

But you still got to keep beating.

This morning, I didn't wake up to that alarm clock. Instead, another noise woke me.

It was my phone ringing. It doesn't happen too often, I almost forgot the ringtone.

"Hello?"

"Syd?"

Of course I knew the voice. "Ma..."

"Syd honey, I am just checking up on you. How've you been?"

"I've been good, Mom. You know, same ol', same ol'."

"How are things at Kola's? Everything working out there?"

"Of course. How are you?"

"I'm good, Syd. You know not much happens back here at home. Just making sure you are okay. Everything's been good? How are you feeling?"

"Thank you, Ma but don't be worrying. You do that too much. I'm fine."

"Now Syd... how are your friends? Been hanging out with them."

I gave a slight pause. "Yeah... sure."

My mom worries me because she worries about me. Too much sometimes. Guess that is just what moms do. And it comes with the territory of being her only child, who she raised by herself. Aside from the occasional Joe who came through our house, she did it on her own. She's amazing for that. But then, ever since I left the house and moved here, she just worries. Maybe it's the empty nest thing. Maybe it's because there's nothing ever going on back home.

"You know you can call me anytime if you need anything, honey. Don't feel like you have to do everything on your own."

"Of course. You know I would. Love you, Ma. Take care of yourself good over there."

"I love you too, Syd. I will, just make sure you're okay."

These conversations I have with her usually end up sounding exactly the same each time. Word for word. I could probably record what I say and play it back each time she calls. Like an answering machine.

A human answering machine.

Today, I got work at Kola's. Otherwise, I just wait in my room and fantasize about Hana for a while. It is especially great when she is still fresh in my mind from the therapy session.

What are your needs, Syd?

YOU are my needs, Hana.

Oh Syd, I can't take this any longer. But it isn't... ethical.