She woke up. The day after her birthday, celebrated during the weekend, because there is not enough time during the week, because the dinner has to be made, because the floor is dirty, because it’s nothing special, a day like any other, because thinking about this day is a waste of time.
So another five minutes, and another five and another two if I buy the sandwich instead of making it myself. And if I pack my bag while brushing my teeth it can be four instead of two. But then it’s time to get up. ….Legs are sticking out over the dusty floor, the hand is blindly looking for the glasses, willpower is fighting with the weight of sleep and eventually shakes it off together with the nightie, stuffing it under the pillow.
As usual, first the watch on the wrist. A day is a world of control – you need to control your language, your facial expressions, control jokes and remarks, add a minute to a minute in order to be able to get through another hour, day, week and month of the calendar.
And here the morning world shutters against the edge of the unpredictable. The watch has stopped. It stubbornly shows the same hour, the hour of the late wake-up. A light shiver runs down her spine. The time has stopped a day after her birthday. The time frozen, strangled, laughing menacingly.
She looks at the watch. A flow of rationalizing thoughts comes over her. That it doesn’t mean anything, that it’s nonsense, simply fear plucked out of thin air, ridiculous panic, that it’s just the battery, a technical thing, sheer coincidence. And still fear starts playing tricks on her, it confuses her fingers on the shirt buttons, chooses socks that don’t match, makes her look into the mirror only half-consciously, hardly allows her to control the fringe gone crazy after the night.
She puts the watch away into the zipped pocket inside her bag. Better have it under control, better not lose it, especially not today.
So another five minutes, and another five and another two if I buy the sandwich instead of making it myself. And if I pack my bag while brushing my teeth it can be four instead of two. But then it’s time to get up. ….Legs are sticking out over the dusty floor, the hand is blindly looking for the glasses, willpower is fighting with the weight of sleep and eventually shakes it off together with the nightie, stuffing it under the pillow.
As usual, first the watch on the wrist. A day is a world of control – you need to control your language, your facial expressions, control jokes and remarks, add a minute to a minute in order to be able to get through another hour, day, week and month of the calendar.
And here the morning world shutters against the edge of the unpredictable. The watch has stopped. It stubbornly shows the same hour, the hour of the late wake-up. A light shiver runs down her spine. The time has stopped a day after her birthday. The time frozen, strangled, laughing menacingly.
She looks at the watch. A flow of rationalizing thoughts comes over her. That it doesn’t mean anything, that it’s nonsense, simply fear plucked out of thin air, ridiculous panic, that it’s just the battery, a technical thing, sheer coincidence. And still fear starts playing tricks on her, it confuses her fingers on the shirt buttons, chooses socks that don’t match, makes her look into the mirror only half-consciously, hardly allows her to control the fringe gone crazy after the night.
She puts the watch away into the zipped pocket inside her bag. Better have it under control, better not lose it, especially not today.
The whole day absent-minded. Feeling strange, like a borrowed jumper on a cold day. She crosses the street and gets into the lift more carefully than usual. She doesn’t speak while eating just in case and doesn’t drink gluttonously. Obviously she doesn’t even look at scissors or knives that could dangerously slip out of hands. She goes to bed like a good girl, not provoking her thoughts to escapades further than the colour of her trousers for the following day. Better blow on cold tea. Not jinx it. Not split hairs.
It wasn’t until a few days later, when she was standing in a line at the watchmaker’s that she remembered she had got the watch as a birthday present. And that every year ever since the battery allows it to be reborn by passing away in the early morning.
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