The Essence of Time

By: Alana Wolfinger

“There isn’t enough time in the day,” is a statement we all know and love. Well at least I used to. My mom would repeat this every time she was stressed, and it imprinted itself in my mind. I began to have the same habit. Any minor inconvenience encountered became a “time” problem, not a “me” problem. One important day, though, I realized time was a gift. 

My hair was knotted to the back of my neck, while purple streaks hung before my face. I sat in class staring at the clock waiting for that bell to ring, like I did every day, for 180 days out of the 365 days a year. I wasn’t set on going home, if anything, that was the last place I wanted to be. Instead, I was determined to get shotgun in my best friend’s white, beat-up Subaru. 

The bell rang, and I raced down the stairs to the sophomore hallway. I held my nose while walking past freshmen, knowing they hadn’t discovered deodorant yet.  I shoved my books in my locker that smelled of over-used soccer cleats. Sprinting down the hallway, I ran into my two other friends that tag along each car ride. They had yet to pack their bookbags, which meant I was going to get shotgun.

My butt hit the gray car seat, and the aches in my back from the metal chairs went away. The tension of school was released, and my friends and I were ready to take on the world. I checked the radio screen and saw it was three o’clock. I thought of all the homework I had. The thought of not having enough time crossed my mind. Even though there was, I just wanted to hang out with my friends instead of being responsible.

 We had music blasting, all the windows down. Not a care in the world. My two friends in the back had their noses shoved in their phones. They were taking videos of themselves listening to the loud upbeat music protruding from the speakers, almost as if they were at a party. I rolled my eyes at them sarcastically knowing that when I got home, I would be watching those videos on Snapchat, instead of doing my essay due tomorrow before first period.  

Suddenly, we passed by a yard with a lady tending to her garden. Wrinkles caressed her face, while the sun gleamed on her gray hair. It was the same color as the seats in the car.  I loved my seat in the car just as much as I loved that woman’s hair. She turned around shortly after my thoughts passed out of my mind. It was almost as if she could hear me calling to her. I smiled and yelled out the window that she was beautiful. 

At that moment, the world went into slow motion. My hair falling out, and my body perched out the window with a wide smile on my face. Her hair was still and her vision was centered on me. I could tell her heart melted. I understood the smile she gave me. She saw her youth within me, and was thankful she could feel like a young girl again, even if it was just for a minute. That minute showed me that time was a gift. The woman and I got to experience that minute together, in happiness. I never asked for more time in the day ever again.