Second-Hand Clock
It seemed that every day that passed was spent waiting in anticipation. No longer did she live in the moment, caught up in the life that surrounded her, oblivious to any time past the immediate present. 'Future' was just a word to describe a vague point on the horizon, a point that would at sometime be reached, but never while she was be aware of it. Gone were the days of carefree joy, entire pointless days spent laughing and spinning in her version of paradise.
Before now, clocks held little importance. They were curious instruments that told the time of day and woke you up in the morning with a buzzer; not solemn statues that stood like watchtowers all over the house. She had taken to staring at them for stretches of time, mesmerized by the methodic ticking of the second hand, knowing that each tick placed by the hand would only bring her to a time when he would come back to her.
They used to be inseparable; the dynamic duo of Lily and James Potter. Life was in the fast lane, a wild ride of freedom and carelessness. Everything was a challenge, a new adventure to be embarked upon, a journey to a different time, place, and sensibility. Life was uncertain; that was what created the thrill. Having a job that was liable call up at three in the morning in order to race off to something undoubtedly dangerous -- that was what they lived for. Some may have craved a solid foundation, a platform on which they knew they would be safe -- but not them. Their only anchors were each other, moving at the same fast pace as they were.
It was foolish in retrospect; so caught up in their youth that they believed themselves to be invincible. They were smart, witty, and perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. It was the life avant garde, without boundaries or restrictions. It was their life, in their prime, with the world at their disposal.
She didn't know exactly when things changed, but she was certain that the change came about sometime after she married James. That was when the killings increased, and suspicion coated the wizarding world like a thick layer of dust. People who were once good friends turned out to be spies for Lord Voldemort, turning over information about those in core resistance force, allowing for them to be picked off, one by one, threat by threat. People around them died; good friends, colleagues, acquaintances, all murdered under a banner of power and greed.
Life slowed a little then; the thrill was slowly sucked away from their lives. The feeling of uncertainty and freedom was tainted, dampened by the cloaks of fear that each person carried with them. It was hard not to be scared and fearful in such times, no matter how well prepared you were. It was ironic, that life was just as uncertain as it had been before; only now it was tight and constraining, an unwilling box placed over their lives. The feeling that they had once craved had morphed and taken on a new, more intimidating form.
The future was no longer such an unknown phenomenon, no longer an empty void that would fill itself in its own time. It was a sharp and terrifying reality, looming closer and closer with each passing moment, throwing into sharp relief the fact that for all their intelligence and arrogance, they were not prepared for what was rapidly closing in upon them.
She was the first to admit that she was terrified of the future. She liked to think that she was somewhat in control of her life, and it felt like it was spiraling away from her. The harder she tried to grasp at it, the harder it slipped away from her, an ever-elusive part of her that she so desperately needed. James' support could only steady her so much, and although she loved him relentlessly, she needed that essential part of herself before she could feel completely satisfied.
Every ounce of terror and uncertainty within her intensified when she found out she was pregnant. It was then she knew that any uncertainty she had ever wanted was merely under the clever guise of thrill-seeking; uncertainty was a vile, gut-twisting emotion that left her crying to fill her sleepless nights.
It must have been then that she discovered time. It was her saving grace, a helping hand in her time of need. Each day become sectored and quartered into time slots, each passing moment clocked and stop-watched. It sounded extremely bizarre; to need to count each moment in life, but to her it was the only thing that kept her sane. Time offered her the hand that pulled her to her feet, letting her come to terms with the future, her child, and her life.
Except it never let go.
What pulled her together initially was carefully unraveling her at the seams. Once upon a time, having her life perfectly timed was a blessing; now it was the cage was slowly smothering her. It was a trap that she couldn't spring from, either mentally or physically. At one point, she had dismantled every clock in the house, in hopes of breaking free of the need to know exactly what times it was and when something was due to happen in relation to that. She had craved the feeling of thrill that used to swamp her entire being, and removing her greatest crutch seemed to logically as a first step in regaining what she used to feel.
It was so easy before, to just cast her life in a net of time. She knew exactly when everything would occur, and could base her life around that. When she had to wake up, have a shower, eat, go to work…it was all divided into perfectly allotted periods of time. That way she could know that her life was moving forward, always progressing in intervals of time, not just a haze of futuristic occurrences.
It was a trap from which she could not escape. It was a never-ending cycle of seconds, minutes and hours, ticking away menacingly from each corner of the house. It was her savior laced in poison.
The only thing that seemed to abate her obsession was James. He was the reason she stood in front of the clock now, watching seconds tick by with aching slowness. She was haunted when the minutes dragged without him, caught up in her own frustration and longing. When he was with her, she was immersed in the carefree feeling that she had once depended, sunk in the bliss of her emotions. Time became inconsequential; speeding up to an irrational tempo that was played and done before she could catch her breath.
It was like a light gone out in a dark room when he left. Of course she knew that he would never leave voluntarily; but he had to, all the same. She was left with her small shifts, endless paperwork and an empty house, none of which quelled the longing inside her, the longing for something that was more.
She could vaguely remember her pregnancy; she remembered the birth in vivid detail. Her son was a second light to pierce through a world shrouded in fears and darkness, a hope unto her world. He was a constant inspiration to get through the day, to believe that there was still something good and pure in the world. He brought a smile to her face and relaxed her stance.
It didn't seem to be entirely enough. There were relapses; not unlike that of someone who had been depressed for a long period of time, and was only now getting out of it. She did not consider herself to be depressed, but it was ironic that on the surface that would seem to be so. It was only her unhealthy obsession with time that caught her from falling into that dark pit of uncertainty. It was like grasping onto thorny vines as she fell, ripping the flesh from her, but necessary by being the only way to break her fall.
Then, at that moment, she was just a woman with a sleeping son who was over a year old, and a husband who was forced away from her daily against both their wills. All that was left to do was to stare at the clock, watching its ornate hand click from notch to notch, taking its time, mocking her urgency. Carefully counting down the days that they had left, making sure she knew exactly what her deadline was, and how long that was from the time present.
She got up from where she sat, needing to engage herself in something other than her own mind. She would loop her thoughts into unending circles, until not even she knew where they began and ended, and everything was a muddled mess of corrupt logic and intense desires. She knew she would run herself into a frenzy that would take her too long to dig herself out of.
A gust of wind blew up the curtain in the kitchen, sending a flood of cold air toward her. She walked over and pulled the window shut, watching as the curtain floated down to rest against the pane once more. The frost that coated the glass melted through onto the curtain, causing it to fabric to stick to the pane. She placed her hand against the glass, feeling the electric shock of the freezing water against her warm palm. The heat melted the ice around her hand, leaving behind a larger than life imprint when she drew her hand back against her chest.
Through the ring of melted, she could see the blurry outlines of the darkening October day, and the shadows that yawned and stretched out from behind trees and buildings. What little light that remained was smoky and pale, gradually getting weaker with each passing moment.
She sighed and turned away from the window, sick of the feelings inside her, sick of waiting and sick of time. All she wanted at that moment was James, and he wasn't with her. She wanted a distraction from her thoughts, something to draw her away from the relentless prowling of her mind.
There were a lot of things she wanted but couldn't have, she mused as she wandered back towards her couch and slid down the back of it. Peace of mind, she supposed, was one of them.
The silence swallowed everything around her, leaving only the ticking of the clock to break through the mire. No sound came from Harry's room, no mysterious creaking of floorboards from around the house, no wind or sleet or rain came down…no James. It was too quiet -- filled with an eerie still that did little to quell her restless mood. She buried her head in her hands, wishing she could push her thoughts out of her head.
There was a small bang and the creaking of the heavy front door being opened. The sound of soft footsteps filtered her ears, echoing against the silence that refused to abandon her. She didn't need to look up to know that it was James, coming home to a quiet house and his wife upon the floor, a mental wreck. She saw herself from his eyes; a shadow of the woman she once was, perpetually haunted by lingering fears, and wished she could be strong. Just once, to make a difference in the world, to make a difference with herself.
Gentle fingers pried her hands away from her face, forcing her to look at her husband's deep hazel eyes. Somehow, the fact that he had to pick her up again and again only made her more restless, more self-loathing than she had been previously. James was always there, always strong, and there was no one else she would rather see at the moment. She wanted to pour her heart out to him, cry on his shoulder, tell him what was troubling her and ask his advice.
She looked him in the eye, as he waited for her to say something, explain what was wrong, anything.
"I missed you," she said simply.
A twisted, one-sided smile graced James' face as he opened his arms and embraced her. Everything was fine in that moment; it was as if he knew her troubles and took them away from her momentarily, letting her bask in his arms in peace.
"I missed you too," he whispered against her hair.
They sat there is the silence, on the floor against the couch, wrapped in each other's arms. They didn't move or speak; they were lost in the simplicity of the time they had left together. The silence was thick around them, punctuated only by the ticking of the clock that hung upon the wall.
Time. Everything came back to time.