I’m Sorry the Clock Won

I’m Sorry the Clock Won
By Angilique Coleman

The seconds are racing, the minutes are chasing behind, and the hours
are eternities. The clock is my father’s enemy and my annoyance because every
movement of her hands means my father losing seconds, minutes, and hours with
me that he can never regain…But my hopes are still higher than God because
fathers have to come and rescue their children from their skepticism right? Tick;
He has to be close by… right around the corner. Tock. He has to be coming.
The next car has to be him…Tick…or maybe the next one…Tock…but the next
car is definitely my dad coming to put my doubts to rest, telling me that the clock
is wrong because we have all the time in the world. Tick.
So I continue to look up the street from my window, anticipating his
arrival. Tock. I wait with my sister, who only goads my hopefulness. Tick. My
mother keeps telling me that I should change my clothes, watch some TV, play a
game even, but I don’t hear her…I do not want to hear her. Tock. There is no
point because the next car looks just like his! …Tick…I think it’s slowing
down!…Oh…in front of another house… Tock. Guess that’s not him. Tick. It’s
fine…next one. He’ll be in the next car, waltz right into my life and quiet my
uncertainty. Tock.
He never came. Tick. He never called. Tock. He never said sorry.
Tick. And he lives five minutes away. Tock. He never told me why he never
came. Tick.
And I cried.
I cried because I had to grow up. I cried because I didn’t
understand…Tick. I cried because the clock was right. He would never be on
time and he could never reclaim the time it took to crush his little girl’s dreams.
Tock. I wish the clock would just stop rubbing it in… You win…
Goodnight daddy.

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Categories: Writer's Corner

Author:Black Praxis Magazine

www.blackpraxis.com

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