Adriane.

Being twelve and knowing when it’s going to happen isn’t pleasant. The burden I’ll carry throughout my lifetime will forever give me either helpful knowledge or dangerous information that could potentially put me at risk for danger. Sometimes I wonder what’s wrong with me. Looking at people, strangers and those you love and all the while knowing the big day is coming. That big day that I keep repeating is the day when someone takes their last breath, thinks their last thought, and says their last “I love you.” That’s what I can see, the clock that tells how many days are left in someone's life, its numbers tediously ticking down.

“One point for team three,” her raspy voice announced with little enthusiasm as we all sat, boredom overwhelming us. Math wasn’t my best subject and even that was being modest, personally I was dumbstruck when it came to pre algebra. I sat in the back of class for a reason. There I could “try” to concentrate without the glaring eyes of Miss Brewton scanning over my notebook. Notice the type of Miss I used, that’s right she wasn’t married and personally I’d feel bad for any poor soul that would ever have to be stuck with her. Since it was the last month of school we didn’t have really anything left to learn, so we were left playing math jeopardy. To my left sat my best friend Marilyn Simmons.

She was nothing like Marilyn Monroe the sex symbol of the fifties. My friend didn’t have the kinky personality, quiet voice or even for that matter blonde hair! Her springy, chestnut hair was surprisingly pulled back, although few ringlets escaped the hair-ties grasp. Unlike me she was a math wiz, her hazel eyes scanned rapidly over her work trying to win the daily double for our team. I smiled; many of the kids in class were envious of me and the few other kids who were on her team. We generally always won, and due to the fact I was horrible at math I had the job of raising my hand and shouting out the answer. I had the loudest voice.

A smile crept upon her face, her head raised to me and she winked. I hadn’t realized why until I turned the other way to the blushing face of James R. Dixon. Ducking his face behind his arm facing back to his paper he ignored me. He tried to be discreet about it, but it didn’t work. He was my seventh grade crush. I didn’t see why Marilyn was making a deal about him looking at me, I mean there wasn’t even a chance he could like me.

I looked above his head and then my glowing smile disappeared into the frown I wore so often. Above his brown hair covered head were black rectangles with white numbers printed upon them. The first number folded down into a number lower than that. One more day was gone from his life. I gazed around the room and every one of my peers had white numbers ticking away too. If I had to describe how the clock looked it’d be like this. Imagine those old alarm clocks with those little black panels that had the time written in white numbers. And then they’d flip up as the time passed. So, think of that except there’d be no colon separating the hour from minutes and instead of telling time it showed how many days were left in someone’s life, well that’s how I though of it.

I desperately tried to find ways to see if I was mental or really able to watch the countdown. Looking above me to the metal air vent, the light from the window behind granted me a reflection. I didn’t see my own clock which irked me constantly. The irony that I would know the day others die, but not my own. Sometimes I just had to laugh at it; I always did say “life’s much easier with a sense of humor.” The first time I could recall seeing the clock was four years ago on the pier.

Due to the fact it was a Saturday kids were out playing in the waves and running among the tide pools. Sun peeked behind the clouds allowing the sky to be an off white, pale blue color. Fisherman alike in yellow slickers stood about at their poles staring mindlessly at the sea. Their haggard appearances resulting from getting up too early seemed repulsive to tourists, however they brought in our biggest income to town from wild fish and lobster. Straining my neck to look up to the left I could see the inactive lighthouse that marked the border of our city.

The residue of sea water, gave away my presence from the irritating pucker noise following every step. Some would turn and tip their hats or smile politely. People usually stereotyped them to be nut jobs like Captain Abraham from Moby Dick, or the lunatic fisherman from Jaws who both ended up being “sea food.”

That’s when I heard it the tick. At that moment I didn’t know what I was in for. What was that noise? Turning my head back and forth I couldn’t find the source of it. The sound would mute and then become loud like a radio finding reception. The sound finally became clear; it was one of a clock. Un-fortunately I soon found my destination, before me was a young fisherman probably around twenty five.

“Excuse me do you here that tick?” I asked curiously.

“Umm, no I don’t.” He said puzzled, but none the less happy. The one thing I admired about this stranger besides his good looks was his cherry disposition. Leaning against the wooden railing with a loud creak he tilted back his head to catch the rays of warming sunlight. He smiled and closed his eyes; he seemed to appreciate the occasional good weather in our town as much as I did.

Positioning my weight to one hip I began to shake off my nervous tension and relaxed. Even though I began to relax the odd black boxes with white numbers flicking by with intense speed above his head crept me out. The boxes slowed as the numbers hit ten, nine, and eight. I ignored it not wanting to be mistaken for crazy, because I was staring above his head with my mouth wide open.

“So are you new to town?” I asked. Since I was new here I thought it would be interesting if this man was a newcomer like myself.

“Why yes I-” Silence.

Terminated. Gone. In the pervious spilt seconds the railing snapped as only a single black box was left over his head with a one upon it. His face had gone pale, and the smile I had adored disappeared as though he’d seen death before him. He didn’t holler, but just fell. I must have been death for I had been the only one to see him fall. He fell so gracefully, yet the site of him falling made me cringe, I turned away shuddering. I began to walk away trembling, the faint echo of a crack ringed in my ears.

The damn wood had rot from the inside out. Other men pushed by to see the devastating scene. Some yelled for help, however something inside me knew nothing would change and that from then on his string had been “cut by the faiths.” No one ever knew that day that I had seen the clock or his fall. Even to this day I hadn’t told anyone about either of the two, to my friends or even family.

I would keep this secret stuck in my chest till the day I croaked (if I even knew that day.) The fact was this was the first time in the past year I’d dug that memory from the archives in my brain.

Sheepishly I peered up to the scowling face of Miss. Brewton. Her tacky red lips fell into a frown. And that wart, oh god that wart sitting on her face right under her left eye was so horrid. That protruding, puss filled wart with that single hair sprouting, I despised her and the monstrous beast upon her face!

“Hiya,” I stammered, air leaking between my some what gritted teeth. She began to lean down like she would bite my head off with one chop of her in great need of dental repair teeth.

Ring, the transitioning bell rung, thank god I thought in my head. I hurriedly gathered my things scrambling from my seat not even waiting for her to yell. The bell was my savior. I walked past my classmates and opened the door stepping into the shimmering sunlight. You see our Jr. High had no hallways it was an outside school with just buildings scattered on one big campus.

I tried to recall what she probably had been asking me. Holding my stack of books to my chest tightly I day dreamed freely of my friends knowing that I could see the clock and of course James and I dating happily.

“Hey scatterbrain, cat got your tongue?” turning around to see Marilyn running up I slowed my pace, “what happened with you in math class?”

“Just day dreaming as always, you know just the usual.” Sometimes it was hard to think of other lies to fulfill my odd behavior around friends besides the one I used so often, day dreaming.

“Ha! I sure want to see the day you ever stop doing that, and man Mrs. Brewton’s at the end of her rope with you.”

“Tell me ‘bout it,” both of us beginning to chuckle.

“I got to go to history meet me at our spot for lunch, okay,” she hollered walking the opposite way.

Waving I could still spot her walking to the old bungalows her hair was so free it blew in the breeze as though it was the breeze itself. Stepping into the pool of shade that swallowed the classroom door I entered feeling at ease, since English was my turf. The classroom was ordinary, posters of parts of speech or narrative techniques decorated the wall. The lights were bright, and the heater was on high, this homey area was anything, but drafty.

Slinging my brown messenger bag over the back of my chair I sunk into my seat. Before me was a #2 pencil and a bubbling sheet, pop quiz, ouch wasn’t expecting that. I didn’t mind I always scored at least an 80% for every test unless it was math; however I wasn’t the least a bit of a nerd.

“Hey bub,” the cheerful voice of James spoke as he sat next to me.

As well as being my crush he’d become my best guy friend. “How’s it going,” I said battering my eyes probably way to much.

“Not much really and what’s the deal with this rumor about you running away from your dad?” I came to realize he’s asked about my father.

With my head cocked to the side and my eyes not daring to meet his I didn’t answer for my dad was a highly touchy subject.