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On Days When the Clock is Too Bright,

by esthersanti1600


I gauge the time by your shoes. I squint at the back of your worn-down Converse to read what you’ve Sharpied on the tag - some band I’ve never heard of. Your heels are flat on the floor at 7:20 AM. By the time you stand for the pledge at morning announcements at 7:23, you return to a sitting position with a slight tapping of your index finger, maybe the wiggling of a pencil. During our final ten minutes of work time from 7:50-8:00 (you know how Ms. Longworth is always tired in the mornings and gives us work time?), I can hear you tap-tap-tapping on the table while you pat-pat-pat on the floor. Pat-pat-pat, because those shoes are so worn-down on the soles that they’ve lost their slap-slap-slap of new vinyl that they had back in October. It’s February now, and the mornings are so dark that the clock is too bright, and I know what time it is by your shoes.

I gauge the day by your grey sweatshirt. You know, the grey fleece with the collar, slightly darker on top than the bottom? I had one just like it in purple. I’ll tell you a secret - every time I wore it, I had slept in it the night before. It got too cold some nights and I’d pull it on in the dark, feel the fleece warmed by my chest as I tucked my chin into the collar and curled up. And every next morning, I wouldn’t even look in the mirror, wouldn’t even brush my hair. But I would see you, wearing your grey sweater. And I’d think hey, we’re wearing the same sweater. Except yours is grey, and mine is purple. Isn’t that funny? After I noticed our two-person dress code pattern for more than a few times, I realized that every Thursday, you wear your grey sweatshirt.

I gauge the weather by your hair. My walks from my car are dazed, my thoughts and feelings of the climate drowned out by something angsty in my headphones. But your hair; your floppy blonde hair and the way falls a little in your face every day. And your nose, your pointy nose that I know you don’t like; on rainy days, a crystalline droplet drips from your hair and lingers on the bridge of your nose. On misty days, the dampness on your head is more of a hazy sheen than the thick streaks that form on rainy days, dyeing the thickest areas on your head slightly brown. It dried, but slowly enough that by the time you got up and left at the sound of the bell, the tips of each strand had formed a point that dripped down the back of your neck and left streaks of darker grey down your sweater that you wear on Thursdays.

By the time the bell for the second period rings in the speaker above your head, I owe it to you that I can pick up my phone that I grabbed off the nightstand before I left and for the first time, check the clock. I watch as your sneakers pat-pat-pat to your car to take your free second period at the coffee shop on the corner, and I wish I could go with you. When the clock isn't so bright and my eyes aren't so tired, maybe one day I'll tap you on the shoulder and ask.


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1097 Reviews


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Reviews: 1097

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Tue Dec 15, 2020 7:41 pm
HarryHardy wrote a review...



Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Night(whichever one it is in your part of the world),

Hi!

First Impression: Okay so this was an interesting little short there. There were some pretty neat details in there and it looks like the protagonist here is trying to work up the courage to ask someone out or something along those lines from what I interpreted at least on my first read.

Anyway let's get right to it,

I gauge the time by your shoes. I squint at the back of your worn-down Converse to read what you’ve Sharpied on the tag - some band I’ve never heard of. Your heels are flat on the floor at 7:20 AM. By the time you stand for the pledge at morning announcements at 7:23, you return to a sitting position with a slight tapping of your index finger, maybe the wiggling of a pencil. During our final ten minutes of work time from 7:50-8:00 (you know how Ms. Longworth is always tired in the mornings and gives us work time?), I can hear you tap-tap-tapping on the table while you pat-pat-pat on the floor. Pat-pat-pat, because those shoes are so worn-down on the soles that they’ve lost their slap-slap-slap of new vinyl that they had back in October. It’s February now, and the mornings are so dark that the clock is too bright, and I know what time it is by your shoes.


Well that is certainly a very interesting observation that this person is making right there. A pretty interesting way of starting a story too there with some nice hints and the background and backstory of this while also establishing this person knows the person with the shoes quite well.

I gauge the day by your grey sweatshirt. You know, the grey fleece with the collar, slightly darker on top than the bottom? I had one just like it in purple. I’ll tell you a secret - every time I wore it, I had slept in it the night before. It got too cold some nights and I’d pull it on in the dark, feel the fleece warmed by my chest as I tucked my chin into the collar and curled up. And every next morning, I wouldn’t even look in the mirror, wouldn’t even brush my hair. But I would see you, wearing your grey sweater. And I’d think hey, we’re wearing the same sweater. Except yours is grey, and mine is purple. Isn’t that funny? After I noticed our two-person dress code pattern for more than a few times, I realized that every Thursday, you wear your grey sweatshirt.


Oooh we have more interesting observation, by this I'm not sure if this is someone being creepy or is this meant to be a really good friendship but I suppose I will find out. Once again the details are quite fun and I love the background being established.

I gauge the weather by your hair. My walks from my car are dazed, my thoughts and feelings of the climate drowned out by something angsty in my headphones. But your hair; your floppy blonde hair and the way falls a little in your face every day. And your nose, your pointy nose that I know you don’t like; on rainy days, a crystalline droplet drips from your hair and lingers on the bridge of your nose. On misty days, the dampness on your head is more of a hazy sheen than the thick streaks that form on rainy days, dyeing the thickest areas on your head slightly brown. It dried, but slowly enough that by the time you got up and left at the sound of the bell, the tips of each strand had formed a point that dripped down the back of your neck and left streaks of darker grey down your sweater that you wear on Thursdays.


Wow this is getting to like Sherlock Holmes levels of observation skills right now and I am getting the feeling this just might be a little creepy now.

By the time the bell for the second period rings in the speaker above your head, I owe it to you that I can pick up my phone that I grabbed off the nightstand before I left and for the first time, check the clock. I watch as your sneakers pat-pat-pat to your car to take your free second period at the coffee shop on the corner, and I wish I could go with you. When the clock isn't so bright and my eyes aren't so tired, maybe one day I'll tap you on the shoulder and ask.


Oooh...okay well that ends on a really interesting note there. Definitely sounds a little less creepy on that line and more like someone out to ask someone on a date.

Aaaaand that's it for this one.

Overall: Overall this seems like a pretty neat little story. I don't if this will have a part two but if it does I would probably read it. This is a pretty interesting idea that you've got here that's definitely quite realistic.

As always remember to take what you think was helpful and forget the rest.

Stay Safe
Harry




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Tue Dec 15, 2020 1:11 pm
Calandra wrote a review...



Greetings.

I gauge the time by your shoes.

The word "by" doesn't really make sense here. Something like "with" or even "of" wouldn't seem so awkward in that context. There's also "It's February now, and the mornings are so dark that the clock is too bright, and I know what time it is by your shoes," which would replace the "by" with an "in" as it's easier for people who originally don't speak English.

After I noticed our two-person dress code pattern for more than a few times, I realized that every Thursday, you wear your grey sweatshirt.

If you switch around the "every Thursday" to be after the "grey sweatshirt," this part would read a little neater. As it is, it isn't very clear to understand.

But your hair; your floppy blonde hair and the way falls a little in your face every day.
No need for the semicolon. A comma works fine on it's own. Also, "falls" doesn't agree with the subject here, so it'd be "fall."

That's it.

Cal





cron
It's easier to come up with new stories than it is to finish the ones you already have. I think every author would feel that way.
— Stephanie Meyer