A young man, caught between the two worlds of adulthood and childhood sits in a coffee shop. The shop lies 10 minutes by foot from his home. The clock on the wall reads 2:00pm. He looks down at his watch as if not wanting to believe the wall-clock. Wishing for 26 hours in a day, he pulls a book, given to him by a friend, out of his pocket and begins to read. His left hand holds the small book open, his right rests on his left wrist, exposing the face of his watch to the light overhead. Just as he feels himself becoming lost in the novel, as he smiles in reaction to its story, as he feels time slipping away, the young man looks to his watch and bites into his sandwich again sharply returning to reality. 5 minutes. The time between glances, never more than a second or two off.
2:15pm. 2 hours, 15 minutes from noon. Noon, that time of day marked on his calendar, the beginning of the hour designated lunch. The young man chuckles unable to recall the last time that slot of time was used properly. He feels himself getting lost in the story again. This time, however, he lets it linger ever so slightly, letting his mind wander over the concept of time and circumstance, before being wrenched back to reality by the hands of his watch. The young man delights in pondering such things as time, circumstance, the mysteries of the universe that surrounds him. He analyzes the concept of time, theorizes about it, then, giving up on finding an answer, simply admires it, experiences what it has to offer. First the scientist, then the artist, or perhaps the other way around. The young man continues to contradict himself. Indeed the young man and time have that in common. He finds all aspects of his life conflicting with one another, while time finds all aspects of itself conflicting. Time appears methodical, yet sporadic, constant, yet relative, linear, yet circular, measurable, yet infinite. Despite the contradictions, both refuse to settle to a single conclusion.
2:25. The sandwich is gone, the soda drained, and the young man allows the book to take his full concentration, the false necessities of life having been taken care of. The stories in the book inspire memories as so many novels strive to attain. Memory. The young man lets his mind wander over the concept. Snapshots of time. Usually no more than a few minutes in succession. Memory, a two-edged blade both conserving and destructive, enhances those few moments in one's mind, but in sacrifice discards all things surround that moment as if they never existed. His mind goes off on a tangent as it is want to do. His eyes begin not looking at the table in front of him, but through the table, into that space that is behind, between, within time itself. He is taken back to a time in his recent past, the sound of laughter, his own as well as another's draws him back into the memory.
6:00pm. That's the time he arrived.
6:15pm. That's the time that time...ceased to exist.
No clock adorned the walls, no schedule had been set. Dinner, movie, nothing, those were the three things on the agenda. He smiled at the clutter all around him. On the surface he smiled wishing he could let his own space fall into such disarray. Beneath that, however, his smile was at all the things that were lying around. Each had meaning, each significance, and despite the chaos, each had its place. Various projects lay around, in varying stages of completion, each one different, yet each revealing an important piece of the person who created them. The young man stood in the doorway looking into the kitchen and watched his friend prepare dinner. There was no real reason for it, it was not because there was nothing better to do, nor was it because he found it particularly exciting, actually it seemed to calm him down, make him feel at home, it was very comforting. It still shocked him when he thought of how quickly they became friends, and as with the others he considered his closest of friends, he had no recollection of how or when they had met. It was as if the friendship had always been there, there had been no beginning, just as there would be no end. The two enjoyed the evening, talking, laughing, smiling, simply taking pleasure in each other's company.
2:00am. Reality hits. Time returns. Life, sadly, begins again.
2:30pm. Class begins in 30 minutes. The book must be put away, the mile walk started, the thoughts and memories put aside for another time...when time could melt into the background and cease to exist.