I used to think that time stood still. Of course, I knew it moved. The sky would get darker every night, and lighten again each morning. But I stayed the same. My bones didn’t get tired. I didn’t gain any weight. Nothing decayed. Nothing broke down into smaller, simpler versions of itself. From my viewpoint, time stood still.
It was this narrow minded view of time that made life so interesting, so carefree. So what if I didn’t make it today, I could always try again tomorrow. Deadlines only existed at work, and I didn’t care enough about it to let it worry me when I wasn’t there. If that meant waking up 20 minutes before I had to be there, skipping my shower, and coming in with a wrinkled shirt, it wouldn’t really bother me. More often than not, until I got my very last job, work was really just another social gathering. Another place to meet people. Another chance to hook up. Another chance to connect with someone and really feel life, at least for an instant.
I am unable to point to the circumstances that made time move again. When an entire portion of your life is merely one long instant, the days and months and years all blur together. I can’t remember even what year it was that I quit one job and started another. Sometimes I get the order of who I dated when all mixed up. If you asked me how many people I’ve slept with, I’d have to count in my head and would most likely say, a few minutes later, “Oh, wait. I missed one.” It’s almost demeaning to list them all out in one long word, simply so I can count the syllables.
In reality, it’s easier to remember the names and faces of those that I couldn’t have, or didn’t have. If I were to try to make that list of names, I would list them slowly and perfectly. Stopping at each one to recount the closest that I came and why I didn’t get any further. I could tell you what made each of them so attractive; so desired. With this list, the order doesn’t matter, because the fact was constant and recurring.
From job to job, roommate to roommate, lover to lover, misfortune to misfortune, I have one blurry instant in time to keep it all.
Time doesn’t stand still any longer. I’m getting older. I’m getting tired. I’m losing my touch. I recently ran into the step-father of the first girl I ever slept with. I quickly extended my hand and announced, happily, “This is my wife, Jess”. He shook her hand, I think, and stood for a minute before saying only one thing to me. While patting his gut he announced, “You’ve put on a little weight, haven’t you?”. I didn’t even grace him with a response; just a curse masked with a chuckle. Then it was time to leave.
I wouldn’t trade what I have now to go back to where time stood still. But for a moment — for this moment — it’s nice to look back and live in that instant again.