Between The Squiggles

As my last wish, Adam asked what I wanted. Adam was in his 50s, with a stubble so faint it seemed almost embarrassed to exist, and eyes — yellow, of all colors. I never knew grim reapers could have yellow eyes. One new fact to carry with me into death.

“So? What do you want?” Adam Asked

“Take me inside a memory I have of as a ten year old,” I said.

In a flash, I was transported to the house I lived as a child several several decades ago. It was night time, probably right after all of us had done eating dinner. I stood there in the living room, taking in the environment when I noticed the white wall clock that I had long buried in my memory. It was white in color and had a yellow duck printed in the middle of it. The wall clock was something I had won in a sports event as a ten-year old and it filled me with immense pride that my mother would later take it from me to stage it up a wall in the living space. I noticed the clock’s hands showing 10:43 P.M. Overhead, the ceiling spun idly, like the metal blades of a fidget spinner that lost its initial burst of speed, slowing into that soft, dwindling wobble before it settles. and the TV ran with a low hum. The remote controller sat wedged in the gap of the sofa as expected. My sister went swoosh right past me with her Walkman in one hand and the black cordless phone that we had in the other. She entered her room and shut the door behind her. I looked ahead to find my mother leave the kitchen only to retrace her steps to switch off the kitchen lights. She switched off the ceiling fan, then the TV and then went back to the kitchen to confirm (as she always does) if the stove knobs are turned off again. She yelled out my father’s name, asking him to come to bed. As she was leaving, she switched off the lights of the living space too. And just like that, Adam and I were standing in pitch dark.

As you might have noticed by now, I hadn’t asked Adam to take me to any particular memory, nor did he bring me to one I consciously recalled. That night seemed utterly ordinary — one of the countless we cluster together as “everyday” and fail to remember as distinct “memories.” But it didn’t matter, because what I wanted — and as you, too, will see — for my last wish could have existed in almost any ordinary day of my childhood.

As Adam and I stood motionless in the darkness, I was deciding which part of the house to explore next when my father opened the door to his study and the living space lit up momentarily. He took a big yawn, drank a glass of water placed on a table, and for some odd reason, glazed over for a minute. “Must be work-related stress we never knew of as kids,” I wondered, seeing my father deep in thought. Eventually, he made his way toward the bedroom. Within a second, I could hear the low, drone-like murmur of my parents talking behind their door. As a child, I never tuned into what my parents really said to each other, nor was I interested in doing so as I stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Adam, the grim reaper in the dark of the living space.

“How long do I have?” I asked.

“Three hours and twenty-two minutes,” Adam said.

“Sweet,” I said, and I walked to my bedroom, followed by Adam and the long trail of his cape.

“Are you going to follow me the whole time?” I asked. “It’s not like I can run from you, especially since I can’t really think of any way to carry out a decent escape plan within 3 hours!”

“Well…” Adam said, his voice had no cadence, “I am here in case you need anything else. Is this all you wanted as your last wish?”

“Yes,” I said, assertively.

“But are you sure? That this is it? You don’t want me to magically throw you a house party or, I don’t know… maybe avenge your elder sister for the time she snitched on you?” Adam asked curiously. “What’s the point of revisiting memories if you can’t bend them to your will?”

“What’s the point of revisiting memories if you can’t bend them to your will?” I thought. Interesting. Since when did grim reapers act like main characters from some book you always wanted to read but never did but know of due to the sheer loads of quotes used from it. Is he even a grim reaper? Is he even a he? Is this all in my head? Am I dreaming?

“Well, this is all I wanted,” I broke my silence, “Thank you, Adam. You are, quite unexpectedly, very kind.”

I made my way to the bed where I spotted the tiny, sleeping body of my ten-year-old self. I lay down beside her, gently tugged at the edge of her blanket, and pulled it just enough to snuggle myself in. For a moment, I simply stared at the ceiling.

If I paid attention, I could hear the crickets chirping outside the window. If I listened more intently, I could catch the air carrying the low, drone-like murmur of my parents’ voices through the walls. And if I really, really listened — if I reached for the edges of sound itself — I could hear the faint music spilling from the cheap Walkman headphones my sister was playing in the other room.

And maybe, if I had paid that kind of attention back then — through all those nights as a child, a teenager, an almost-adult lying in that same bed — I would have realized something I never did. That it isn’t only during the grand events or the unbearable tragedies of life that you remember you’re lucky to have a family. Sometimes, it’s in the smallest, most physical sense of all — falling asleep knowing you are not alone.

I turn my head at Adam.

“I am going to sleep now. Wake me up three hours later,” I said, adding a quick wink for effect.

I gently shut my eyes as I felt the corners of my mouth slowly creep into a smile.