The Time Ghost Sarah O’Connor Time is not cyclical and it does not end. I should know; it’s my job. I won’t be able to explain it in detail to you, trust me. I’ve tried with others but it usually ends with someone raving on a street corner with a cardboard sign and hundreds of passersby ignoring them. Time can be tricky. In layman’s terms, I remember things, or rather, I make you remember things. I’ve never experienced your memories, but I have them. I hold onto them and keep them safe for a rainy day. Or sometimes I just wait until you fall asleep; it all depends on my mood. For example: I remember when your parents kicked you out. I remember when you failed your last high school exam and had to go to summer school. I remember when you said orgasm instead of organism in your grade nine science class. I remember when your crush walked up to you, said they liked you, and then ran away laughing with their friends. I remember, and I make sure you remember. And why do I make you remember? I don’t know. Sometimes they make me laugh. Sometimes they make me cry. Sometimes they’re what you need. Maybe that makes me a jerk, maybe it makes me wise. I don’t know. That makes me sound bad, sadistic, almost. Ghosts aren’t meant to be sadistic; if we are there’s always some underlying cause as to why. Just because we do bad things doesn’t make us bad. And that goes for me too. Just because I make you remember the bad doesn’t make me bad. Because for all the bad there’s also the good. For example: I remember when you stuffed yourself full of chocolate and candy on Halloween. I remember when you stayed up all night for the first time and watched the sun rise. I remember when you found the group of people meant to be your lifelong friends. I remember when you felt (feel) loved. I can’t predict what memories will make you happy, which will make you sad, which will make you cringe. Okay, sometimes I can tell. But you always surprise me. Time and time again I’ll give someone the memory of love and they’ll cry, I’ll give someone the memory of failing and they’ll smile. And there are always some of you who try to squeeze me out, block me from giving you those memories. Humans will always remain a mystery to me. There is only one of me. One of me in charge of all you and all of your experiences. So hate me if you have to, I understand. But hate doesn’t change anything, I’ll still be here with your memories, feeding them to you. Sometimes you will be aware of what I’m doing, sometimes you won’t. Regardless, I will take care of your memories. So make them count.
VOLUME 18, ISSUE 6