“Dear Time” by Yoonsong (Elizabeth) 12H

The rumbling of the drain, its metal chain clinking and clacking against the porcelain basin, battered by the rough stream of water plummeting into the bowels of the world An outline of a slight brown tinged with yellow, scratches along the bottom A testament to its years of service I look up, hair slick and water dripping in slow hesitant streams down my face I smile, and my reflection smiles back

Those teeth, caged in metal. I had welcomed them years before. It had signalled my transition into glorious adolescence. But I miss it. The gradual wiggling, the fiddling by gracefully jamming muddy fingers into the furthest corners of my mouth. That vexing spontaneous ache of the gums, a testament to growth, sprouting before my eyes Now, that ache is methodical, returning every four weeks as I lie in a chair with a light shining down my throat and wires being pushed and tugged to force that growth into position Similar But not the same Artificial

One two. One two. One foot in front of the other then transfer your weight. I climb the stairs with its chipped corners and faded rails. Some paint flakes off and sticks to my moist hands, the specks of creamy beige looking even beiger against a stark white background. Overhead, through that small arching window, the sun gleams, a brillant shade of red and orange. Boldly emblazening the sky with its presence till the very end as it slowly dips into oblivion.

I enter, smoothing my gown and adjusting my cap with sweaty hands before bravely stepping through the open door. No one notices - all preoccupied - excitement, pride, sadness, fear, anger. A mosaic. Or rather a melting pot.

On a table are three choices in towering thermoses Choices, once a prized form of liberty but now barriers towards the belittled comfort of familiarity, of routine Coffee, tea, juice I choose the one on the left, condensation forming halves through the middle and purple splotches on the tablecloth encompassing its base I take a sip Grape A last ditch attempt at holding on to the remaining bits of immaturity, mistakes, dreams, possibility. But it doesn’t taste like it used to, too sweet. I throw the rest in the bin. It lands with a thump, tipping, and I watch as it bleeds, splattering a deep purple.

Tick tock Tick tock I watch as your hands inch closer together An everconstant presence in the back of my head, intensifying, pounding Like nails on a coffin Finally, you converge 00:00

An echo, a hush, a silence Then the waiting begins I relish it, savor it The feedback of a mike reverberates through the walls and my ears ring I don’t even notice That familiar A to Z All too soon, my name is called Remember, one two one two

I reach you. You hold out your hand for what feels like would be the last time and I shake it. I smile. You smile. A picture is taken. For the memories. I turn. Lights, blinding almost. I bow. To whom I don’t know. To me. My family. To you. All of the above. I mean it, I truly do. But at the same time, it all feels so empty. I step off the stage, the texture of the smooth roll of paper gripped preciously in my palms but foreign under my fingertips I take a seat and another replaces me I look up Just a sliver of meek orange left now We rise and throw our caps in the air, forming a turbulent sea of navy, red tassels becoming sails A cloud shifts and I am bathed in the sun’s receding light Bam My once seemingly clear trajectory grows faint before disappearing

What now What’s next Have I done enough

Graduation

The start or the end.