A Warped Narrative

The classroom was exceptionally sticky that day. Hot summer humidity, tangled up with craft feathers and Elmer's glue. Beads of sweat and tears clung to his eyelashes. Not once in my life had I seen such despair in such small a face.

I blamed myself then, and I did one year after. A decade later, I would have allowed time and age to reason with me. But had I listened more intently, ignored summer camp protocol and had called his mother, as he had requested, this could have been avoided. Although the training had taught me how to respond to his needs, I didn't know how to respond to my own. But I did know that I couldn't handle having a child die in my arms. Stroking his damp, limp hair was surely more of a comfort to me, as he lay unconscious. I closed my eyes tightly and reassured myself that he would be okay. He would be fully recovered two days later and would win his soccer game the next week. He would also go on to receive Student of the Month in October. But regardless, I was terrified, and I needed to breathe. Time wouldn't stop.

When I opened my eyes, I was on the Tokyo subway, being gently swayed as the train car whizzed by station after station. The jet lag was slowly being coaxed out of me, it had been a long day. We were on our way home from the National Museum of History, and although fascinated, I was looking forward to a good meal and a warm bed. I dozed off for a moment listening to my mother's conversation with my cousins. They said that life was getting easier, and that they were starting to make sense of all that had happened. With their mother having passed away over two years ago, life had begun to have a normal rhythm again.Then it was our stop, we pushed our way off of the car and stood by the next platform for the next train. I closed my eyes: It wouldn't arrive for another 10 minutes. Time wouldn't stop.

I opened my eyes, full of hot, angry tears. I was an inconsolable wreck. I felt everything and nothing at the same time, emptiness full of a vastness of emotions I never dreamt possible. Despair was one: she lay dying in a hospital bed over 8000 kilometres away. I could do nothing but pass the phone to my father. My whole body trembled.

I listened secretly on the other line. She was gone. Time wouldn't stop.

The whole world began to tremble. I was back in Tokyo and my mother informed me that, indeed it was an earthquake. She said it would be over quickly. I wasn't scared, everyone else was calm, but as the tremors became stronger and increasingly intense, I lost all confidence in the situation. For once in my life, no matter what I held on to, it shook with the ground it was grounded to. Business men took cover, and junior high school students shrieked and prayed that it would stop. The kiosk ladies ran to catch falling merchandise. I stared blankly at the foreign skyline as everything wobbled in unison. I could hear the ground's fury relinquished beneath my feet. It was wicked. Time wouldn't stop.

I was brought  back by the sound of the ambulance. He was starting to gain consciousness and his eyes started to look clearer. He looked up at me and we both cried. He was going to be alright. The paramedics poked and prodded him, asking him dozens of questions, all of which he answered correctly. His mother came running in, and in the most beautiful and gentle way, she picked up her son. She apologized profusely to him, and to me. She had forgotten to give him his medication before camp that morning, and had also failed to inform staff of his medical condition on the registration for. He was epileptic.

He went home but before hand, perhaps sensing my incredible sense of guilt for all that had happened, he gave me a big hug and a big smile. I wish I could have taken a picture, nothing made me feel more relieved. Time wouldn't stop.

I awoke the next morning after the phone call, to hear my parents making funeral arrangements over the phone. It was too expensive to attend, the airfare for the five of us would be incredible. I would have to cope without any sense of closure, until the next time I visited Japan.

I opened my eyes to see Tokyo, as still as could be. With public transport closed, the loud speaker informed us that most people would have to walk home that evening, or stay at a hotel.

Then there I was, sitting at my laptop writing a blog post for my English project. I hoped I would have the time to finish that evening.

Time wouldn't stop.