"My Grandfather Clock" by Ryna Ma’alona

            Standing there watching her cry, I felt stupid. Watching her curled up on the bed crying. They say to get beauty, you have to go through pain. They never said you could find beauty in pain, but there it was. I’m not some sick freak who likes watching others writhe in pain, especially not my own mom. But for some reason, she looked more beautiful than I have ever seen.

            When I awoke to the sound of her screaming, all I did was run. I ran to her room and stood there, like an idiot. I didn’t know what to do except stand there. It wasn’t until my brother and sister’s came until I sat down next to my mom. And believe me when I say they aren’t the fastest people in the world. In fact they aren’t fast at all. But when they came in they sat on the bed and continually asked my mom, “What’s the matter?” All my mom did was cry. I didn’t really know if she was trying to talk or just crying, because all I heard were screams, but between her wails and sniffles you could make out words. Words like “Can’t go!!” or “Don’t have enough!!” She wasn’t asking the anonymous person on the phone for money to go wherever she wanted to go. She was crying, due to the fact she wasn’t able to go.

            Finally, she hung up. My sister’s scared and worried looks made me feel even more stupid. I thought maybe the Landlord was evicting us over the phone, but that was just another thought to add to my stupidity.

            I felt deaf when she told us the reason. It was like watching a perfectly filmed movie scene. Those one scenes where everyone just cried. For some reason it felt like I was watching it in slow motion. The only thing that ruined this scene was me. While everyone was crying I was the one just sitting there. It was my first time watching my brother cry. I don’t know why I sat there being hugged by them, or hugging them. I didn’t even know why I was there. It felt as if I wasn’t even a part of the family. They said in a depressing story that breath is just a clock ticking away. Then for some reason I remembered, I only got to see my Grandpa once, and I don’t even know his real name, only Grandpa. Just a white haired old man who lived in Samoa. Who survived a tsunami. Who used to tell me to go sit on the toilet the first an last time I met him. Who told me he loved me. Love like only a Grandpa could. And so I could feel the tears and I began to cry. The next day we went to church as always. It almost felt the same as everyday. Almost. My mom didn’t come with us this time.