Time Passing, Dreams Passing

My grandparents’ house wasn’t far, so I often stayed the night there.

It was an old, large house, and I was laid down to sleep on a futon in a wide tatami room.
They went to bed early, and I, still restless, would reluctantly climb under the covers.

In that large room stood a taxidermy rooster in the alcove, and a big pendulum clock on the wall.

I’d squint my sleepless eyes, hoping that somehow it would make me drowsy.
It never did.

Bored, I’d let my gaze drift to the orange glow of the night light.
Not a “nightlight” — back then, everyone just called it a “bean light.”

If I softened or sharpened my focus, the orange glow would blur, or round itself out, changing shape.
At first it was fun, playing with the light like that.
But slowly, that blurred orange would start to overlap with the memory of the sunset I’d seen that day.

Once it overlapped with the sunset, sadness and unease would rise up, out of nowhere.
I’d feel inexplicably sad.

In the middle of that wide, quiet tatami room, I, still a child, would begin to feel afraid.

What frightened me wasn’t the eerily lifelike rooster in the alcove —
it was the sound of the pendulum clock’s second hand.
Not a cute little tick-tock. It was a large clock, and its sound was cold, almost grinding, as it marked the time.

It’s coming, it’s coming.
When the long hand reached twelve, I knew that terrible warning sound would ring through the room —
as if announcing the end of something.

The orange light in my squinted eyes would blur further with tears.
No matter how I adjusted my focus, it wouldn’t round itself out again.
Frightened, I’d whisper, “Mom…”

The sunset was unsettling because it meant a day was coming to an end.
The sound of the clock was unsettling for the same reason — a day was announcing its end.
And a child’s fear of closing their eyes, I later learned, comes from a fear of never seeing their mother again.

Looking back now, I think that big pendulum clock might have been marking the time of a life.
That thought came to me, I remember, around the time my grandparents gave up that house,
and the clock was taken down.

Perhaps what frightens me more than closing my eyes
is listening to that sound marking the passage of a life,
moving inevitably toward its end.