Lost Time

Dusk brought brilliant colors of orange, yellow, and a fiery shade of red through the darkened clouds. Jacob, weak and weary, stacked the final log atop a pile of firewood that towered over him. A little, tow-headed boy of almost two ran towards him at a swift and stumbling pace. “Can I help, Daddy?” he asked.
“I’m all done, son. Maybe in a couple of years, you can do the wood chopping, but now, it’s time to eat,” he said as he lifted his son up and onto his broad shoulders in one smooth, swift motion. “Thomas, let’s go! It’s time to eat!”
Another, older, blonder boy emerged from the barn. Straw stuck to his sweat-soaked body and the specks of dirt mingled its way into mud and rolled off of his shoulders. “Great! I’m starving!” he said, as he strode across the lawn towards his father, brother, and the home he had helped to build only two years earlier. Inside, a delicious smell saturated the air and spilled out the doors and windows, inviting any neighbor nearby.
Low flickers of flames from oil lamps were the only light in the house. The shadows they cast danced around their cozy little home. With each flicker light was shed on their humble and modest belongings. Caroline noticed the flicker and the humble belongings, and as they all gathered around the origin of that intoxicating aroma, she said, “It sure would be nice to have one of those cameras.”
“That would be fantastic,” Jacob exclaimed. He directed his gaze at his two sons. “It’s amazing how we can freeze little moments of life,” he said.
The food was delicious, and the conversation flowed freely for the rest of the supper.

Her heels clack on the sidewalk as she shuffles towards the door. “I told you to order twelve hundred of each.” She digs into her purse, finding everything except her house key. “This is twice now, Amy,” she says in a scolding, mentor’s voice. “I can’t have this happen too many more times. Fix it!” The push of a button ends the conversation immediately.
Finally inside, she bursts through the door like a woman running for her life. “Have you eaten yet,” she says, beginning in the middle of her thought. She shuffles into the kitchen, yanks open the refrigerator door, and without waiting for an answer, she calls out, “There’re some leftovers in here: Pizza, lasagna, or I guess you could make yourself a sandwich.” She peers around the corner at her son, engulfed in a video game. “Is that okay?” she asks. Only an electronic symphony answers. With her patience short, she yells out, “Adam!”
He grunts, barely hearing his mother at all, not missing a beat in his game. Until, as if possessed, he leaps into the air, and slams off the game. He wanders into the kitchen.
“Adam, are you hungry or not?”
“No,” he says shortly.
“Then, later, when you get hungry, you can….” Just then, her telephone rings loudly. “Hello?” she answers urgently. For a brief moment, there’s a peaceful silence. Then, just as quickly, the chaos returns. “Amy,” she says with a sigh, “What now?”
Adam sees his moment. “I’m going to play with Bobby,” he says as he closes the door behind him.
“Be in by dark,” is the conditioned response that shoots from his mother’s mouth. The door slams behind Adam with a lack of muscle control that only a child can possess, and he is gone.

She wore a plain dress, a bonnet, and wrinkles far beyond her age. Staring at her plate as she ate, she daydreamed until concern echoed through.
“Caroline, are you okay?”
“What?” she replied groggily. “Oh. Well, it’s just I saw Mary at the market again today. Zachary has died in battle in Louisiana.” She paused, and her eyes took on a look of deep concern. “Do you reckon Jeremiah is well?”
Both children stopped short, spoons halfway to their mouths, and awaited their father’s response.
“I’m sure that your brother is well, children,” he said with resounding confidence.
Turning to his wife, he said, “I’m sure he is quite fine, Caroline.” His tone reminded her that some topics may be too real for their children. A quiet replaced the chatter, and they all sat in silence for the remainder of the supper.

Clack, Clack! She shuffles over to the table. Exchanging one pile of books for another, she spins and shuffles her way over to the steady beat that until now, she hadn’t known was driving her crazy. Her manicured fingers press the play button. First, a long pause, then, as if to taunt her, one more, much louder, beat follows.
“Susan, its Karen.” Damn! She must think I’m horrible. Three days with three messages, and I haven’t spoken with her yet. “I haven’t spoken to you for a while,” the machine confirms, “but soldiers came to my house a few days ago. Susan, Tim is dead!” Susan’s purse falls to the floor, and her heart drops into her stomach. “They got hit by some snipers,” the message sobs on. The sound of Karen’s voice drops out and fades into the background. “Have you heard from David?”

The night draped over them like a thick velvet blanket, as they cleared the table with a clatter of dishes and a symphony of chatter. Retiring to the living room, the children worked on their lessons for school the next morning. Jacob sat on his usual chair. His pipe, clenched tightly between his teeth, smoldered after each draw. Looking in envy at his children’s innocence, he thought long and deep about the one who was not there. Glancing up, and locking worrisome eyes with his wife, they shared their torment together in silence.

Susan’s heart jumps into her throat and threatens to explode. Weak and wobbly legs give way as she collapses onto her suede sofa. Her throbbing heart is deafening, and its pounding shakes her bones.
She longs to call for help, but can’t. She sits paralyzed, clutching the phone, in her own sadness : alone.