lxxxi

“There are never enough hours in a day, but always too many days before Saturday.”

-Hanson’s Treatment of Time

            I just can’t believe that the same people that I shared classrooms with, that I shared every Friday night with, that I shared long heart-to-hearts with in the corners of loud weekends, are not with me anymore. We have spread far apart, across highways and state lines, separated by miles and time zones.

           

            Time zones. They are feeling the rays of the new day an hour before me; they are able to tell me what tomorrow brings before I can even close the chapter to this evening. Or they are dwindling behind, on the rocky West precipice, tailing behind the shadow of Texas time with slowly moving clocks and half-paced seconds.

            And now even the schedules of our sacred weekends are awkwardly shifted away from each other, with slight jetlag and heartache.