As Time Goes By
Autor: Laila Brillinger | Publicado: 2013-06-11T05:54:00-07:00


I was five when I
first realised I was a person. All flesh and bones and organs and feelings. I
jumped up and down on my bed until I was so dizzy I had to stop. I lay on the
bed that night looking at the ceiling which had plastic stars stuck on it. I
breathed in and out heavily, trying not to think, trying to only feel. I fell asleep with the stars then
stuck in my eyes.

I was ten when I
first got a puppy. I named her Bertie. We ran together around the house and she
would sleep by my bed at night. I pet her and felt her fur on my hands, I heard
the sound of her dog heart and I asked her questions to which she only barked.

I was eleven when
I found out that the girl next door was my best friend. We walked home from
school together every day and she walked Bertie with me every afternoon. One
day when we were at my door and Bertie had already run inside, the girl next
door put her lips against mine. She wore pigtails.

I was fourteen
when Bertie died. She was run over by a lorry and I cried for a week. I did not
go to school. The girl next door came to see me every day. That Friday she fell
asleep by my side, her hands on mine.

I was sixteen
when I asked her to be my girlfriend. She laughed and kissed me and called me
an idiot. That was her way of saying “yes”. We went to the cinema and held
hands. One day we went camping and slept under the starts in the sky. I felt
like I was five again.

I was seventeen
when we first had sex. It was messy and sweaty and strange, but it felt good.
We did not sleep that night. We lay on her bed and cuddled and talked about how
weird it is to be human.

I was nineteen
when she broke up with me. She was going to university in another country and
said we could not stay together. We cried and hugged and then she was gone,
leaving me with promises of letters and phone calls.

I was twenty-one
when I decided to move out. My parents were proud and told me not to forget
about them and be happy. For the last time, I lay on my bed and looked at the
plastic stars on the ceiling, trying only to feel.

I was thirty when
I saw her again. She was walking arm in arm with some guy and I waved at her.
She hugged me and introduced me her friend. We went out that week and she
kissed me. Her hair was cut short and she smelled like strawberries.

I was thirty-two
when I proposed to her. She cried and kissed me like she never had before. We
bought a house and adopted a puppy. I had stars stuck on my bedroom ceiling.

I was forty when
she told me she could not get pregnant. We wept and I held her and we decided
to get more puppies. That night I could not sleep.

I was forty-four
when we got in a car accident. A car came out of nowhere and we passed out.
When I woke up, everything was white. She lay on a bed next to me and I reached
for her hand. She was asleep.

I was forty-five
when she died. I was sitting by her bed at the hospital. Her hand was holding
mine and she closed her eyes. We had been talking about life. Her skin was soft
and I thought of death. She sighed. The equipment beeped.

I was sixty when
I went to the countryside. The house was secluded and I could see the stars at
night. It was lonely and I thought of the girl next door.


I was eighty-five
when I died. There was no one there but me and I felt a dull pain in my chest.
At first I was scared. But then I felt nothing.