Sixteen minutes

“The Sun burnt every day. It burnt time.”

Ray Bradbury — Fahrenheit 451

The sun beats down so fiercely that my shoes cling to the heated pavement with every step. The heat hangs over everything as if I were standing in the middle of a desert. The air smells of hot stone, freshly mown grass, and something faintly familiar. The scent takes me back. This is what every summer here smelled like. I stop beside a bench tucked away in the shade and sit there, hoping not to miss the bus. Behind me stands the school. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice several windows standing open. I still can’t believe that the place where I spent part of my life can exist without me. It’s hard to imagine that everything there goes on as usual and that I’m no longer part of it. I don't want to turn around and see that building again right now, not because my time there was bad — but quite the opposite.It meant a lot to mebecause it was one of the happiest chapters of my life. The square I used to see every day on my way home is in front of my eyes. Over the years it became such a familiar, even beloved view that I no longer noticed the changes. It's been a long time… But now I glance at my watch – I have sixteen minutes to take it all in and breathe in this familiar air one last time. I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back, or if I ever will at all. I’m not entirely sure about my future, so in these last minutes I want tocommitevery detail to memory. I lift my head slightly and look up at the sky. The clouds are so soft and white that I feel I could hold them in my hands. Some of them are hurrying off somewhere, racing without looking back, just like time itself. We’re used to looking back at the past — history lessons prove that. I notice a plane cutting through the hurrying clouds — a beautiful sight. Each trail redraws the sky into a unique picture. And then a church comes into view, two clock towers that never used to tell the right time. When did they manage to fix them? Everything else seems just as it always was, as if I were the only one feeling this quiet sadness, with uncertainty already hot on my heels. The water in the fountains still flows as before, as if nothing were about to change. To be honest, it makes me happy. I don’t notice when a man sits down next to me on the same bench. I’m used to seeing him often at the bus stop and we would chat about all sorts of things. Now, though, neither of us speaks. It feels as if he understands I’m saying goodbye to this place for a very long time. 'Sixteen minutes left,' he says, making me jump. ‘Yes… You're absolutely right.’, I trail off, looking around and then glancing at him. But I’m not at all sure when I’ll see him again, when I’ll ask our usual question, ‘How are you?’, when I’ll tell him all about my day once more. Somewhere deep inside, a knot of sadness tightens, making it hard for me to breathe. I don’t want him to see me feeling sad, so I try to keep it together. Perhaps sensing it, he says: ‘Listen,’ he says; his tone alone is already calming me down. I can’t quite work out what exactly I’m supposed to hear, so I ask a silly question, ‘Listen to what?’ ‘The leaves. Listen to them rustling in the wind. There's something calming about that sound.’ I look at him, but then lower my gaze and listen, trying to drown out the noise of the passing cars. I can hear each little leaf rustling in its own way, as if each one has its own voice in this quiet choir. It brings back one of my warmest memories to mind. I smile to myself. Soon I'm completely lost in memories, trying to hold on to every moment from the past few years. Right now,I feel a sense of emptiness and aquiet acceptance that time has passed, and that it was beautiful while it lasted. Two hours ago, the only thing I wanted was to shut myself away and never go back out into the world, where time races by faster than I can blink. But now, somehow time has begun to flow gently, giving me the chance to at least gather my thoughts. As my eyes wander, I notice that a tree which had stood here for years now stands dead. Yet it seemed to me that just a couple of days ago it was green and birds were hopping about on its branches. It makes me realize how fleeting everything is. And yet, it's unlikely a new tree will ever be planted in its place, and even if it is, it will take years to grow into what this one once was. We walk to the bus stop as we always do. I think about saying something to him as a final farewell, but I can’t bring myself to do it. He says, ‘Goodbye,’ as if we’ll meet again tomorrow. However, we both know that won’t happen. But everything unfolds just as it always has. Somehow, that makes the unknown seem a little less frightening. I can’t find the right words — not to thank him, not to say goodbye, so I get on the bus. Sitting by the window, I see him waving to me. It's almost childlike and such a simple gesture, yet it moves me. I wave back with a smile. Only then do I realise how much this hurts. It's as if a part of me had been torn away, leaving a wound that only the right people can help heal. Seeing his smile in return, I realise that everything will be all right. He is my axiom — the quiet certainty that there's always light ahead. The bus pulls away from the stop. And only now do I realise that the life I believed would last forever had already ended, and I never noticed when it became the last day.