text: ​​​​The Cuckoo Clock The phone rang at exactly 8:05am in the morning. Greg rolled over on his side fearful of who would be on the other line. He had been through this time and time again. There was in fact so much one could do before it was time to cut the cord. He laid on his back, eyes wide awake listening to the sound of the ringer play a lyric from his now least favorite song. “This is now, the beginning, and now together, this is the end”. As the ringer slowed to a muted fate, Greg looked about his room and took in the array of clothes, glass, broken clock, and the usual debacle that “she” would usually leave in her path as she departed. In less than an hour he would have to resume his other life. As he walked around the glass, careful to not cut his toes yet again, he closed his eyes for just a moment to transport himself back, way back to just before “she” came into his life. He notes with a sigh that the man he once was, happened to be smiling in the memory. Carefree, relaxed, usually curled up on an old worn chair with his notebook scribbling feverously about a dream or illusion that captured his spirit just hours before. As Greg picked up the old weathered clock, the cuckoo torn between saying hello or choosing to hide within the recesses of the wiring. Frowning, Greg knew what it felt like to feel that pull of in between the abyss of dismal to nothing. As the clock chimed a broken nine o’clock, Greg headed out of his trailer and into his old beat up truck, petting his dog Rusty on his way. Driving down the long windy road giving way to meadows of corn fields and pastures, for anyone else this would appear peaceful. For Greg all he could see was “her” walking along hand in hand, laughing at some silly comment he made, or a joke he told that he knew wasn’t very funny, but she couldn’t care less as she smiled and his heart would melt at the sound of her voice. For all she cared, he could tell her how he fell in something wet, and the something, well one could use their imagination he would chuckle. “Greg darling, you are the funniest, kindest, most generous man, in all the world, and I am the luckiest girl to be with you”. Not allowing himself to be lost in the moment, Greg turned into the parking lot of his once favorite landmark and where he lived so many years happy and scribbling his fantasy of “her”. He walked with purpose to the front door of the old aching monstrosity laid out before him. He pushed with now it seems these days all his might as the great heavy door heaved slightly open, revealing an old mildew smell that he had just remembered cleaning hours before. His eyes adjusted to the light as the reflection bounced off thousands of charms on the crystal chandelier that hung in the foyer of the great room. “She” had names for it would seem, everything in life that was inanimate to most, but to her she found a beating heart and therefore would name the lost soul to make it feel as if it had a home. His car the old pick up that spent years traveling with them to and fro that destination and the next was simply “Rocket” to “her” it was named aptly and there it remained. Pausing in the wake of his memory once lost to him, he sat down in an old arm chair to rest his tired eyes. If he concentrated just enough he could feel “her” finger tips running through his now thinning, gray hair. He knew there wasn’t a ghost around but to Greg “her” had found a way to live on through him and would be waiting for him when he was ready to find the courage to leave. Just now his eyes blinked rapidly and he began to focus, he could hear voices near distance. That didn’t seem right, no one would be here but him and the sacred memory of “her”. “Greg it’s time for your medication now, don’t forget story hour is starting in a few”. A large burly woman in a white coat held out a small paper cup with three pills for him to swallow. Greg took a moment to take in the woman’s name tag thatread Marty, her shoulders were as broad as a linebacker, he swore he could make out a mustache over her glibly shaped lips. Greg could feel a panic rise to his chest, he looked around and was surprised to see that he wasn’t in the great room with “her”. He walked hurriedly to the window to look for “Rocket” and she was nowhere to be found. Marty was following him at a very slow, measured pace, she seemed like it was her life’s mission to watch him. “I don’t understand, I was just in our home, I was snoozing in my chair and “she” was there with me running her hands through my hair”. “Now, now Gregory it’s fine, just fine, you have been reading too many books again and getting ideas about a life that you have never lived.” “NO, I don’t understand, I want my chair, I want my clock, I want my”. ​Suddenly his head felt woozy, he could feel a deep spell being cast upon him, he felt Marty take him by the hand and slowing drag him, saying it was time to get some sleep. That all his books and memories would be waiting for him in the morning. “What about story hour?” he heard himself mumble. “Gregory, you tell the same story every day, but you don’t realize that you are in here because you couldn’t let her love another. You have paid the ultimate price to love and now you must be a burden to us and yourself. Let’s go Gregory, the library isn’t going anywhere, it’s the only place that gives you and the other doctors and nurses just a few hours of peace and quiet. With those final words, Greg felt his eye lids drooping to a close, his memory a black hole and the words of the pages he had written fall away to the darkness that enveloped his soul as he slipped into a dark coma hoping to erase the memory of “her” in the library of their home with the old cuck coo clock andchards of broken glass. That song’s lyric was the last words she heard as his hands penetrated her neck and she stepped into a light and away from his endless and timeless love forever. ​​​​​​THE END