The Fear of Getting Lost in Time: A Short Story

I glance at the brown and yellow pothos plant hanging from the top of the refrigerator as I make my third cup of coffee. One day, I’ll have the time to take care of you.  

It was only ten in the morning when it felt like noon. I’ve been awake for hours already, preparing for today’s Social Psychology speech at eleven. The topic was ADHD and autism diagnostic statistics and the causes behind the recent jump in diagnosis, and I felt no more prepared than I had yesterday, or even a week ago. 

For the umpteenth time this morning, I pace my room back and forth, careful not to trip on the dirty clothes and trash, practicing my speech aloud. I do it until time is up, and there’s no choice but to get in the car and start the thirty-minute commute to campus. 

I sit in silence, going over my presentation in my head. Halfway through the drive, a car pulls out in front of me. All I can do is hit my brakes and swallow. This is normal. Everything is okay. I turn the radio on, but nothing sounds right. 

I am ten minutes early to class, so I get my things situated on my desk in front of me. My fingers drum against the desk, and I must have misread the clock because the professor called me up to present before I knew it.

I make my way up to the podium on shaky legs. The title of my presentation is blurry. The typed pages shake in my trembling fingers. It’s just the amount of coffee I drank, I think to myself. Or maybe it’s just a trick of the light. 

I don’t remember giving my speech. I don’t remember reading off of my page, I don’t remember going back to my seat, and I don’t remember what the next three students gave speeches on. I only remember that Dr. Dan tapped the table in front of me and told me to meet him in his office after class was over.

It’s like a tapestry with the middle burnt from the inside out—with only the start and the end remaining. It felt like hours until the bell rang.

Dr. Dan laces his fingers together and leans back in his office chair. “What do you want?”

“Can you be more specific?”

“What do you want? You have a big life, but you have made yourself into such a small man.” 

I take in a breath. 

He continues. “I watched you up there giving your presentation.” He chuckles. “I mean, obviously I did—I’m the professor. But what I’m trying to say is that you have a big heart. I can see it in the extensive research you’ve done. You care about people and you care about yourself.” he leaned forward. “However much you care, though, you’re scared of something and what you want will never be yours if you continue in this way of life. I’m gonna call you Turtle if you keep hiding in your shell. I’ll ask a third time– What do you want?”

I rub the palms of my hands on my knees. “I don’t know, sir.” 

Dr. Dan sighs. “I think you do, Turtle.” 

I look away. “I guess I want to graduate and find a good job.”

“Really?”

“What?”

“Pathetic. I asked you a real question—I want a real answer. Turtle.” 

I shake my head. “I just don’t know.”

“Disappointing,” Dr. Dan states. “Let me tell you how the world works, if you’ll indulge me for a moment.”

I nod for him to continue. 

“I’m just another person, in this wide, gray, sea of people. We all march towards our own goals, but they always happen to lead in the same direction. Individuality isn’t something that blends in—it’s something that stands out. It’s that thing that brands one person as extraordinarily different from everyone else. That individual, high on individuality, joins other individuals who are high on individuality, and any distinction between these people is no longer seen. Then the gray turns into a deeper, muddier gray, and suddenly everyone is swallowed by the gray again. It’s hard to tell the difference between the sinners and the saints when they’re all clothed in gray.” He pauses and puts a finger to his bottom lip. “That was from my memoir. What do you think about that?” 

“That was deep.”

“So is the pool in my backyard, and it’s only chemical water dumped in a hole. I’ve been your professor for three years. I’m asking for honesty.”

“Honesty?”

“Yes, Turtle. Get out of your shell and give me some honesty.”

I run my hand through my hair, my eyes bearing down on the laces of my shoes. My foot taps against the ground as unspent energy quickly dwindles from my frame.

“I, uh.” I swallow. “I think I want another coffee, sir.” 

He grins. “Good start. What else?”

“Some sleep.”

“Colder. Try again, Turtle.”

I shake my head. “I want…” 

I pressed my fingers together and tried again. “I have a fear of getting lost in time—this gray swallowing me like it’s swallowed everyone else. I don’t want to become a slave to time, trying to do anything for just a few more minutes. I don’t want every day to be the same: work, eat, sleep, repeat. I want to enjoy life and live it to the fullest, but I haven’t figured out how to yet. I want to live a colorful life that people notice when they take a second to glance outside their comfort zone.” My words take on a life of their own as I turn to meet my professor’s eyes. “I wish to be remembered, but not worshiped. I wish to be found, but never lost in the first place. I wish for someone to search my soul like I search the pages of my books for information and statistics. I wish to let go of the anxiety that holds me down like a weight tied to the string of a balloon. More than anything, I wish to overcome this fear that I have.” 

Dr. Dan nods after he lets my honesty linger for a beat. “That’s a big goal. How do you plan on doing that?”

I think for a moment before replying. “I’ll clean up my room.”

“It’s a good start.”

“Then I can clean up myself.” 

“You think you’re dirty, son?” 

“I think there are some things that need to change,” I said.

“Is that what you want? To change?”

“That’s what I want.”

Dr. Dan smiles, his eyes shining. “Get out of my office.” 

Later, I stand on my tiptoes and reach above the refrigerator. There is my pothos plant, barely holding on to life. I mist the yellow and brown leaves with a spray bottle and gently dust them with a rag. The dead leaves fall off on their own. I collect them and throw them outside. I mist the leaves once more and lightly water the base. I put the pothos plant back in its half-sunny spot on my refrigerator and let the vines hang.