The Ticking of the Clocks. My earliest memory is the ticking of clocks. Sometimes I would hear one. Sometimes I would hear THOUSANDS. These weren’t real clocks, of course, but that’s the best way I can describe the sound. I was five or six when I realized this wasn’t normal. My mother took me to numerous doctors. Audiologists. Ear, nose and throat specialists. Neurologists. At one point she even took me to a psychiatrist. None of them found anything wrong with me. Over time, I learned to ignore these sounds, the way one stops noticing the road noise when in a car, or the sound of an air conditioner in their living room. I could hear them if I wanted to, but most of the time I simply ignored them. Around the age of eight, my mother stopped taking me to doctors after none of them could find anything wrong. It was around this time that I noticed that the more people there were around, the more “clocks” I could hear. It wasn’t until I was about 12 that I realized the significance of the sounds. It was a cool August morning. My grandfather stopped by, and he and my mother and father were sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee and talking. I was in my room playing Mario Brothers when I felt like something was wrong. I paused my game and listened to the sound of the house. The chatter in the kitchen, the noises of the neighborhood filtering in through my open bedroom window, and the clocks. I could hear three of them ticking. That wasn’t unusual, but I could have sworn there were 4 just a moment ago. I shrugged it off and went back to playing my games. My grandfather left about an hour later. An hour after that, the phone rang. I heard my mother walk across the kitchen and answer the phone. A moment later I heard the receiver hit the floor, and my mother made the most awful, mournful sound I had ever heard. I ran from my room to find her standing in the kitchen with her hands over her face. The phone receiver was still lying on the floor, shifting back and forth with the swaying of the cord. My grandfather was dead. It was then that I realized that I could hear the “ticking” of the lives of those around me. Earlier that morning when I noticed that one of the clocks had stopped, I had actually “heard” my grandfathers life end, an hour before it happened. I got better at ignoring the clocks then, especially when only in the company of my family. That didn’t seem to matter the following spring. I was getting ready for school, and my father was getting ready for work while my mother cooked breakfast. Despite my best efforts to ignore the clocks, I noticed that one of them had stopped. Figuring my father had left for work, I finished getting ready for school and went to eat breakfast. As I entered the kitchen, I froze. My mother and father were both in the kitchen. I listened intently to for the sound of the clocks. There were only two. My stomach felt as if I had been kicked. My eyes darted from my mom to my dad. I threw up then. Violently. My mother guided me to the couch and put a wet rag on my forehead. My father kissed me goodbye and headed to work. It was the last time I ever saw him alive. After graduating high school, I went away to college. I didn’t socialize much unless it was in large groups... in large groups I could lose track of the clocks. After college, I got a place of my own. I worked as a day trader, spending my days alone in my apartment at first, and later in the home I purchased. I became a recluse, ordering everything I possibly could online and only venturing out when completely necessary. When my mother passed away when I was 28, I found out like anyone else... on the phone. I was sad, lonely even, but it was better than the constant fear that I would hear someone’s “clock” stop. This morning I woke up, showered, dressed and logged on to begin my day. I was on my second cup of coffee when it happened. For the first time in my life, I couldn’t hear a clock. For 35 years, the ticking of my own clock was a constant. It was the last thing I heard before drifting off to sleep, and the first thing I heard in the morning. Now it’s gone. I would like to think that this odd phenomenon I’ve lived with forever has suddenly disappeared, but I know better. I am posting this online so that I can share my story with others. I will try to write more later, but I’m not feeling very well right now. I’m sweating, and there is a dull pain in my jaw and shoulder. I think I’m going to go lie down for a while. Credits: Leehblanc (Reddit)
Posted on: Tue, 09 Jul 2013 17:45:09 +0000
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