Iteration III

Another Midnight

June 12, 2007

On the wall of my house there are three clocks. Standing in my living room tonight I could see myself reflected in their faces. My head in Eastern Time, kept here by the day to day of life. My heart four hours across the Atlantic, with the girl it has followed since the first time I looked into her eyes. And my hands three hours behind me, in the time zone where they work each day.

The first time I remember thinking about moving from one time zone to another I was ten years old, flying from Hawaii to Boston. I imagined myself leaving the skipped hours behind me like a breadcrumb trail to follow home. Eight pm was dropped off in the middle of the pacific, nine just off the coast of California, ten somewhere in Nevada. I wouldn’t need them in Boston, where they were already on tomorrow. I called it my “bag of hours” theory.

It was a good way to visualize how I fit into the different times I moved between. Sometimes I still think of it as I pass over thunderstorms between one ocean and another, but it is all so much more complicated now. My bag of hours is all mixed up. I’ve got the late afternoon hours in there twice, and three am is missing half the time. I can never find eight in the morning, but there always seems to be another midnight, no matter where I am.