TIME

It was a bright Saturday morning. The air was crisp and just by looking outside the window you could tell that the first rain had finally fallen.
I was sited at the dining picking the beans that I was to make that evening. My parents were out and somto—my younger brother— was sleeping peacefully in his room.
Grandpa was rocking slowly in his seat, the TV was on but he had a blank stare. The room was quiet when suddenly, he screamed. His scream was piercing and it sent me immediately to his side to see what had gone wrong.
"Ahh, papa, what is it?" I asked squatting infront of him. The grey hairs that managed to sprout from his bald head clearly told everyone that saw him that he was old and today they stood tall. His eyes were terrified, he was looking at me but then again, he wasn't. Maybe he'd seen a ghost, maybe he had forgotten who I was. I scanned the room to make sure I was the only one in his presence.
He was shaking and I was trying to calm him down. I screamed for somto who ran in with a wrapper round his waist. I could have laughed at the way he tied it but the situation at hand made me only beckon for him. He came closer still confused, "call daddy" I said.
After looking from me to our grandfather, he finally understood the urgency at hand as he ran back inside holding his wrapper in place. He never tied them—the wrapper—tight enough and daddy had given up on tecahing him. Last Christmas he had lamented saying 'It's his culture, he'll learn it one day, soon'. I wasn't so sure of that.
Grandpa gipped my shoulders and began to shake me. I was scared, my heart was racing and when he spoke, I ended up becoming a little perplexed, "How do I get it back? The Wasted years I talk about."
His voice sounded like a cry, so light and frail yet the intensity of the words struck me when I finally took it in. He was crying because he was old?
"Papa calm down, you're safe." That wasn't the smartest thing to say to someone that was scared of his age. I wasn't sure what he was scared of, his age? The fact that he was closer to death. My thoughts were in dissaray but my words seemed to calm him a bit. He started taking shaky breaths and slowly they became steady. I watched as he relaxed.
Soon daddy came home and with the help of a now dressed somto, took Grandpa outside.

Later that night I cleaned the sitting room and my eyes fell on a paper in Grandpa's sit. My greasy hands picked it up and walked over to the window, scruntinizing it. I noticed the writings and decided to read it.


Woke up to a bright morning
'I'm so tired' I declared too soon
I had plans but I was lazy
Never ready till the night came again
Another day wasted once more
Now that made it a wasted year
Time is special
Time is precious
I heard that a lot
But I never learnt
That day was going
And i sat at my table
Gawked at the pebbles
Hoping to get the medals
Slowly it seeped away
The time flewbaway
And regret is all I have left with me.

It was my grandfather's handwriting and the words struck me. As I sat that night, listening to the platters of rain hitting our ceiling, I remembered his last words to me. "Don't waste your time, you're so lucky. Don't waste it", his voice had shrieked out and that was when I recognized the look in his eyes, it wasn't fear; it was regret.