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Someone told me, deadpan, while looking at my face coldly that we are living on borrowed time. I asked if I could check out more time with my library card. He glowered at me and turned away. Smirking at his back I fingered my library card in my pocket and it felt hot from sitting in the folds of my shorts while I sat in the sun. The man’s back shrunk as he walked down the path, shoulders slumped, shoes scuffing. He had not borrowed the right kind of time. He had borrowed This World is Too Burdensome time. I wondered if there might be an overdue fine if I returned the borrowed time late. The overdue notice would read: Borrowed Time, overdue, fine up to 1.00 a day. Could I put a hold on time? And not just any time, but a certain time, a happy time. I didn’t want to borrow sorrowful time, or hungry time. I wanted to borrow peaceful time, restful time. Something to ease me.
I wondered whether it would wear out, the time I borrowed, after too many uses. Then the old time would be discarded into a dumpster out back in the alleyway where scavengers might try to eke out just a little more use before the time was dead.
I gulped from my iced tea and scowled at the clouds that were moving closer and sending me into shade. The man was only a dot now, but I could still see the garish orange plaid of his shirt and faintly hear the scuff scuff of his shoes against the gravel. He was smoking now and a puff of smoke blew over his head with a big sigh, so resigned that I had not bought his cynical sketch. With one last huff, he disappeared around the corner. I wondered who he borrowed his time from, and wanted to suggest that he change his sources.
Left alone in the courtyard, I considered his idea more seriously. If we were all living on borrowed time, then who was lending it out? God? Maybe when we die we owe it all back and we get set up on a payment plan of a certain amount a month. Those who lived until their faces were lined with wrinkles and their hair was falling out would be paying it all back for so long, along with their loan for wings and a halo and the long white gown. How depressing to die and know that you are in debt. I wondered whether God charged interest too. My head sunk down into the crook of my arm and the sweat on my face stuck to my arm and when I moved my head it went splunk splush as the sweat squirmed between my skin, sticky and aromatic. My lunch was not digesting well and my eyes were clouding over. I didn’t want to owe any more than I already did. I hated owing people for things. I like to be squared away, accounts settled. The sooner it was over the less I would owe. I thought seriously about that.