Moon Clock

I had been given a gift a long time ago, and I was just now opening it. It was a clock, with the different phases of the moon on it instead of numbers. Not twelve moons though, no, there were many more. You could spin it like a top and see the moon wane and wax like a film cuz there were so many. I had never opened it.

I was 18, moved into my new apartment with my husband and I was unhappy. Arranged marriages were never the best. I was reminiscing with my box of old things that I had been forced to keep in the attic because he, Trace, thought they were childish. I pulled the weird clock out of its box and set it to the full moon, and that’s when I saw a place to set the clock to a four-digit number. I assumed it was for the year. I set it to 1999. That was my last year of freedom before I was married off to this man.

I was pulled back to memories of when I was 8, and my sister and I were running around chasing frogs with our brother and swimming in backyards. That’s when my parents walked up to me with him. “Dear daughter, you are going to marry this boy. His name is Trace.” They were so happy. I looked at the boy and wanted to cry. He was dirty, overweight, and wore glasses and braces. I was pretty, and I knew it. Four years later I was stronger, and when he realized I was his and he could do anything he wanted to me and wouldn’t get in trouble, he came onto me. Groping, stripping, kissing. I knew I shouldn’t fight back. I saw a vision of me letting him rape me, and I knew I had to fight back. I punched him in the nose and ran away. I was whipped later for it. He tried four more times and each time I hurt him badly. Kicked him, scratched him, punched him, and finally stabbed him. He died. My parents sentenced me to death for killing my fiancée.

My last night to be alive, I found a gift I had been given a long time ago, and I was just now opening it. It was a clock, with the different phases of the moon on it instead of numbers. Not twelve moons though, no, there were many more. You could spin it like a top and see the moon wane and wax like a film cuz there were so many. I was 12, sentenced to death for killing my fiancée, and I was never going to live again.

I pulled the moon clock out of its box and set it to the half moon, and that’s when I saw a place to set the clock to a four-digit number. I assumed it was for the year. I set it to 1999, the year I met my now-dead fiancée. I was pulled back to memories of when I was 8, and my sister and I were eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with our brother on a colorful play table in our front yard. My parents came up to us and told us they had decided we were moving away. Moving to Australia. So, we moved, unable to stay in America like we wanted to. We were raised there, and once I was in college I met a man. He was from America, the very city I was born. He introduced himself as Trace and I knew he was the one for me. We were married in Italy and I moved back to America with him.

I was going through my childhood possessions during the move, and I found a gift I had been given a long time ago, and I was just now opening it. It was a clock, with the different phases of the moon on it instead of numbers. Not twelve moons though, no, there were many more. You could spin it like a top and see the moon wane and wax like a film cuz there were so many. I was 23, married to the love of my life and never to be in anguish again because I had the arms of my man to go to. Why mess with history? I threw it in the trash.