Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Amara’s eyes were closed as she listened to the ever constant sound of the clock.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
She felt herself twiddling her fingers against the light wooden table. She breathed in as she felt the light rays of the sun come across her face. The sensation made her recall her first day at the beach.
Her mother, ever so impulsive, announced one of her many out-of-nowhere road trips, thus her mother rented the cheapest car they could afford (cheap was the only option) and drove all the way from Portland, Oregon to California. Amara recalled the many times in which they had to pull over, as the car constantly ran into problems. Once, the rear right tire went flat, which unfortunately brought Kiah’s mother the challenge of changing a tire for the first time. At 5 years old, Amara was tired, the California sun was too much to bear on an empty stomach, so she began to beg her mother to ask for help. Yet her mother, ever so resilient and stubborn, insisted that “You can’t get anywhere if you just wait around for someone. You are your own savior.” So after an hour of trying to change the tire, they finally reached the beach.
Once they were at the beach, Kiah took in the scene she had only seen from the old VCR movie that her mother had shown for movie-night. The bright blazing sun, the sound of the waves crashing against each other, the feeling of the dry coarse sand between her toes, and the overwhelming sensation she felt once glancing at the various people around her. “Aren’t you ready to have fun habibti?” Her mother asked. Kiah looked up and smiled at her mother, yet soon noticed the people behind her mother, gawking at them. One pointing at the clothing wrapped tightly around her mother’s head, others noticing the modest clothing she was wearing at a beach. Her mother followed her glance, “Don’t mind them. You can never let others spoil your day.” Amara always admired her mother’s confidence. Her mother came to the U.S. not too long ago, and had Amara at just 18 years old. Her mother went through her own challenges that involved an abusive partner and a family that believed her mother to be too “wild.” So throughout Amara’s life, it has always been just her and her mother. Amara had seen her mother take up many challenges, and sometimes she fails, but her confidence had never wavered. This was something that she hoped she would obtain once she grew older.
Her mother glanced at the thin gold watch she wore.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
“Come on habibti let’s go.” With that, her mother took her hand and led her into the bright, blazing beach.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Amara’s mother is strong.
She is unbeatable.
She is resilient
She is fearless.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Amara’s mother is stubborn.
She is headstrong.
She is proud.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Amara’s mother was proud.
She was headstrong.
She was stubborn.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Amara’s mother was fearless.
She was resilient.
She was unbeatable.
She was strong.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Amara opened her wet eyes and wiped them clean as she glanced at the thin gold watch warmly wrapped around her wrist. She looked around the lobby where she was seated to find that it was near empty. Just then the hospice nurse approached her.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
“Ma’am, are you ready to say goodbye now?” The nurse whispered softly.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
“Yes, I am now.”
Writer To Writer Literary Journal 