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The Turns of the Clock
I had never noticed the four or five clocks in my mother-in-law’s house. They are small objects with two alarm bells on their tops. These are old-fashioned clocks that nobody has anymore.
They are clocks that wake people up to life. They wake up the sleepy ones from the eternal night and make the living ones get up and continue the plan of living their lives.
They are all synchronized with each other, not a second, more or less.
Three are on a small piece of furniture in the small room where we all used to dine. Blue, black or gray. The color never drew any attention, nor did the noise of their pointers. They never drew anyone’s attention because they were, in fact insignificant until then.
They never made themselves heard because every time I entered that room, there was a noise that overlapped everything. My father-in-law was in an armchair, always with his gaze fixed on the television, playing soccer games.
Behind me, as soon as I stepped through the doorway, the two Labrador dogs would barge in without warning and circle the rectangular table. Sometimes they barked, and sometimes they made those cuddling noises, jumping on my husband or me.
They would lick us all, dirtying our clothes with their huge paws. Then my mother-in-law arrived, screaming at Blue and Raiven, asking…
