11:02

A timid Japanese boy creeps beside me. I see his reflection in the glass case that stands between us and history. I can’t move my seldom stare, yet I can feel his eyes wander to mine. Our eyes meet, mine peering down as his gaze rises upwards. Slowly, our eyes begin to move towards the artifact labeled “Flash of Death.” While I think to myself “huh, how fitting”, the little boy’s eyes who originally lingered suddenly swelled.

I saw the boy standing on the ticket line, hand held by his father. His tightly fitted light blue hat drew my attention away from the thick air I’d suddenly choked on. His laugh, innocent. His eyes, soft. His soul, untouched. The lack of communication was obvious but I waved in attempt to break the barrier that grew by the minute. The glass cracked, figuratively of course. He smiled. The glass cracked some more. I covered my mouth as I giggled. He followed with the pure laughter a mother prides in hearing. The glass is shattered.

The small boy walked into the exhibit first. His tickets read 10:00AM while mine read 10:15AM. We said bye through the open window.

The clock strikes 11:02. 11:02 and the clock on the wall, the clocks in the glass shields, the clock on my watch, all the clocks read the same. The clocks in the glass shield are forever frozen at 11:02. At 11:02 my eyes meet the boys yet again.