In The Middle Of Time

"That's not how a woman should eat, Margaret!” my mother shouted in front of the dining table as we
were having a feasty dinner. “You're such a disgrace.”

It was the night before Christmas and we were having a little celebration in our small home. There was a
big roasted turkey my mother has prepared. And unlike any other family, we were feasting… in silence.
My father is a retired general from the old British war. If anyone would ask what kind of father he was,
he was civilized. He handles our family like a military troop, and a single mistake is strictly prohibited.
While my mother, a plain housewife, who once dreamed to be a doctor is a perfectionist mother. And if
there would be anything in this world my mother hates, it would be nothing but mistake. And, we had to
be… perfect.

“I'm sorry, mother,” I apologized, bowing my head a little. If there is anything scarier than the Nazis, it'd
be the stares of my mother. “It won't happen again.”

My father wiped his mouth with a clean table napkin and looked at us, “I'd be gone for two weeks
starting tomorrow. I expect both of you to behave. Especially you, Charles. The school has announced
classes to be back tomorrow. And Margaret…” he said as he looked into my eyes. “… help your mother
with the chores.”

“Yes, father,” I replied quickly with a nod. “I will.”

He stood up and left the table with a clean plate. As expected my mother stood too, picked up father's
plate and had it put in the sink. My brother Charles looked at me with pity. He knew I'd be the maid for
the rest of the month… and as much as he wanted to help me with my chores, he can't. Because he's a
man, and as a man, his duty is to be noble and work for his family. Unlike a woman, who can't do
anything but to be the slave of his man. An inhumane inequality.

After washing the plates and fixing the table, I went to my room. The small room at the attic where I had
to spent the rest of the day if I weren't in the kitchen doing my chores. I opened the lamp on the
bedside table and sat on my crooked bed. It was an antique wooden bed my grandmother left me
before she died when I was seven. And nothing was special in my room except for the old cabinet where
I put most of my clothes. And… my favorite things in this world.

“There you are,” I whispered gleefully as I took my parchment under my bed, and a plume together with
a nearly parched ink inside a bottle. “Hello there…”

“Are you talking to the parchment?” a voice suddenly interfered while I was looking at my parchment.
The last time I knew, I was the only who goes here for no one dared to get close to me so I felt a bit
scared. “Here. At the window.”

And that was the first time I ever saw him.

He was a young boy, probably seventeen. His black hair was ruffled and his eyes were deep gray. Eyes I
have never seen before. He was tall, and his body was lean. He has pale red lips and they were a bit
chapped yet it looks alluring. And the sweet smile on his face, was the one thing I'd never forget. Not
until forever.

“I am Peter,” he said, smiling merrily at me. “I live within the clock tower. Uh… do you mind if I go
down? It's not really nice to stay up here, don't you think? ”

I went closer to the window where the Big Ben were to be seen from a distance. He was sitting
carelessly at the frame of my window, wearing nothing but his plain white shirt and a pair of tattered
pants. I tried to think of any way possible of how he could climb up to the window of my room which is
nearly as high as the tower of the Big Ben. But whatever I do and no matter how hard I think…. it was
just not possible.

He jumped onto the floor carefully, which created a slight movement on the ceiling. I stepped backward
as I stared at him in disbelief. His hands were behind his back as if he was hiding something, which he
got to show me a couple of seconds when he noticed me looking curiously at it. And unlike what I
expected it to be, a sharp knife, it was not. It was a pile of papers.

“I just thought you would like to read,” he said as he reached the papers to me. “That's the original copy
of Alice In Wonderland. Handwritten straight from the marvelous hand of the great Lewis Carroll
himself.”

I stared at him in awe, “That couldn't be possible…”

“See it yourself then,” he challenged me as he took my hands and gave me the papers. “Look at the fine
handwriting and tell me again it's not possible…”

I looked at it, staring at every page. And he was right.

It's the original copy of Lewis Carroll's masterpiece.

“But how…” I couldn't continue what I was about to say for these papers were enchanting me. “Oh,
dear. This is... wonderful.”

He led out a soft laugh as he stared at me, “I never thought girls like those things. I mean… most of you
don't care much about those, but instead you clean up the whole house, wash the dishes and sweep the
floors as if you wish for it to be somehow spotless.”

“Women are not allowed to do anything but to keep the house decent and be a slave to their
husbands,” I said as a bitter smile appeared on my lips. “We aren't even allowed to pursue higher
education, for they all believe that women are fragile and weak, and it won't be much of a use since we
are not allowed to work.”

His lips pursed while he sat on my bed, “Well, that's awful... and boring. You should go to school. You're
talented, you can read perfectly, speak languages of different places, you know how to write stories—”

“How did you know about that?” I queried with my eyebrows knitted. “Do you… do you know who I
am?”

He smiled— the same smile on the lips of Leonardo Da Vinci's Monalisa, “I know you too well, Margaret
Hamilton. And to be honest, I've grown fond of you.”
And starting that night, Peter always comes to my window to visit me. He gives me different books to
read every night. And it's been days, weeks, months and years. I was thirteen when I first met Peter…
and after two years, I've been curious about him. He still looks the same when I first saw him. Boys at his
age should be growing taller, more masculine and would look a bit of a man— just like what happened
to my brother Charles. But Peter… he still looks the same.

I tried to ask him every night but he refuses to talk about it. He always says there are some things better
unsaid, and the less I know, the less it would be more complicated. And I trusted him. Our friendship
grew deeper as years passed by, until I realized I don't see Peter as a friend anymore… but as someone I
adore.

On the night before my eighteenth birthday, I told him about what I feel. He just stared at me sadly as if
he was disappointed. I asked him why but he didn't say a word. He just hugged me really tight as we
were staring at the dazzling tower of Big Ben amidst the dark sky over my window. He made me smile
with his jokes. He made fun of himself until happy laughters echoed in the whole room. It was the
happiest day of my life… and the saddest as well, because I never saw Peter after that night. He was
gone… and I would stare at my window every night, hoping Peter would be back.

I still remember his last words to me.

“You will always be my Night, Margaret. For as long as the time in that clock ticks… I'm with you...”

But he didn't came. No Peter came back.

I continued my life. I fought for my right to study and joined a women's right movement. They granted
us the right to step our feet on universities. Women were allowed to study and later on, were given the
right to vote on elections. I graduated with honors, and my father was proud. I felt like it was a moment
of a lifetime when people started to call me 'Doctor Hamilton', but I wasn't a doctor of the human body.
I was a doctor of words. I was a successful journalist after I finished my doctoral degree and I was able to
publish a book. But there was no night in those years that I have ever forgotten about Peter. Not even
once.

More years have passed and I met another man. He was kind, handsome and funny. He made me feel
safe in his arms and everytime he plants a kiss on my forehead, I knew things would be better. We've
been together for years, and we've been going stronger as days pass by. Until one day, he proposed to
me, and I said yes. Somehow, I felt guilty. I felt like cheating on my feelings for Peter. I decided to write a
letter for him the day before my wedding and I placed it on the same bedside table where I used to put
the stories he's given me every night. And when I was asleep, I had a dream about Peter. He came, he
still looks the same like we first met and like what he usually does, he jumped onto the floor from my
window and walked towards my bed. He sat down at one corner and took the letter. He read it and he
looked at me after with a smile on his lips. And I felt him plant a kiss on my forehead.

And he whispered on my ears, “Good night, Margaret.”

When I woke up, there was no Peter, and the letter was still on the exact spot where I put it last night. I
realized, maybe I was just missing him. Maybe it was really just a dream. But it feels so real. I can still
feel his lips on my forehead. And on that very morning, I became Margaret Eyree. I left our home and
lived with my husband after that. A year passed and I got pregnant with my first child, Janeth. She was
such a beauty, a precious gift. And when she was twelve, I told her stories about Peter. I also made her
read the stories that he gave me, and I saw myself in Janeth.

Times passed by and my little Janeth wasn't little anymore. She was already a lady and she decided to
study in a different place. I was old and sad when my daughter left. My husband died two years after,
and I was alone. And then I grew sick… very sick. I had complications with my heart. I was weak, fragile.
At these moments, I just reminisce those times I was with Peter. How we used to be so young, so
carefree. I wish things were the same. I wish I were still the same.

But I wasn't. I was already passed by time.

I stayed in the hospital for months. Janeth is now a nursing student at a university in town. My skin was
old and dry, my lips were now pale and chapped and wrinkles grew on my forehead. I was old but Janeth
didn't care. She came to visit me from time to time. And when one day she came, that was when she
told me that she just met a man, and they would both visit me one of these days. And I was happy, for it
would be the first time I'll ever see my daughter become a lady. I didn't argue with Janeth for she never
told me she had met a man. But instead, I was happy for my little Janeth.

And one night, I was looking at the view from the window of my hospital room; the tower of Big Ben.
The night was dark and I heard the door crack open. It was Janeth. She entered my room and placed the
flowers and fruits she brought on the bedside table. Janeth left immediately after she planted a kiss on
my forehead. The light in my eyes glowed when she told me her man was here. And he would be seeing
me for the first time. And I felt nervous, yet excited.

I felt like a mother seeing her child for the first time.

He got inside of my room as I was looking at the view outside. Little by little, I turned my gaze to him.
And I couldn't be mistaken. I saw that smile once again.

Never did I imagine I would see him again.

“Peter,” I called his name as tears suddenly ran down my face. I knew it was him. I couldn't be mistaken.

He smiled, walking his way towards me before he sat down on my bed. He still looks the same since the
last time I saw him sixty two years ago. “Hello, Margaret.”

“Y-you left…” those were the only words that came out of my mouth. “I waited… every night, Peter...”

“I know, Margaret. I know,” he said apologetically. He held my hand and planted a kiss on it. “I'm so
sorry.”

Tears streamed down my face and he wiped it with his fingers, “I saw what happened. And I'm proud of
you. Your husband was a good man. I knew he would make you happy. And your book… I read it
everyday.”

“You didn't come back…” the words I wanted to tell him sixty two years ago now were released out of
my mouth. The pain suddenly got back and the agony inside of me grew heavier. “I thought you
would…”
He just smiled, kissing my hands once again before he combed my hair with his fingers, “I came back,
Margaret. I visit you every night. I watch you sleep and I read the letters you leave on on your bedside
table… and it hurts me not to be able to tell you—”

“Why did you leave?” I asked him the question that has remained unanswered for years. “Why, Peter?”

He sighed before he led out a smile, “I had to. You were growing up, Margaret. I'll just ruin your dreams
if I stayed. So I had to distance myself, and watch you blossom from afar no matter how hard it was...”

“… one night, I looked at the clock of the Big Ben and wished that the time was fast. And I was just
staring at its brightness. And the next thing I knew, I was in your window, watching you sleep. And every
night I would watch you scribble things on your paper. Until I was fond of you and I had courage to
befriend you. And you told me what year we were in. 1860. I was scared it was all my imagination, that
maybe I was gone crazy. Till I saw your name on a published book at our local bookstore. And my name
was there, and our story was there. I thought I was just dreaming every night that I came up to your
room. I thought it was all my imagination. But no… it was real. You're real.”

He looked at the tower of Big Ben and his smile grew wider. I looked at it too, and it was dazzling amidst
the sky, “Time, Margaret. We met in the middle of time.”

“The Big Ben…” I whispered to myself when I have realized it. It was what has been connecting us in
those wonderful young years.

And his last words suddenly refreshed my memory.

“… for as long as the time in that clock ticks, I'm with you…”

“Tell me, Peter,” I said as I held the hand he placed on my cheek. He was so young and handsome. He
could be the dream of every lady. “How old are you?”

The smile on his face suddenly fade, “Nineteen today.”

“I'm glad I was able to see you again,” I whispered as I touched his cheek. “You made me wait for too
long.”

He held my hand and I can feel its warmth, “I'm sorry, Margaret. I'm glad to see you again, too.”

“About Janeth…” I said out of the blue as I fixed my eyes onto his. “So you were the man she was talking
about.”

A genuine smile appeared on his lips, “She was so like you. Strong, lovely, charming… wonderful.”

“I'm warning you, Peter,” I said sternly as I looked at him seriously. “Never do you dare hurt my
daughter.”

And I saw the same smile he gave me when we first met, “I promise, Margaret. I'll do everything to
make her happy.”

We talked for hours. About his life, my life, about my book and the days where we used to have fun. It
was like I found a big part of me, which has been gone for so long. I felt whole again... as if I just put the
puzzle pieces of my life together. And I was so happy. I can see a smile on my daughter's face, the kind
of smile I haven't seen from her before. And my dear Peter, he just found his own time. Maybe fate is
really playful. I never thought such thing would happen to me. That such thing is possible. There are so
many mysteries of life I've never discovered, but I was happy of how things turned out to be. And I just
thought life really works that way... and not the way you wanted it. And time, unlike anything in this
world… doesn't change. It shall remain… constant.

Before the night ended, they were about to leave. But Peter decided to stay. And my daughter agreed so
we could talk. Peter has explained everything to her. Before she left, she kissed me on my forehead and
bid me goodbye. She also bid goodbye to Peter for she has things to finish tomorrow and really has to
leave. And once again, I was left with the man who used to make me love the night.

I looked at the tower of the Big Ben once again. And I felt my eyes being weary for eighty years of seeing
the world. I knew I've done what I must do and all of my questions have been answered. Maybe...
maybe it was time.

And before I closed my eyes, I looked at Peter who was sitting on a chair beside my bed, with his head
lying onto my bed. A smile formed on my lips as I watch him sleep. I held his hand which was nearly
touching mine, and for the last time, I whispered with a smile on my lips.

“Good night, Peter. Until we meet again…”