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A Creative Writing by Nancy Sack
Passing Time



"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I have been late about 10,000 times in the last month."

My priest replies, "Nancy, you know tardiness is one of the seven deadly sins in America. You need to repent and be late no more."

"I will, Father. I know what a terrible sin being late is. The repercussions of my sin have been grievous."

As I finish saying my penance at the altar, I make a new vow to myself, that starting today I'm going to be on time. Then I look at my watch and realize that I'm already fifteen minutes late for a dinner engagement.

Why is it that I can't be on time? Something always comes up. I'm getting ready for a friend's wedding. I'm hurrying, nylons on, looking for my slip, with my hair still wet from the shower. I'm thinking I'd better get this hair dried quickly because the Kennedy will probably be packed with cars heading to Wrigley Field to see the Cubs' game.

But I think I've given myself plenty of extra time to get down to St. John's on the North Side. I'm really looking forward to the ceremony. But where is that slip? As I'm groping through my underwear drawer looking for that slip, I hear the phone ring, once, twice...

I don't have the time, but I go running into the living room, half-dressed, past the open-draped window and grab the phone on the fourth ring. Yes, I'm still one of those antiquated individuals who pays for the use of a land phone.

"Hello."

"Nance, it's Mary."

"Mary, how are you doing?" It's great to hear her voice. Wished she hadn't moved to Kansas City after her wedding, but Joe got a great job offer. I sure miss her.

"Okay," she says.

I read her tone. She feels like hell.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Joe and me."

"What do you mean?" Oh no, Joe and Mary, my stomach tightens up, a great couple. She really needs to talk, and I have my friend's wedding. Maybe she only needs a half hour. I could make the wedding in time.

Forty-five minutes later, I hang up the phone, and I'm going to be late once again. But what could I do? Listen Mary, can I put you on hold because I have to go to a wedding. I know you'll understand, and we'll talk about your pending divorce tomorrow.

No, I can't say that. Instead, I listen to her and consequently miss half the wedding despite my driving down the Kennedy at 75 mph, weaving in and out, trying to get to St. John's ten minutes late rather than twenty minutes late. Failed again, and I never even spent the time to find my slip, put on my make-up, or blow dry my hair. I feel horrible sneaking into church, sliding into the back pew which echoes late, late, late.

Something always comes up. I'm walking to my next hour freshman English with three minutes to spare. Before I started teaching, I always imagined walking leisurely to my next class, accompanied by eager students who desired additional insights on Shakespeare's characterizations and universal themes in Julius Caesar. When faced with reality, I soon learned that I couldn't pontificate on Shakespeare's works during a five- minute passing period. I also learned to skip going to the bathroom between classes because punctuality must take priority over relief.

As it happens, I'm rushing to class, pass the bathroom, but don't enter. I'm thinking about how I'm going to make The Odyssey an exciting piece of literature to my ninth graders who would rather talk about Kayne West, John Mayer, and the Dave Matthews Band. Suddenly, I'm interrupted by my Princeton-bound editor who never makes a deadline.

"Mrs. Sack, could I talk to you for a minute? It's really important." Paul's intensity could provide enough electricity for Chicago including the metropolitan area.

"Paul, is it really important? I've got to get to class." Sometimes I really get angry that I can't stop and talk to a student for fear of being late to class. But I know the seconds are flying by.

"I just need a minute to explain this form from Princeton."

With two minutes to spare, I stop to listen. "Okay, Paul, but hurry."

"Okay, Mrs. Sack, I feel really bad, but you have to postmark this by tomorrow. I was doing my AP chemistry project, my article for the newspaper, my term paper, and I totally forgot to get this recommendation to you."

"What specifics do they want?" I'm angry with Paul because he's so late with this application form. And now he's going to make me late for class. But I love his enthusiasm, his involvement, and his concern for others. Four years with the newspaper, and he's done an excellent job. And of course, how can I chide him when he reminds me of myself, my weakness, being late?

Paul hurries through his spiel about this Princeton form. I am to write a thorough account of his character which should include his contributions to the school newspaper, postmark it tomorrow, and be on call for their reply. No problem. As I take the form and accept his apology for not getting it to me sooner, the bell rings.

Once again, I'm late running frantically down the hallway while my students hoard around my locked classroom.

"Bless me, Principal, for I have sinned. I have been late to class about 10,000 times in the last semester."

My principal replies, "Nancy, don't you know punctuality is the most important objective to attain, implement, and enforce as a teacher? You need to repent and be late no more."

"I will, Principal. The repercussions of my sin have been great."

As I sit in silence, waiting to be absolved by my principal, I hear that familiar, loathsome sound above his desk. I hear its ticking, and my stomach starts to churn. Those awful hands keep moving, and I'm always a good mile behind.

Nancy Sack (U of I Alumna ) BA English




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