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Lazy Days By Libby Lazewnik
How a teen learned to tell time
http://www.JewishWorldReview.com |
Everybody has the occasional "lazy day". You know the kind of day I mean, when there's no school and no homework, and therefore no need to watch the clock. No need to be anywhere or do anything. A day to be spent in a delightfully desultory fashion. A day when Time is banished.
Everyone has the occasional lazy day. And then there are those who live that way all the time…
I used to be that way. I'd like to say that I'm not that way anymore, but that would not be strictly true. What I can say, in all honesty, is that I'm not that way all the time anymore. And I am trying to get better. Truly. Because something happened to me a few months ago that really shook me up. It taught me that Time is not something that will let itself be ignored. Every second is precious… only sometimes — most of the time — we don't see it that way. We think of the seconds and the minutes as things to be tossed away lightly, like Frisbees or balls.
There's one big difference: A ball — or a Frisbee — can be retrieved. You can always get them back again. The same rule doesn't apply to Time, though. You can't get it back. Not even a single second…
Well, enough introductions. It's time to tell you my story. I'll warn you ahead of time: It's not a very edifying one. I wasn't the kind of person you'd want to learn from or be like. In a word, I was LAZY!
Boy, was I ever lazy. Here's how most of my mornings went:
MA: Ricki, it's time to get up for school.
ME [turning over in bed]: Okay, Ma. Soon…
MA: Now, Ricki. It's getting late!
ME [smothering a yawn]: In a second…
The seconds would pile up… and up… and up… while I snuggled more deeply into my pillow and let Time pass me by. Unfortunately, Ma wouldn't pass by so easily. When there was no sign of my coming downstairs to breakfast, she would sigh, leave my brothers and sisters to fend for themselves in the kitchen, and come upstairs to get me moving.
This was no easy feat. Like a mountain, I was immovable.
"Just one more second, Ma," I'd plead, eyes still closed.
"Now, Ricki."
"But I'm in the middle of a dream…"
"Now, Ricki!"
At this point, with a sigh of my own, I would finally drag my eyes open to face the world.
My friends knew me as well as my family did. Even when it came to having fun, I was hard to budge.
"Come on, Ricki. We're going skating. Everyone'll be waiting!"
"In a second…" I was deeply engrossed in a book and far too comfortable to move.
"Okay," my friend would say at last. "I'm leaving without you."
At which point, feeling like a martyr, I would finally lay aside my book and deign to haul myself to my feet.
If being lazy hurt only me, that would have been bad enough. But, of course, it doesn't work that way. It's hard for people to depend on a lazybone. When a job needs to be done and you're the one who's supposed to be doing it, "just a second" won't accomplish much. And when the person who's been counting on you (e.g., your mother) comes back and finds that nothing's been done, it's not much use saying, "I'm sorry". Someone's got to get the job done, and most of the time it was Ma who ended up being that someone.
Take the time my mother put a cake in the oven and asked me to take the cake out when the timer dinged. As she put on her coat and got ready to leave the house, she said again, anxiously, "Ricki, you'll remember about that cake, won't you? It's for Yanky's class; they're having a siyum (party) tomorrow. As soon as you hear the timer ring, please turn it off and take the cake out of the oven. You can let the pan cool on the rack I've left on the counter."
"Sure, Ma." I was cozily ensconced on the sofa, a book propped open before me and a bowl of popcorn conveniently situated near my elbow. Vaguely, I heard the front door open and then close. A second later I was lost to the world, afloat in a sea of imagination. My book held me happily absorbed for the next hour and a half.
Yes, that's right. An hour an a half. Apparently, the timer on the kitchen stove had duly dinged, though the sound never registered on my otherwise-occupied mind. One of my brothers, wandering through the kitchen in search of a drink, was obliging enough to silence the timer. Then he took his drink and ran back outside to play. Meanwhile, on the sofa, I'd drifted into a lazy doze, my book forgotten at my side.
It was the smell of something scorching that finally tickled my nostrils — and my sluggish mind — into wakefulness. The cake! I leaped off the sofa and raced into the kitchen -- to encounter a roomful of acrid smoke and a cake that resembled a flattened piece of shoe leather. My mother, when she returned home, was not pleased. My brother, who'd been planning to bring the cake to school for his class's siyum, was even less pleased. My apologies fell on deaf ears. I was in disgrace.
And so it went. My remorse, each time, was genuine. But the next time I was called upon to exert myself, you could be sure to find me tossing away the seconds, the minutes and the hours like so many bits of fluff. Instead of swimming vigorously in a straight line, I barely managed a dog-paddle through Time's pool. I drifted lazily in circles, going nowhere, and doing nothing except what I absolutely couldn't get out of.
For me, every day was a lazy day.
 What with the chore of getting me out of bed each morning and seeing to it that I got my homework done at night, poor Ma was at her wits' end. And then, finally, the long school year was over and summer vacation began, to give us both a respite. That first glorious week I spent nearly somnolent. Like a cat on a wall in the sun, I hardly opened my eyes or moved a muscle. Ma let me be — relishing, I supposed, her own freedom from having to prod me into action all the time. But after that first week, the "vacation" was over. Ma knew what I had not yet learned: that Time was meant to be harnessed, not thrown away. That every hour is a gift, to be used and not wasted. She started giving me small chores again, and patiently (and sometimes not so patiently) urging me to get them done in a timely fashion. After a week's reprieve, the daily skirmishes had begun again. "Ricki, I need those dishes washed now." "In a second, Ma, okay? I just want to finish this…" "Now, Ricki." I had deliberately refrained from making any definite summer plans. All I wanted was a summer in which to be as lazy as I pleased. I begrudged the need to work, to move — to do anything except bask in the sun of my own inertia… until the day when I learned to want something else. It was the second Sunday of the summer break. Ma told me that she was leaving me in charge of my little sisters for two whole hours. "I have an important appointment, Ricki," she said. "The boys will be over at the Schwartzes, but you're in charge of Rochie and Miri till I get back." "Oh, Ma, do I have to?" I whined. "I was just getting comfortable…" Her glance swept over my cozy arrangement of book, snacks and drinks. "So I see," she said dryly. "Sorry, Ricki, but the job's yours. I should be back at around four." I sighed and shrugged, signifying a grudging assent. "Ricki." Something in the tone of my mother's voice made me lift my eyes to meet hers. Ma peered earnestly at me and said, "I want you to be on top of things here. Keep an eagle-eye on the girls. Don't let them wander away or get up to anything dangerous, Heaven forbid. I'm counting on you, Ricki." Even as she said the words, her face betrayed her uncertainty. "I'm twelve years old, Ma," I reminded her. "I know how to babysit for my own little sisters." "Fine." She stepped back. "I'll be leaving now. The girls are in their room. I got them a new puzzle, so they should be busy for a while. I want you to go upstairs and check on them every once in a while. Okay?" I mumbled something that Ma must have taken as a "yes", because very shortly after that, with a wave and a "See you later", she left. Of course, I didn't go up to check on my sisters. Telling myself that keeping an ear open would be more than adequate, I settled down to enjoy the afternoon. Through the open window I heard a lot of noise and music from the house next door. Our neighbors were having a big reunion, to which relatives had come driving or flying from places far and near. There was quite a crowd expected. I could hear them arriving in a steady stream, amid much talk and laughter. Babies cried, mothers called to children, and fathers exchanged hearty greetings on the lawn. The party would start indoors and spill out onto the front and back yards, where swing sets beckoned the children and deck chairs were set out for the adults in the shade of several well-grown trees. I listened to the revelry for a few minutes, then perked an ear for sounds of my own sisters — there were none -- before returning to my book.
And Time rolled sluggishly along…
"Ricki! Ricki, wake up!" It was Rochie, my sister, and she was tugging at my sleeve impatiently. "Ricki, you need to come help us!" "Help you? Do what?" I asked drowsily. The hum of activity and voices from next door had heightened in pitch. All the expected guests must have arrived by now. I glanced at the clock and was surprised at how much time had passed since I'd settled onto the sofa. What had Rochie and Miri been up to all this time? Nervously, I propped myself up on my elbow. "Help you with what, Rochie?" I asked again, more alertly this time. "Get my balloon down from the tree. Miri let go of it, and now it's stuck in the branches and won't come down!" My sister seemed perilously close to tears. "Okay, okay," I grumbled, heaving myself to my feet. I knew Rochie well enough to know that my usual "In a second" would elicit nothing but a flood of tears. Better get the job over with right away, and then return to my siesta… I followed her outside to the back yard, where Miri was standing guard beside the broad trunk of our favorite climbing tree. Peering up through shaded eyes, I caught a glimpse of red, high up in the branches. It was the balloon that Rochie had received at the dentist's the other day. "Get it down for me fast, Ricki!" Rochie urged. "Don't let the squirrels eat it!" "I don't think balloons feature on the squirrel diet," I muttered. But I knew when I was beaten. Either I climbed up and retrieved that balloon for Rochie or she'd be after me, in tears and tantrums, for the rest of the afternoon. Ma wasn't due back for at least half an hour. With a heavy sigh of self-pity at the need for all that exertion, I started climbing. Once I got started, it wasn't hard. The reason this was our favorite climbing tree was that the branches were set conveniently close together, making quick upward progress easy. Before long, I was perched on the same branch as that red balloon. Carefully, I grasped the string and got ready to head down again. That's when I happened to glance over at the neighbor's house — and got the shock of my life. I was on the level of the house's second story. Directly facing me was a bedroom at the rear of the house. Outside that bedroom was a tiny balcony with a waist-high wooden railing. And sitting on that railing, looking extremely precarious, was a small boy. He appeared no older than two or three years — old enough to be able to climb up onto that railing, but not old enough to know how to safely get down. The slightest tilt in the wrong direction would send him hurtling down to my neighbor's back yard, two flights down… In that yard, children swung and slid and shouted happily, while their parents chatted together with long, cold drinks in their hands. None of them had an inkling of the drama taking place above their heads — a tragedy waiting to happen… My first instinct was to shout a warning. Then I clamped my mouth shut. Any sudden sound might tip the balance — and the little boy — with devastating results. I didn't stop to think. For once in my life, I acted, and acted fast. It took me ten endless seconds to slide and stumble my way down from that tree. With a breathless "Wait right here!" I thrust the balloon into Rochie's fist, spun away and started pounding across the yard. I squeezed through a hole in the hedge that we and the neighbor's kids always use when visiting back and forth. Ten more seconds to reach their back door — elbowing my way through a crowd of surprised guests to do so. The back door was open. I didn't wait. I knew my way around that house nearly as well as I knew my own. Through the kitchen to the stairs, up the stairs to the second floor, straight along the hall to the back bedroom that my neighbors generally use for guests. Then on through the room to the tiny balcony that led off from it. All this took less time than it takes to write -- approximately another ten seconds. As I emerged flying onto the balcony, the little boy turned his head in surprise. The movement overbalanced him, but that didn't matter anymore because I was there to scoop him up in my arms and bear him back to safety. I carried him into the bedroom and then, as gently as though he were made of glass, set him down on the floor. In a belated reaction, the child started crying. I heard a woman's voice calling, "Ezri! Ezri, where are you, sweetie?"
I knew where Ezri was. I picked him up again, still unable to speak because the run had robbed me of every particle of breath, and bore him away to meet his mother.
Thirty seconds. It had taken me thirty seconds to save a little boy's life. Had I tarried for only one or two of them, the end might, Heaven forbid, have been very different. Had I moved at my usual Time-defying snail's pace, who knows what would have happened? But I hadn't moved at my usual pace. I'd flown like lightning because right then, at that moment, every second counted. Who's to say that they don't count just as much all the time, though less dramatically? That was the question I pondered as I lay in my bed that night. I thought of how much can be accomplished in a brief half-minute of time. I thought about all the half-minutes and minutes and hours I'd thrown away in the course of my life. About the endless string of "lazy days" that had made up that life so far. And about what the rest of my life would look like if something didn't change…
Maybe that headlong sprint had done something to my brain. Maybe it had done something to my heart. All I know is that life seemed to take me by the shoulders and give me a good shaking. And when it was over, I was a different person.
I may still be inclined to laziness — but now, I fight it. Because I know now that Time is not an infinite ocean in which to swim idle circles. It's more like a road, with mile markers all along the way. And every step you take carries further along that road. Sitting down at the roadside will get you — exactly nowhere. I fell asleep very late that night, as these strange and unusual thoughts kept me awake long after the hour when I was usually lost in dreamland. Surprisingly, despite the short rest, my mother didn't have any trouble getting me out of bed the next morning. Tired as I was, I climbed right out the moment my eyes opened. Under the influence of yesterday's powerful message, there were lots of things that I wanted to do today. I wanted to check on the little boy next door. I wanted to call up a friend and make a plan. I wanted to help my mother around the house. I had a lot of lost time to make up for. In short, I wanted to get my act together. And I didn't want to waste a second doing it! Interested in a private Judaic studies instructor — for free? Let us know by clicking here.
JewishWorldReview.com regularly publishes uplifting and inspirational stories. Sign up for the daily JWR update. It's free. Just click here. Libby Lazewnik, the highly acclaimed juvenile author, writes weekly for the Monsey, New York-based Yated Ne'eman. Comment by clicking here.
Teen King
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