Midnight

Sixteen seconds until the last day I lived here.
Fifteen.
Fourteen.

My best friend held my hand mitten-style. She didn't want me to leave.
I didn't want me to leave.
Thirteen.

When I had more than one day, the leaving hadn't seemed so unbearable. Having one day left was horrible. I felt miserable.
Twelve.
Eleven.
Ten.



When I was a kid, staying up until midnight was a huge accomplishment. I couldn't wait for twelve to come, because I was exhausted. Now I couldn't sleep because sleeping lost too much time.
Nine.
Eight.

Rumor had it that Nebraska sucked. I didn't want to leave partway through my junior year. I didn't want a new guidance counselor or new friends or a new house. I wanted to stay where I was as I was.
Seven.

I squeezed her hands and she squeezed mine and we hoped that time would stop ticking.
Six.
Five.
Four.

At four in the morning I was gone. A car, a plane, a train and it was done. I didn't want it to be done.
Three.
Two.

One.