My grandpa had a dress watch with big hands. I only know this because my grandma would let me hold it when I was lonesome.

“Just five minutes at a time,” she would say. I knew how to count to five. I could watch the second-hand go round the face five times. (Only after disputing that it was actually the third hand of the watch — which turned out to be a welcome distraction as well.) 

I loved my grandma so much, but it was no defense against the pull that my mother had on my heart. Even when the time was nearing for her to pick me up, and maybe especially then, my little heart ached. “She’s probably putting on her lipstick now.” I agreed and rubbed my finger across my bottom quivering lip. Watching the second (or third) hand tick. “What do you think she’s doing now?” my grandma asked. “Looking for her glasses, her sun glasses and her purse…she just switched to her spring purse, so she won’t be certain where the keys are.” “Where do you think they are?” “On the counter by the phone. Where they always are,” I said as the hand kept moving on grandpa’s watch. “She’s probably in the car now,” she said. “I hope there isn’t a train,” I said, knowing she had to cross the tracks before getting on Broadway. “All green lights,” my grandma said. And I smiled. And I pictured each one in my head. One brighter than the next. And the hand kept moving. 

It wasn’t long before I heard the tires on the gravel. And I raced to place gently the watch back on the dresser and run out the back door. As my mother pulled in, I ran back to the kitchen and hugged my grandma. She had saved me, before I was saved.

I can get so far ahead of myself at times. Then I hear the coddling ticks. Certain I can make it another round. Certain that I am loved. Bathed in the glow of all the green lights.