Minutes

If you’ll just give me a minute, I’ll be done.

A minute passed and still nothing was finished. A year later some movement happened and everyone thought highly of that. They peeked over his shoulder and saw a blank slate. How disappointing, they thought.

Just give me a minute and I’ll be done.

Another minute passed and another year with it. He had concentration on his face, intensity in his eyes, and nails between his teeth. They admired how busy he looked and took a peek. The slate was still blank. This is just depressing, they agreed.

A minute – just a minute – is all I need and I'll be done.

A minute passed and a year and another year and by this time they lost track of the exact time and lost interest in him. He looked so busy, so intense, so focused, yet his slate was blank. They moved on without a word.

I’m done.

He finished sometime in the night, alone. Everybody was gone. He looked over his slate and liked what he saw. He set it aside and grabbed another slate. His brow furled, his jaw tightened, his teeth clenched down on nails as he began again.

Just give me a minute.