Twenty Minutes

It was starting to get dark as I sat in the corner of the walled, stone-paved courtyard. I looked at the big digital clock posted by the large exit gate. Twenty minutes to midnight. If ever there was a time, now was the time to make a run for it. A few other people wandered around the courtyard, but no one seemed particularly interested in any immediate action or conversation. Now was the time to leave. Only twenty minutes to midnight.

I stood up slowly, so as not to wake the sleepy polar bear resting near the gate. I announced, as if to encourage myself, but perhaps said it too loudly, "I'm going to leave now." A couple people turned their heads, saying nothing, and the polar bear opened its eyes and let out a brief growl. I changed my mind. I would follow the rules instead.

I walked over to the clerk by the north wall and picked up the proper forms. I scribbled down the answers on my application and approached the polar bear. It looked at me with disinterest as I placed the application on the ground.

I'm not entirely sure what happened next, but I think I saw the polar bear smirk as there was a bright flash of light, after which I looked and saw my application was gone. Blamed kiwi lux. The polar bear got up then and began to prowl in front of the gate. Taking a few steps back, I looked up at the clock. Still fifteen minutes to midnight. There had to be a means of escape. Next time, I told myself, I would study law and find a loophole in the rules.

I wandered about for a few minutes, staring at the grimy walls in thought, now and then. I considered conferring with some of the others in the courtyard, discuss a possible plan with them, but they didn't appear to be particularly helpful in this case. One guy even fell into a pit that opened underneath his feet. The fall and crunch at the end were fairly mild, so I assumed he would appear from the hole again, but I didn't see him again before midnight.

The polar bear made a sound and I looked up at the clock. Only seven minutes to midnight. Suddenly panicked and griping to myself about lost time, I again approached the polar bear, but this time with more boldness. It just stood there, blocking the way. I considered making a rude dash for the exit, but a sudden feeling of politeness filled my soul instead.

I tried reason. "Look, polar bear, we all know it's getting late, and it would be nice if I could leave now." I tried this and a few other tactics, but nothing worked and—I swear it was true this time!—the polar bear grinned at me and turned its head towards the clock. Fifteen minutes had now passed me by since my initial attempt to depart from the courtyard.

So it was then, with five minutes to spare, that I embraced the polar bear's game. I had to ask myself, how much do I really want to leave? Wouldn't it be even better to stay here all night and play games with my fiercest competitor? Yes, I thought, that would be very nice—to laugh and speak joyfully as the polar bear slowly nods off to sleep…. However, there was no time for that now, though a game was still in order. A longer stay the polar bear would get out of me. But a full twenty minutes? Never.

As a crowd began to form, I knew my only comical choice was to revert to Shakespeare. With feigned sadness and displeasure, I made a show and played Horatio. Or was it Hamlet? Oh, who can tell now? It's of no matter now, because the crowd was pleased and the polar bear played along.

Smile on my face, I looked at the clock—one minute to spare, and the polar bear no longer so forcefully guarding the gate. But even as I looked at the digital display, I saw the numbers shift and I knew that midnight was upon us. I had failed. A moment later the polar bear noticed the time and began to celebrate. And I swear this is true, it began to dance around the courtyard. I watched for a few moments, somehow defeated and yet glad, but then I noticed that the gate stood open, and with a quick movement I would be free to leave. I began to walk towards the exit, but the polar bear lunged and landed in front of me.

Feeling that obedience only created by fear, I fell to the ground and awaited my terrible fate. But when I gained enough courage and opened my eyes, I saw the polar bear backing away. And I don't know if it was by magic—it could just as easily have been science, or even religion—but a copy of my application, completed and officially stamped, rested on the ground in front of me. I stood up and grabbed the document, lifting it up over my head. At last, it had come to pass. The polar bear looked just a little bit sad and the crowd looked confused, but now was my time to celebrate.

As I walked through the gate, I couldn't help but think of the polar bear and the coinciding failure and victory I had obtained. But I set my eyes ahead and looked beyond the gate. It was dark outside of the courtyard, now after midnight, and the sky was cloudy so I walked home slowly.

I made it home in due time, lay down in my bed, and reflected on the night's events, plotting how I might retell this tale. I couldn't help but miss the fun, and it came to me then—I wasn't dreaming.