Write about anything you’d like. Somewhere in your post, include the sentence, “I heard the car door slam, and immediately looked a the clock.”
It was in an attic I think, dimly lit from one window high up looking out to a bare tree and a long road. I was holding the clock with its wooden crank handle. Just trying to turn it and rolling it around in my hands bouncing it of my bare feet.I was alone though I didn’t know it yet. The extent of being alone that is. Some where a door closed ,I looked back down at the clock to find contentment again.
We left soon afterward. My mom carried me to my grandparents car. Being three you don’t remember much. But that was the last I knew of a dad, for 40 years.