She wasn’t expecting an in-person audience.
In fact, when Amser wrote her letter to the Committee of the Calendar, she expected it to be lost among all the mail they receive. Surely they were constantly inundated with opinions and suggestions on how they ran things.
But within a week of sending her thoughts, she was summoned to their meeting to make her appeal in person.
How very timely of them, she thought.
At 9:00am exactly, the doors to the meeting room opened. Several people filed into the room with Amser and took their seats in the rows of chairs facing the dais.
Amser took her seat in the third row. She glanced around at the room, noting how underdressed she was compared to the others. As she was studying the sharply-dressed woman across the aisle from her, she thought she saw movement at the dais. Yes, what she thought was just an engraving of an hourglass in the wood was actually a working hourglass with what looked like sand. As the sand started to fall, a door at the front of the room opened and five stately figures filed to their seats facing the crowd.
The Committee of the Calendar.
The Chairman was in the middle, flanked on each side by two members of the committee. The four members — one man and one woman on each side of the Chairman — were all thin, stern, and looked as if they had each eaten a lemon. The Chairman was a large, stately man with a round face and thin mustache. Amser wondered if his intention was to resemble a clock. If so, he succeeded.
Amser had been advised that hers was the second appeal to be presented today. She sat through the reading of the minutes from the previous meeting and then listened to a man making an impassioned request that The Committee change from a system based on 60 seconds/minutes to 100 seconds/minutes.
With a flick of the wrist, the Chairman dismissed the proposal and the man left, dejected. It seemed decisions were swift and final. How terrifying, Amser thought.
The small man who had read the minutes and then introduced the first presenter called for Amser Hora. It was her turn to present her case.
Knowing writing was her strong suit and the fact that she had little time to prepare a verbal appeal, Amser had settled on simply reading the letter she had already sent to The Committee. Now that she was approaching the podium, she wondered if that was a mistake.
Once her letter was in place on the podium — there were only so many ways to shuffle a lone piece of paper — Amser looked up at The Committee.
With all eyes on Amser, the silence started to grow noticeable. Someone coughed. The Chairman lifted an eyebrow. She knew she couldn’t stall any longer. Amser read:
To Whom It May Concern
As you know, we are in the dead of winter. It is February. The weather is bleak and cheer is hard to come by naturally.
Just over a month ago, we were in a celebratory season. As we anticipated Christmas, the decor, music, and general atmosphere was joyful. We gathered with family and had deep consideration for others.
And then the holidays pass and we were thrust into the bitter cold with nothing to look forward to.
So, to that point, I propose we change the calendar. Give us something to look forward to as we endure the cold. Move Christmas to the end of February or beginning of March. We can have our decorations, baked goods, and other seasonal joys for, well, the whole season. And as soon as the celebration is over, Spring is on its way with its warmth and new life.
Respectfully,
Amser Hora
Amser didn’t look up. She couldn’t bear the thought of rejection in front of so many strangers.
Then, the previously silent Chairman made a considering “hmmmmm.”
The other members of The Committee turned toward the rotund man, never letting their expressions betray their thoughts.
Amser looked up and made eye contact with the Chairman. He was slightly nodding his head, as if thinking over her proposal.
Then, for the first time since he entered the room, the Chairman spoke.
“We’ll consider it,” he said, barely above a whisper.
Amser’s eyes grew wide. She looked at each committee member. They held their stern countenances, staring back at her as if she hadn’t said anything at all.
It was then Amser noticed the slight man who had announced her. He cleared his throat and tilted his head toward the door.
Amser nodded to the Chairman and peeped, “thank you,” as she quickly exited the room. She didn’t stop and rushed down the corridor to exit the building into the bustling city.
She pulled he coat close and hurried home to get out of the cold.
Maybe, she thought, just maybe we’ll still be celebrating this time next year.
Angela Spencer Writes 