'Tell me the story again', you asked, as you snuggled closer to me. Your hand ran through my chest, your fingers tracing patterns on my flesh. Your nails raked my bare skin, sending shivers down my spine, but your kisses soothe me. I'm smiling, in the dark where we lay, I smile, because I know what story you want me to tell. But I play coy. 'And what story would that be, now?', I say wryly. You humour me, and join in on the fun. 'The story. You might have told me the story once or twice before.', and though I can't see it clearly with my eyes, I feel your smile with my soul. 'Have I? I must have told you so many stories already', I say, adding some more length to the chase. 'Ye-es', you agree. 'A lot of them, but... there's one in particular I'd like you to tell me again'. I draw closer to you, a late summer's night breeze caressing our warm bodies. I tell you this story every year, for our anniversary, I tell you this story whenever you ask me to tell it. 'Tell me the story again', you softly repeated, 'the story about how you knew as a kid that we would one day meet'. You always end this with a chuckle, that laughter I have loved since I first heard it. 'You really want me to tell it again?', I tease. I feel your head nod in agreement, as it rests on my chest.
'So, you know, one day when I was a kid me and my family went to this big county fair near where we lived, and somewhere along the way, while we were there, I got separated from my parents. Maybe I stopped at some stall while they kept on walking, something like that. All I knew is that I had lost sight of them. In that ocean of people, I was totally lost. I looked around - I didn't see them. They were probably worried out of their minds, looking for me already. I pressed on, to see if I could find them. Remember, I was a kid, things like thinking about going up to the PA to have them call my parents over the megaphones, or searching for a meeting point, weren't really what came to my mind.' I pause, for a while, and let the silence go on until you break it. 'Maybe you weren't such a bright kid, then', you say, and I agree - maybe I wasn't. 'Also', I continued, 'bear in the mind that I felt a certain sense of freedom. I was never scared, it didn't even cross my mind that something bad might happen. Very naive, I was. As I kept n walking through throng at the fair, hoping to bump into my parents, I started to feel tired. So I went and sat down on a bench, to rest for a few minutes, to catch my breath.'
'And that's when you met him?', you ask, knowing full well the answer. 'That's when I met him. The man in black', I said, trying to make it sound ominous. 'I thought he looked like a very well dressed mortician, wearing tight, fitted black denims, black boots, a black shirt with a black tie, and a black vest. He stopped in front of me, and for a moment he was blotted out by the sun, so all I saw was an angel of darkness before me. He tilted his head sideways and said 'you shouldn't be here alone'. He then added, 'And I shouldn't either'. 'He sat down beside me, and we sat in silence for a few moments. Every now and again he'd pull out a pocket watch, and looked at it intently. One time, my gaze lingered upon it - and it didn't seem to be moving.'
'Is your watch broken, mister?, I asked. At that he smiled a wan smile. He thought for a while, then said, 'Well, yes, but no. It only works when it's meant to work.' I had no idea what that meant. 'You see, it stopped telling the time long ago, because it got almost emptied of time. So what time it has left in it is saved up for the real important stuff.', he said, putting the watch back on his pocket. 'This watch is special, you know that?', and I nodded to him indicating I didn't. 'It was given to me, long ago, in a place very much like this, by someone who looked very much like me. I didn't understand him either. But he gave me a gift, he gave me everything without a time.' He pulled out the watch, and now I heard it tick for the first time, even above the din of the crowd it was perfectly audible. 'Your parents', he said, 'will be here in approximately ninety seconds'. The clock ticked furiously away. 'In about a minute from now, I will never have been here. The next time this clock ticks you will find the one.'
'There was a sudden flash of light, and the pocket watch fell to the ground with a thud, louder than it should have been, as if it was heavier, denser. I bent down to grab it from the floor, and as I pick it up, I realize how light it is. For the first of many, many times, I open the watch. As the hunter-case springs open, I realize there is an inscription on the inside of the case. 'It will never tell you the time. It will only tell you when the time is right'. I looked at those words, read them over and over again, wondering what they meant. Faintly, I hear a familiar voice. I look up, and it's my father asking me what I was holding. My mother joined in and wondered what piece of junk I'd grown attached to this time. 'MOM! DAD!', I say loudly, 'I was looking for you all over! I'm sorry I got lost, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.' I was crying, bawling my eyes out, holding fast to the pocket watch. My parents look nonplussed - they look at each other, laughed away my tears, and said 'Buddy, you didn't get lost! You were here with us the whole time! Now, what you got there, champ? Do you want to show us what you found?'
I didn't really understand, but then again my memories of getting lost already seemed far away. I held a out my hand and showed them the pocket watch. My father took it and studied it for a bit, fidgeting with it for a while. 'Aw, I think it's broken, kid. Might as well throw it in the trash.', he said as he then passed it to my mother, who looked at it as well. 'I don't know. Maybe someone lost it. Though it is a piece of junk. But there's some charm to it. I dunno, I really don't. Something tells me you should keep it.'
'I did. I kept it with me all these years. Soon enough I had developed that habit of taking it out of my pocket and looking at the time. It always told the same time. It's as if time had stood still and it was waiting to be brought to life again.' It had gotten somewhat chillier, and I pull the blanket over us, covering your bare shoulders. 'Did you never lose hope? Did you never doubt?', you ask softly. 'There were times', I said, 'that I felt like I had been given a curse rather than a gift. Had the universe played some cruel prank on me? I opened it and then closed it far too many times to count. So many times I sat in the dark of a room, clutching it close to my heart, hoping that its beat would somehow spark it back to life. It never did. It remained silent for so long. But I believed those words on the inside. I read them many times over - 'It will never tell you the time. It will only tell you when the time is right'. So I steeled myself, I hoped against hope that something - anything - would spur it on. It beat a silent toll.'
'And then...', you said playingly, knowing well where it leads. 'And then. And then about ten years ago I started working close to a museum, and every lunch hour I'd go there, as if something pulled me towards it. At first I didn't know what drove me there, I'd lounge in a wing, slowly admiring every piece there. I had the time to do it slowly. I had all the time, until the time was right. Eventually, though, I came across an enigmatic painting. It was a full portrait of a man, dressed all in black, looking at the time on a pocket watch he held. I saw someone who looked a lot like him when I was a kid. I saw someone who looked a lot like him every day when I saw myself in the mirror. Every day I went there, studied the painting. Sometimes I'd sit down in front of it, and write down my thoughts in my journal. Sometimes I'd stand and look at it, my hand reaching out for my pocket watch often. It looked so much like mine. Coincidence, I thought, and no more. Maybe my mind had played a trick on me when I was young. Who knows, right? These things happen'.
'One day', I said, bringing my voice to a whisper, 'One day while I was there I heard a sound. A very specific sound - one I had heard only once before in my life. I had to be sure. As I moved my hand to grab it from my vest's pocket, I saw you moving towards me. The sound continued. Tick. Tock. You came closer. Tick. Tock. It was deafening now. TICK. TOCK. 'I'm sorry', you said, 'can you tell me what time it is?'. 'The clock pounded louder and louder. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. I took out the watch, everything was happening in slow motion now. The seconds slowed down to a crawl. Tick. Tock. I was holding it now, looking at it, pressing the button so that the case would reveal the watch. I couldn't tell you what time it was. But I could tell you that, finally, the time was right.'
'I shook my head as I showed you that the watch was broken, apologizing for not being able to tell you the correct time. You laughed at that, and said I was funny, why would anyone carry a broken watch with them. And I told you there was a long story there. And you told me you'd like to hear it. And I said OK. The clock had stopped ticking now. It's work here was done. It had finally told me that the time of my life had arrived.'
You were drifting away by now, almost asleep. I pull you in closer, and thank you for giving me life. 'Will you come back?', you asked, sleepy eyes fixed on me. 'I will. I always come back.' - and I did, I always did. I had put the pocket watch in a box under our bed some years ago, though every now and again I'd pull it out. Time stood still. But lately I had felt it calling me again. I felt like it was time to start the loop again. We wanted it. We wanted this loop, and we'll live it out now. I have to go back, and find me, so I can find you. Always.
It's always disorienting seeing myself so young. There he is. There I am. Ah kid, I promise you it will be worth it. I look down, tilted my head sideways and said 'you shouldn't be here alone'.
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