Archive for November, 2007

November 21, 2007

"Now is All”

You remember because someone starts talking about time, how you still haven’t found your watch. After you check almost every corner of the sitting room, after you make me stand up twice, I lose patience. Everybody loses something. Time lost us. Now is all; this sitting room is all.

The Persian rug under the sofa has a lump. You spot it and rush over.

Not much of a point, I say. Only ugly jewelry.

You say your wife gave it to you. It has sentimental value. She rests with the baby on the gold-panned velvet armchair. The watch’s memory draws a warm smile on her, reflected by the child. They bounce up and down and up and down.

The scene shakes me—a wife giving her husband a watch. Before, a husband might have looked down at the watch in the box, at the second hand ticking. They’d share the intent of such a gift: let us measure the time we have together in crisp, ceaseless seconds. We will grow old to the tempo of this watch. The time is ours, but let us keep it on your wrist.

Your wife holds a bottle up to the child. I don’t know if he’ll grow up or just stay in the crook of her arms, always sucking on the bottle. None know. But you keep looking, as if the watch, its tiny gears clicking again, could click us out of now.

It’s just a watch, I say. Not time itself.

You lift your head up from under the sofa. Well, why shouldn’t I look for it?

It’s a waste of

Of

Of nothing. I stand up, so you can check under the cushion.

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