Chapter 2: The Broken Fairytale
As I walked home from school that day, I replayed the day’s events over and over, trying to conjure up some memory of where my watch might have gone.
Nurse Kraddick had practically sworn on a blood oath that she hadn’t removed it during her examination. “Honey you didn’t have that ‘ol thing on when you came in,” is actually how she put it. I had no reason to not believer her. That watch didn’t mean anything to her or to anyone else for that matter. Just me, and my family.
To the untrained eye it just appeared to be a simple white-faced, black-numbered watch; the kind with the sharp red second hand that ticks sporadically around the face. But, in my family, that watch was priceless. It had been passed down through the generations over the past seventy years. My stomach turned in disgust at the complete carelessness it took to lose something of such sentimental value. “Priceless...irreplaceable,” my mother’s words echoed around my dimwit skull. I dreaded the talk, but knew it was coming. She would most definitely notice me not wearing it. After all, it had been a permanent part of my wardrobe since third grade; since the day she entrusted me with the antique timepiece. Sure it’s gone through several updatings over the years: from a smaller band to accommodate my nine year old wrist, to a bigger band for my twelfth birthday, to the most recent black leather one that i picked out the summer between seventh and eighth grade. Nevertheless, it had always been strapped to me left wrist in some form or fashion, and Mom would spot its sudden absence from miles away.
I clearly remembered having it on during Gym, or at least the conscious parts of it. I used it to mark off the seconds as I led the stretching..I clearly remember that. So, somewhere between the gym and the office, it had to have come loose and fallen from my wrist. I had probably been too out of it to realize it. But, that band was practically brand new, and I wore my watch tight...it couldn’t have just fallen off...someone had to.....ZINDY!
Why hadn’t I thought of that before? Could I be so naive? Zindy had hardly said a word to me during Art class. She even acted unusually disinterested when I turned to her normally eager ear to whine about my lost watch. Was I completely sure of what she had mumbled after I practically kicked her out of the nurse’s office? Not really...
Suddenly, I was standing on my front porch. The trip seemed instantanious with my thoughts focused on my misfortune. I fingered thorugh my front pockets, searching nervously for my house key. “Great! Just great!” I muttered.
Just then the front door slung open.
“Hey Bonehead!” my older brother smugged.
“Today’s not a good day Matt! Just get out of the way!”
Matt, or Mattman as his football buddies called him, was a junior in highschool and an All-State football player for the State Champion Tesla Valley Bolts. We were exact opposites. I was weak, he was strong...and he took total advantage of it.
“What happened to you?” Ya get your butt kicked or somethin’?”
“Put a sock in it will ya?” I begged. “I need to go lay down!”
“Well ya look like crap!” he snickered, obviously sharing brainpower with the McClure boys.
I ignored his bullish comment and tried to break though his far more powerful arms that were braced on either side of the door frame. He didn’t budge.
“Matt...seriously just let me through! I need to think about what I’m gonna tell Mom.”
“Whatcha screw up this time?”
“It’s really none of your business,” I shuttered, expecting him to strike with the killer dead arm manuveur.
“Tell me or ya don’t come in!”
Obviously defeated, I lifted up my jacket sleeve. He noticed it instantly. The skin on my wrist was a shade lighter that that on either side of the pale stripe. It was also smoother, having not been exposed to the cracking winds or tanning sun.
“Good luck with that one. Mom’s gonna annihilate you!” I think that I actually heard a little bit of sympathy in his voice. “Oh...and don’t even think about it.”
I knew exactly what he was saying, because the thought had crossed my mind. But I also knew that Matt would never trust me with his. You see, my watch wasn’t the only one of it’s kind, Mom had given us the identical watch acouple of days after Dad left. I guess she somehow thought that a watch could make up for the fact that we had been abandoned.
The dual timepieces that adorned the mantle in their beautiful hand-carved wooden cases had always fascinated me. For as long as I could remember, they had always been their, displayed proudly, and looking important. One day, when I was in the second grade, I begged my mother to let me take the family heirlooms to show-and-tell. I promised her that I would her that I would keep them in their cases and that she could trust me to protect them with my life. Mom could read me like a book and knew how important it was to me to make a good impression on my class, so she lovingly, but reluctantly agreed.
I needed a story, something to really knock their socks off, so I asked Mom to tell me about the history of the watches. I wanted a fantastic tale that would mesmerize the class and keep them on the edge of their seats, even if it meant bending the truth a little. So, Mom set Matt and I down and spun an unbelievable fairytale with details too vast to remember them all. "And that's the same story that your Grandmother told me, " she added at the dhd, giving it a stamp of authenticity.
The next day I told that same story at school; nervously attempting to repeat the same details that Mom had emphasized as being of utmost importance and awkwardly attempting to mirror her enthusiasm. I went on about how the watches weren't originally watches at all. Originally they had been an ancient magical artifact from another world that possessed untold powers and the ability to bring down civilizations. A guy named Adolf and some of his buddies wanted their hands on the thing and would do whatever it took to find it. Somehow my great grandfather came to possess the magic and knew he had to do whatever he could to keep its power out of Adolf s control. So, he crafted it into two separate, simple looking watches, and gave them to his two young daughters as they fled from Germany to America. My great grandfather was later killed in one of those awful concentration camps along with his son and six million other innocent Jews.
No one really believed that fairyrtale...Matt included. Later when Dad left and Mom passed those watches to us, Matt simply left it in the box and stuffed it away in the back of a drawer somewhere. I, on the other hand, wore mine proudly, expecting it to elevate me into a strong, powerful, magician king that would save the universe from itself. I wasn't shy about my beliefs and this would later be my downfall...my fall from grace...the death to my potential popularity. My watchless older brother went on to become super-strong and incredibly liked. I became the object of ridicule, retreating into a shell, discarded as having no purpose; haunted by that stupid fairytale...betrayed by my faith in it.
Realizing that Matt hadn't noticed my missing watch until I had pointed it out, I pulled down my jacket sleeve-thank God that autumn had begun to cool the Tesla Valley air-and made him promise not to tell Mom. My jacket sleeve would be my momentary savior, working nicely to hide the fact that the watch was gone.
"Whataya gonna give me to keep quite?" he asked.
"Whatever you w---," my thoughts intemrpted my words. It was worth a shot.
"If you say anything Matt, I'll rat on you for what your hiding under your front seat," I stabbed, hoping that he actually had something hidden there.
"You little..."
Ah, it worked!
"Easy Matt," I blurted out. "I could always just tell her for the heck of it."
"So could I you little Maggot!" he snapped back.
"Well then, we seem to have each other in check," I proudly confessed.
"Your lucky!" Matt hissed, as he let go of the doorframe, giving me free passage into the house. I didn't give him a chance to change his mind and darted upstairs to my bedroom, threw in a CD, and sprawled out across my inviting bed. I began rehashing the order of the day's events against the blank canvas of my closed eyes. Hopefully, by shuffling through my memories like snapshots, I would somehow recognize an important detail that missed me before.
Perhaps my memories would point to a sneaky little Goth pickpocket, desperately grasping for a little attention...or possibly to my own agonizing irresponsibility.