Clockwork

She closed her eyes to stop the feeling. The shiver down her spine, the drops of cold rain falling around her, the heavy burden in her chest. If she could focus, it would disappear.

A timid breeze caressed her face, and she smiled as she opened her eyes.  A gasp escaped her. She’d lost count of how many times she visited, yet the shock of the sight never ceased to amaze her. The clouds obscured the colossal clock face before her, each tick booming thunderously in the sky and bouncing the sound from cloud to cloud. 

With a sigh, the little girl threw her legs over the edge of the polished floor, staring at the clouds beneath her. They blocked the buildings and the people from sight. The perfect place to escape.

To her right, another ticking synchronized with the clock in the sky. Each tick that passed, the girl waited for him to appear.

Always, he appeared, always after three minutes. 

One minute passed.

Then two.

Then three.

The clock to her right creaked, and a man stepped out from a hidden door, a warm smile upon his face as his eyes fell on her. 

“It’s been a while, my dear.”

The girl nodded and stared forward as the man sat next to her. He removed his hat, revealing his greased black hair and matching mustache. He adjusted his petticoat and checked his pocket watch before fitting it snugly into his pocket. “Might I ask what has brought you here today?”

The little girl stared at the clockface, wiping her hands on her black skirt. A lump formed in her throat as she tried to force the question from her mouth. The man next to her smelled of years before. Of when she was younger. Snowy air, warm summer evenings, Christmas morning, and October nights. The past smells she recognized and didn’t recognize, all melding together. Tears welled in her eyes. It was too much. “I was wondering…” she bit her lip, then tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, hoping he hadn’t heard the crack in her voice. “I was wondering if you could reverse time? Just for a few days?”

The man paled, and his hand went to his chest. “I’m afraid I cannot do that.” He looked as if he had been shot.

The little girl furrowed her brows. “Well, then can you stop time?”

The man shook his head.

“Slow it down.”

The man shook his head once more.

“Can you at least skip forward a day or so, that I may be rid of this… this horrible burden?”

“My dear,” the man started, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “I know what happened. I’m terribly sorry for what you have endured.”

The little girl bit her lip again and a tear trailed down her cheek. She wiped it away before the man could see. “If you’re so terribly sorry, why can you not do this for me? Just this once?”

The man narrowed his eyes, and something like regret shone from within them. “I… cannot break the very foundation upon which man was created. To manipulate time is to… what do your people say? Play with fire?”

The little girl twisted her hands together, scowling at her feet. “Too much is happening too fast. I cannot handle it.” She sighed. “I don’t see why at least stopping time for a moment would hurt. Neither would reversing it a few days cause any harm.”

The man shook his head. “And it is that very reason that I cannot do it, my dear. That you do not understand the ramifications of playing with such a powerful tool as time is merely proof that you are not ready to make such requests of me.”

The little girl closed her eyes, and another tear followed the track of the previous one. “But humans change time twice a year. We remove an hour, then add an hour.”

The man burst into laughter, the sound echoing across the sky with more force than even the ticking clock in the clouds. “Yes, I find that tradition somewhat offensive to my work, but they are only changing their clocks. They are not, however, changing time.” The man turned to his right, then pointed a finger to the clock he’d entered through. “Take this clock for example.” With a wiggle of his finger, the clock hand moved, rapidly spinning backward. “You see? I’ve moved this clock back by nearly eleven hours. It does not change what time it is, only what time is perceived to be by the naked eye.”

The little girl stood, wiping her stained cheeks and balling her fists. “If you will not help me, then just send me back. You won’t see me again.”

The man stood, his composure unfaltering. “Perhaps I won’t… that will be your choice, my dear.” He folded his hands together, and the clock he rewound returned to its original state. “However, I would like to give you something. A parting gift, if you wish it to be, or the first of many.” 

The man removed the pocket watch from his coat and opened it, staring at the ticking hand for a moment before closing the lid with a click and offering it to her. “It will not do as you ask, but it will be there when you need it.”

The little girl blinked, then grabbed the watch, gently flipping it around in her hand. “I don’t understand… this is your favorite watch.”

“It is,” the man said with a nod. “Well… it was.”

The little girl stared down at the golden watch resting in her palm. The initials F.T. were carved into the back, and when she flipped the lid, the clock ticked steadily, rhythmically, like her own heartbeat.

“Is that a flicker of understanding I see in your eyes?” The man sang, his own eyes sparkling with amusement. 

The little girl pocketed the watch. “Thank you for the gift… and I apologize for asking you to do such a thing. If I had known…”

“It is all in the past, my dear. For now, I’m afraid… you shall have to focus on the present.” He approached her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It will hurt… but just as all things do, the pain will fade. And the emptiness that it leaves you with shall be filled again one day.”

Something flickered in the little girl’s chest. Hope, maybe? “Do you mean that?”

The man smiled. “I’ve seen it.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Just appreciate me while you have me.”

They embraced, and as the warmth of the sunny clouds faded, so did the strong arms around her. Cold settled into her bones, chilling her body. The booming of the clock disappeared, replaced by thunder rumbling in the storm clouds. Rain pattered on the umbrella her mother held above her. 

Women around her wept, and the men wore stoic faces. The rain amplified from a patter to a downpour. The umbrella fought bravely against its forces, but the little girl was already drenched. The wooden casket had been lowered into the ground, and the warmth she held inside of her from returning to the place above the clouds disappeared. 

Even with the comforting words in the back of her mind, the little girl could only watch as more and more people left. When only her and her mother were left, a hand found her shoulder, and her mother’s voice spoke, but it was distant. “Come, Angelica. It is time to go home.”

Angelica eased her hand into her jacket, the golden warmth from the pocket watch ticking near her heart. A comfort, as close to it as she could feel in the cold rain. Something whispered in the back of her mind. So quiet, she questioned if she imagined it. 

“It’s time to go home, Angelica,” her mother repeated as the rain steadied to a trickle. He’s already home. 

Angelica gripped her mother’s arm, and she was led to the car. She sat in the back, where a blanket and a towel awaited her, folded meticulously. Just as the forecasters had predicted, her mother had prepared. Always prepared, as if she knew time as well as he did.

Angelica dried herself, then wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. The car eased away, the gravel crunching under the tires, and she watched the graveyard from the window. The man had told her the pain would go away with time… yet, as raw and powerful as it felt, she worried it never would. 

She put her hand to the pocket watch again, and the whisper in the back of her mind said otherwise. It will fade.

Angelica sighed and leaned her head on the window. As the car hummed around her, and the rain pattered on the window, she closed her eyes. The pocket watch clicked quietly next to her heart, matching its rhythm. Warm to the touch, even when her jacket was wet and cold. 

Her mother twisted a knob on the dashboard of the car, and slowly, a cloud of heat surrounded her. The smell resembled him. 

“It smells like cocoa in here,” her mother mused. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Would you like some cocoa tonight, sweetheart?”

Angelica looked at her mom’s eyes reflected in the rearview mirror. 

“I can even make some of those Christmas cookies you like.”

Angelica couldn’t suppress her subdued, breathy laugh. “It’s only August, momma.”

Her mother’s smile widened, but it was slight. “There’s never a bad time for cookies and cocoa.”

Angelica gripped the watch tighter in her hand. The pain still withered her insides. Twisted her chest, knotted her stomach, and squeezed her lungs. Despite it… the cold rain did draw out a craving for warm cookies and hot chocolate. 

“That sounds lovely, momma.”

Silence formed between them, and Angelica’s eyes weighed down. She closed them, and the warmth and promise of treats later carried her away. 

A week came and went, as slowly as a week without him could be. She and her mother tried a new activity every day. Baking, movie night, pillow forts, and lots and lots of cocoa.

Angelica smiled and laughed for the first time since that night, at least once a day. It was a start. 

When another week passed, the wound inside… eased, somewhat. Still raw; still gnawing at her once the activities ended and all she had were her own thoughts as she lay in bed. Still, every night it hurt less.

She closed her eyes, and a familiar booming sound awoke her with a start. She stared in awe at the colossal clock before her, just as she always did. It ticked away, nestled into the same blanket of clouds. Next to her, the ticking clock groaned open, and the man stepped out. No three-minute wait, not this time. His outfit was the same as last week, but his hat was missing.

He sat next to her, and she threw her legs over the side as always. No words passed between them. They both stared forward at the clock. 

When the clock ticked for what felt like hundreds of times, Angelica spoke. “Thank you.”

The man smiled at her. “For what, my dear?”

“For the watch… for not stopping time or reversing it as I asked.”

His face twisted. “You still want me to though, don’t you?”

Angelica frowned. “No… yes. I don’t know.” She placed a hand on the pocket watch. The warmth it brought never dulled. “I’m grateful for the memories mother and I have been making. As you said, it seems to be… healing. Slowly, but–”

“But steadily.” The man leaned back on the palms of his hands. “Would you like to know a secret?”

Angelica nodded. “Mhm.”

The man sighed. “Your father, just as you do now, used to visit me at this very spot.”

Angelica looked down at the polished floor and grazed her hand across it, as if it had gained some new holy meaning. 

“We would sit together in this very spot, smoke cigars, and talk about everything. A fine fellow, your father was. A man of boundless curiosity. Brilliant, like his daughter.” He smiled, but sadness shone in his eyes. “He was content to leave this world when he knew it was time.” 

Angelica frowned. “So… he was happy to leave mother and me?”

The man wagged his finger. “No. No, he was rather upset about that. But he was confident that something awaited him on the other side. And he was right… however, I’m afraid I’m delving into forbidden territory.”

Angelica stood. “Why? Do you know where my father is? Can you take me to him?”

“Angelica… I cannot. I’ve already said too much.” The man crossed his arms. “But what I can tell you is that your father was ready to cross into the other side. He knew his fate and he accepted it. I know at times you can feel as if the world has ripped him from you, but it hasn’t. It’s simply relocated him. Plucked him from one side of the board and placed him on the other.”

Angelica sat again, and suddenly the wind was just a little too cold. “Mother won’t tell me how he died.”

Time turned his back to her. “If she did not tell you, my dear, then I am afraid I cannot either.” He stepped toward the clock. “It’s time to go, Angelica. You need your sleep.”

“Wait!” Angelica said, and the man stopped, just as he reached his hand to open the clock. “Will you do something for me? It won’t alter time, just… please.”

The man turned back to her, and he rubbed his face, just below his eyes, as if wiping a tear away. “What is it?” His voice cracked. 

“Will you tell him, my father… that I love him? And that I miss him?”

Time looked at the ground, then nodded slowly. “I cannot tell him, but I know for a fact he is already aware of your love for him.”

Angelica stood again. “Okay.”

The man disappeared behind the clock, and as Angelica placed a hand on her pocket watch, the floor melted away, replaced by her bedroom. Tears slid down her face, and she wiped them away. She crawled back into bed, and her chest ached as if the wound had reopened. She put a hand to her chest, where the pocket watch sent warmth through her, and the pain eased with each rhythmic tick. 

When the pain disappeared amongst the darkness of the room and the ticking of the pocket watch, sleep carried her away. 

She dreamed of him. The smell of cocoa, snowy air, warm summer evenings, Christmas morning, and October nights. All mixed together, but this time it wasn’t too much.

It was just enough.