Time Event No. 247
by Aviv Maish
Time Event No. 247:
The inventor turns the winding key. With a sharp click the watch is finished. The thin second hand lurches forward and the escapement whirs – a mechanical instrument; clockwork conducted to the symphony of time. A faint blue light illuminates the inventor’s face. Amazement contorts to horror. He checks the time.
It is 3:42 pm; he is late.
He shoves the watch into a pocket of his lab coat and reaches underneath a dirty rag for his misplaced cellphone. Five missed calls from Sarah.
With a grunt he forces open the window to his workshop and vaults over the waist high barrier into the parking lot. This maneuver saves thirty-two seconds on average. He sprints to his car while fumbling with the key fob, careful to avoid slipping in puddles from the recent rainfall. He manages to unlock it in time and flings the door open. Panting hard, he flies into the driver’s seat.
The inventor turns the starter key. With a rumble the car comes alive. The worn vehicle lurches forward and the engine-block hums – a mechanical instrument. The car peels out of the lot and the inventor glances down to reach for his phone. He barely even looks at the intersections as he barrels through the streets, they are usually empty.
He returns his daughter’s call. The dial tone keeps time as he weaves through traffic. The second hand clicks and the escapement whirs. Call declined.
He throttles the accelerator. Sweat beads on his face; old raindrops whisk off the speeding car. A bus merges into the lane just in front of him but the inventor swerves out of the way in the nick of time, a skillful move. He saves twenty seconds – the bus would soon slow for a stop ahead. He has tried taking it before (it has a reserved lane which bypasses later traffic) but has found that driving is still faster.
Hurtling through a straight section of road the inventor releases a white-knuckled hand from the steering wheel. Like his balding tires he struggles to get a grip, but he grits his teeth and dials his daughter again. This time she answers. The car’s Bluetooth stopped working years ago so he tucks the phone to his ear.
“Sarah…”, he croaks, “Honey, can you hear me?”
“Don’t bother coming,” her voice buzzes through the phone speakers, “Eric was nice enough to offer me a ride. Again.”
“Sarah please don’t go with Eric, I’m almost there.”
“Oh, so you’ve just got to the car then? I’m not waiting twenty minutes.”
“No! Please! I’m driving right now.” He pauses to slam on the brakes, narrowly avoiding a speed trap. “Honey, promise me you wont drive with Eric, it’s not safe.”
“Not safe?” she says, scoffing. “Eric’s driven me home almost more than you have this semester.”
“No, you don’t understand.” He swallows; his tongue burdened. “You see… I was working on the watch –”
“Oh my God! The watch!” she spits out the words, “Is that why you’re late? I can’t believe this!”
“Honey, please listen to me. I finally got it to –”
“You finally got it to work? Yeah right.”
He tries to interrupt but she talks over him, “You know I brought it up with Mr. Shuken today in science class. He says it’s impossible – that it violates causality or something like that.”
“I know honey, but you have to listen to me –”
“No, you listen! He thought I was joking! That I was playing a prank on him!” She is crying. “The entire class started laughing at me when I insisted.”
“Sarah, please let me explain –”
“I believed in you!” Her screams clip over the phone, distorting into a robotic anger. “I believed you could make it work, but you can’t even show up on time to pick me up after school! You’re the real joke, dad!”
He pulls the watch out from his coat pocket and stares at the hands. They are crooked from the tears in his eyes.
“Sarah please, I’m seven and a half minutes away.” His voice is cracking. “Please just give me until then. I love you.”
The line quiets for a few moments.
The second hand clicks and the escapement whirs.
“We can stay another five minutes”, she says coldly, “I’ve made Eric wait too long.”
The line goes dead.
The inventor screams and chucks his phone at the passenger window. He spends the next seven minutes in agony. His heart beats furiously; the second hand clicks and the escapement whirs. The car races forward and the engine-block rattles. He pushes through the molasses of traffic near the high school, trying to dilute it through sheer force of will.
He pulls into the parking lot and checks the watch; he has saved twenty-four seconds. He scans the lot for Eric’s car, but it is not there. He undoes his seatbelt, scrambles over the center console for his phone, and calls Sarah.
“Please pick up,” he says, “please…”
He waits until the call rings out. He starts to cry and then calls again.
His whimpers join the distant sound of sirens.
The call goes to voicemail.
The inventor pulls the watch out of his pocket and depresses a pusher just above the crown. The escapement halts – an uncued pause. The second hand stops – a musical mistake.
The conductor stills their baton.
Then the second hand lurches backwards; the symphony takes it from the top.
Time Event No. 248:
The inventor turns the winding key. With a sharp click the watch is finished. The thin second hand lurches forward and the escapement whirs – a mechanical instrument; clockwork conducted to the symphony of time. A faint blue light illuminates the inventor’s face. Amazement contorts to horror. He checks the time.
It is 3:42 pm; he is late.