Time

Time, a manufactured construct. It fascinated us. Even in the time before clocks and watches, and eventually phones, and all the technology that proceeded it, we looked to the sky and sun. It was a niggling obsession, to know when we were in time. How much we had left? How much we used up. Now, in the day and age of robots and AI, I feel frantic for the grasp of time. It started when I dropped my phone. I was shaving, getting ready for a lonesome walk about town, important to look your best, when I knocked it with my elbow and sent it crashing into the toilet bowl. I exclaimed, dove for it, in crystal clear water, (thank the heavens). If I had one of those holy heavens emoji’s I’d use them, but as you might have gathered, I’m without my phone. Flustered and wet, I squeezed the side of the phone on and off, forgetting what buttons done what, and sent all the hopeful wishes that my beloved, hard working baby had survived the trip down a cool Mordor. It had not. It showed me it’s true colours when it flashed a sort of green, and splotches and lines appeared. It was freaking out, and I was helpless. I knew it was rotten bad luck, and I knew the thing had seen its day. Waterproof my eye. Yet I tried all the usuals. I sat it in rice, I put it on the radiator. I’ve even left it sit for some time and crept towards it as if not to put the sleeping beast in unease. Filled with childish hope. Even as it filled me, and I honestly thought she would show me her loyalty, the thing shut down. This time there was no confusing colours, there was just blackness. I stared at it forlorn and felt positively rocked to my core with anger. What was I to do…
Bank holiday weekend, so not a hope of getting a new one. I was completely and utterly cut off from the world, and I was panicking. I realised as I hastily switched on the TV, and searched for the channels, that I had a problem. Reading 9.41am on sky news, I felt myself relax. That every tightly wound muscle in my body unknotted. Rolling my shoulders backwards as if it to shrug it off, I laughed. Relieving myself of any further worries or tribulations. I’d get her back in a couple of days. It was then, as my mind frantically tried to assure me of all the reasons, I’d somehow get through this, that I thought to cop myself the hell on. People lived without phones and time. I had. I was encroaching on sixty-five, and I was acting like an absolute invalid. My life only valued by a piece of plastic in my hand.
To all you technology nuts, the ones who bury yourself in algorithms, and computer friends, I do know there is more to it. I just had never had inclination to learn, or will I. I use it for what it can do for me, and then I forget it. It’s indictive of society really. Which explains why the obsession with such materialistic objects. Why I found myself sucked into this portal of madness and neediness. Of people who weren’t even there.
Someone wasn’t real unless you could feel them and touch them. I had always thought that, as everyone should, but in this day and age we are happy merely hearing a voice across a phone for weeks on end and never seeing the real thing. Forming a relationship with one. My old friend Herb had even tried that online dating thing. He joined some dating site for older gentleman seeking companionship, and he found the craziest people. He also never met them. He was satisfied with a chat. In some ways I got it. I missed my wife since she passed, and I did too like a chat. Most people looked through you. Especially when you got older, and you weren’t considered consequential anymore.
Relieving myself of all connection to such an insignificant thing, I set outside with my keys in my hand, to have a real-life talk. To make some connections with human beings. The park was a perfect place for that. A perfect segue would be asking the time. And after a brief explanation as to why I don’t have a means of getting it, I would form a bond. To make sure, I slipped my watch into my back pocket, a gift from my grandmother, and patted her down to make sure. She was valuable sure, but she was invaluable to me. Not many like them were made anymore, and my grandmother certainly wasn’t.
Fixing my jumper around my collar, I set off at a brisk pace down the quaint houses, and down a dry lane, for once, and followed the narrow path until it broke into a wide-open field. I noticed some dog walkers and gave them a wave. Some were playing with their dogs, totally preoccupied in a simple man and dog relationship. Others were running with their dog as their partners, with the headphones in I imagined. And the rest were simply pretending that a foolish old man didn’t exist. With a smile I ignored the naysayers and walked across the field and out to the other side where the garden was. It was a bit back mind, and I was quite tired and out of breath by the time I got there.
The cute red gate could softly be unlatched, and you could walk along the river for nearly up to an hour, if you took the right and most awkward path. I had never done that before, but I would today. Ducks waddled out of the water and sat their butts down on the lane. Pigeons annoyed pedestrians who were sitting on the red benches minding their own business. Some came with goodies for the wildlife, some simply leaned back and read their books on a calm sunny day.
I walked along the river for a while and looked out at the twinkling water, feeling a most relaxed sigh fall from my chest. I felt free. Like a weight had been lifted finally. It was as I tipped along the river, with my hands carefully folded behind my back, that I noticed an older gentleman, like myself, closing his eyes in the face of the sunlight. He seemed troubled and content, all at the same time.
Instead of walking around, I stopped beside him and asked, “I’m so sorry, you don’t happen to have the time?”
Puzzled, the man blinked a few times, and turned to him in a growl, “Excuse me?”
“The time?” I asked again, making sure to keep my voice gentle.
The man scooped his phone from his pocket, and replied, “Just coming on eleven.”
“Oh, thanks ever so much.”
The man wasn’t listening. He was staring down at the picture on his phone, and it looked like his heart was breaking before my eyes. He fisted the thing hard in his hand, hoping he might break it, and lay it against his forehead. I noticed the picture of the smiling woman beside him, and thought, I know how it feels. It had been an age since he did this. Tried to make friends with someone. There seemed to be a window in life when you collected the few good ones, and I, especially right now, felt like I missed it.
Stumbling over a few drawn-out syllables that didn’t seem right. I landed on, in complete and utter honesty, it was all I had at my disposal. “I know how it feels to lose someone.”
The man opened his eyes as if in fright and looked at me as if he was seeing who I was. As if I wasn’t just some pedestrian focused solely on destroying his day.
“How did you know?”
“By looking at you.” I said, “And well—the picture. She was very beautiful, your wife.”
His mouth wobbled, and I wanted to reach out to him, but didn’t know how.
“She was.” He managed.
“How long?”
“Two months, and eight days. She passed around this time.”
Realisation sank into me, and I sighed. This time round it didn’t feel quite so good. That was why the sudden shift when I asked about the time. My segue hadn’t been such a good plan after all. I’d made this poor man’s day all the worse.
I shifted uncomfortably, “I would’ve never asked if I knew.”
“It’s okay.” He smiled weakly, “You needed to know.”
Did I? No. And I had lied just to serve my own whims because I needed someone. What this man needed today was peace. I would tip my hat and retire.
“I didn’t actually need it.” I said, pulling the watch out of my back pocket.
The watch was still ticking away, cared by my loving hands on more than one occasion.
His brow furrowed and I explained. “A segue for conversation.” I ran a hand through my thick, but extremely grey locks, “I was feeling lonely today. I’m not quite good at this.”
“At what exactly?”
“Trying to make some friends.” I said. “To be honest, I don’t know if I ever was.”
The man’s mouth curled up, and he offered me a hand. I took it surprised and shook it firmly. I always did believe in a firm handshake.
“Arnold.” He said.
“Will.”
“It was a nice gesture. But why me?”
“You’re about my age, and you seemed troubled. I thought it was for the same reason as myself.”
“Loneliness?”
“Exactly. Exacta Mundo as they say.”
He looked amused at this, “Do they now?”
“I’m not too sure. It felt right in the moment.”
Arnold huffed a breath of contentment and turned to walk away. I felt dejected at that. I thought I’d been making some strong headway there.
“You coming?”
“Sorry?”
“For a walk.” He said. “I think your judgement was sound.”
“Oh!” I jumped forward. “Yes please! How delightful.”
Arnold didn’t seem to know how to react to me, he just moved along, his eyes occasionally darting to mine in befuddlement. I offered a nod where I could, unsure when the moment would appear to resume conversation. It was a very lovely peaceful walk. And I’d never had a partner since Elizabeth to walk it with. She had started to groan and complain when we got out this far. There was always something wrong. Her hip, her lungs, the air. I never heard someone blame the air she was breathing with such violence, but she had managed. Managed it so well that I had begun to think of the air disdainfully.
“Spit it out.”
“Excuse me?!”
“Whatever you’re thinking.”
“Oh, I—I was actually thinking about my late wife.” I drew my eyes in front and picked a point, something I had trained myself to do. “She was very much a complainer. Hated everything. Found it hard to think positively first. Well, she wasn’t a people person exactly. She was…ehm…a her person. She liked her own company.”
“Not the first thing people normally say about their respective other halves.”
“What now?”
“Their faults.”
“They were my favourite parts. As much as other people didn’t care for them. I loved that about her. It was refreshing. It’s also refreshing to walk beside someone who doesn’t hate walking. Made it difficult to explore when you have someone constantly trying to turn around.”
Arnold laughed to himself, and I noticed some of the trouble seemed to be lifting from his washed and ragged looking face. He seemed lighter, and he did have a nice smile, it just didn’t look like he used it much anymore.
“Where would you like to walk to?” he asked.
“The end. I’ve never actually gotten to walk there.”
“It’s nice.”
“Is it?” I said delighted. “What’s there?”
“Can’t you wait.”
“I suppose I can.” I said disappointed.
“There’s a beautiful garden and stone cottage at the end. The house was built in the 1800s and it’s like a fairytale. It looks like home. Tourists even come to get pictures taken beside it.”
“Amazing.” I awed. “And who lives there?”
“A writer.” He said, with something in his voice. “And his muse.”
“His love?”
“Yes. No writer can be without his muse.”
“A good enough one can.”
He turned surprised, “Sorry?!”
“A good enough writer can make magic out of thin air. They can make a simple rock into a cave, a walk into an adventure, even a smile into a whirlwind romance. That’s what a good writer should be able do. And if he’s half worth his salt, he can do the same.”
Arnold stopped in our already lagging place and just looked at me. It was assessing, like I was one of those puzzles…oh what we’re they called, that would drive me absolutely bananas now. If Elizabeth were here, she’d know the answer. I could ask Arnold.
“Those block puzzles, what are they called?”
“Rubik’s cube.”
“That’s the one.” I clicked my fingers together. “I should’ve remembered that. The old age is taking more than it gives.”
“You’re quite a character.” He said, unsticking himself from the ground.
“That’s what my wife said. I always talk and talk. She told me I should learn to keep my mouth shut more often, that more people would take a fondness for me.” I laughed, “She was one to talk, the absolute soul sucker she was.”
Arnold laughed, a loud sound against the water, not offering me more than that. He seemed more a brooding type. That thick skull of his was silently grinding away. Mine was running away from me. Soon I’d be running to catch it. I felt excited, meeting a friend the way I did. I wanted to tell someone, but realised I didn’t have many people to tell that cared. We’d never had any kids. Friends fell away over the years, only making a short appearance for special occasions, or when they needed something. It was discouraging to say the least.
We reached the beautiful stone cottage, and I elicited the grandest exclaim of air. It was touched by the heavens. Light pink flowers peered over the stone wall that surrounded it. Vines reached across the side of the house like a design, something the likes no artist could ever carve. And the big red door perfectly accentuated the thatch roof, it was a protected building, it was somewhere I had always wanted to live. Arnold didn’t say anything beside me, and when he did, I didn’t see him move and unlatch the gate.
“Are you coming?”
“I didn’t know it was open to the public?”
“It’s not.” He smiled.
I felt stupid. How I hadn’t seen the look in his eye earlier on, or the fondness when he talked of the place. The small, quaint palace had lost its princess, leaving only a very shook but resilient Prince in his wake. It was a nice idea.
“My apologies, I didn’t mean to apply you weren’t worth your salt. It was not my intention at all.”
“Will.” He stopped me, “Perhaps, your wife was sometimes right, perhaps you should stop talking and come inside.”
“Quite right.” I nodded, passing by him. “Quite right indeed. It is an absolutely beautiful place, I’m quite jealous.”
“Will—” he said stronger.
“Apologies.”
I held up my hand and silently let him unlock the door to lead us inside. On the side of the wall, I read the inscription Arnold Wayburn, and gasped. It carried more strength than I thought it would. It stopped Mr. Wayburn in his path completely. His tall, broad back who was ducking through the narrow entrance way, and stepping down the step, paused and turned. “Everything alright?”
“You’re Arnold Wayburn the writer.”
He smiled bashfully. “That I am.”
“I’ve read everything you’ve ever written. Me and my wife poured over your books. She loved the romance ones, which we’re a guilty pleasure of mine I admit, but I absolutely adored your crime novels. Stupendous. I never saw where all the twists and turns were coming from.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re very much worth your salt. You better get back at it. Your books were the distraction I needed when Elizabeth passed. You’re a very wanted man.”
Ignoring everything I babbled, he just said, “Come on,” and I followed.
He sat me down on the couch, looking across from shelves and shelves of books. I didn’t spot his own in there, but I guessed they were somewhere closer to his heart.
Arnold put a glass of water and tea in front of me and ducked out to one of the back rooms. The beams in the house were incredibly low and not built for such a broad man. It must be a pain to constantly be shielding yourself. He was rather well put together for a man getting on his years, be it he was two or three years younger than myself. I had stalked him on my phone a few times, puzzled by the machinations that could come from one person. So many characters and ideas, I always wanted to befriend them. I told Elizabeth as much, and she laughed, offering nothing comforting. I had always been a tad away with the fairies.
“Here,” he said, handing me a copy of “Locked Away,” in his fingers.
“I already have it.”
Smiling warmly, “It’s signed. And my number is inside in case you ever want to stop by. Ever since Carol I haven’t known what to do. I feel like I have endless amounts of unmoving time, and for some reason, today, you made it go faster.”
I felt positively touched.
“As odd as you are Will.”
“Thank you! How kind.” I said genuinely. “Slight problem, I don’t have a phone. I dropped it in the toilet this morning, how I started this little friend excursion. I thought it was so sad that I became so dependent on it, that I felt rather rebellious today. It worked out, to my relief.”
He lowered his head patiently, “Whenever you get one, you’ll have it. Till then feel free to stop by anytime. I’ve a phone in the kitchen if you want to use it.”
“Splendid!”
I stood, found my way to where Arnold had come from with the teas, and noticed an old-style red phone hanging up. One where you put your finger in it and turned it. It was so beautiful. Picking it up, I listened to the dial tone and put it down after a momentous pause.
Stepping back into the dining area a little less held together.
“Everything okay?”
“I just realised I hadn’t anyone to call. Feel a bit foolish.”
Arnold frowned deeply. “No kids?”
“No. We, ehm—that wasn’t in the cards for us. It could never—I could never—” I looked down and gathered myself.
I couldn’t tell a man I barely knew and admired, something I held so close to my chest for years. Only Elizabeth knew, and I thanked her for her patience and kindness, I was also indebted to her.
“I must go.” I said.
“Your tea?”
“I’ll pop by tomorrow and finish it.”
“You can’t finish—”
I was rushing now, feeling startled.
Arnold stood and I felt myself falling away. This house was cramped suddenly. It couldn’t have fit two normal sized men, it was ridiculous.
“Carol must’ve been small.” I said in a quiet voice, as he lay a hand on my arm, trying to stop me from bolting no doubt.
I was a professional bolter, he was playing with very well controlled fire.
“Will,” he said softly, “It’s okay.”
I did not know to what he was referring to, but I found myself nodding as he stared back. Maybe I did have some sort of clue, and I was also shocked we might be referring to the same thing, but I would never drew a word. I could never and would never.
“Thank you.” I replied instead. “Now I must go.”
“Okay.” Arnold smiled, releasing my arm. “See you tomorrow.”
“Of course. I love a brisk walk.”
It wasn’t brisk. It was long. I must buy a dog to keep me company, an elderly gentleman like myself. That would be useful of me.
Arnold walked me to the door, and I stepped out feeling like a new man.

“Here,” I said, taking my watch out of my back pocket and handing it to him.
“This is yours.”
“I know, I’m giving it to you, I thought that much was obvious.”
“Why?”
“For safe keeping. I’m always afraid it’ll be robbed. I could be mugged on the way back home holding that. It’s expensive.” I said impressively, “But you have enough money, so I don’t think you’ll be bartering it.”
I also wanted a firm reason to have to come back. Not that I’d ever tell him that, how pathetic that would seem. Honestly.
“I’ll keep it safe.” He told me.
“Right, good, good.”
I left with a wave, and a fumble with the gate. Still talking to myself in earnest. Elizabeth would’ve been shaking her head at me right now. I do seem to have gotten myself into something bigger than I expected at my age. I also did hope I didn’t get mugged on the way home. I’d no watch for time, and no phone for help. I’d have to hope that the winds of faith were blowing my direction and blowing any miscreants away.
            I went back the next day, and the day after that. Arnold didn’t start writing despite my pressuring, and he had some very hard days where he said he needed me to babble. Others where he needed silence, that I never did manage that great. Carol was in every dedication he’d ever written; I realised that when I’d gone back and read all his books again. Especially the romance books, they always did have a hint of that small, I was right about that one, cute and spunky Carol. He kept a piece of her in all of them. I told him she could still be there, that’s where you could breathe her back to life, live with her in the pages. He had responded with, “Did you ever consider writing?”
I had not. I was too restless for that sort of thing.
Now, six months later, and eight days, funnily enough, I was walking down to his house with my English Bulldog Hammer. He was left into a shelter at two years of age because he snored too loudly, and I was looking for a dog to make as much noise as possible in my quiet house. I wanted the place to be rattled and shook down to its bones!
Hammer did snore quite badly. He also drooled all over me in bed, and managed to take up all the room, even though it was massive.
The walk was shorter with Hammer, but with the boiling hot sun today, he was hating every painstaking moment of it.
“Nearly there.” I assured him.
He huffed and puffed and only showed a morsel of excitement when he saw the gate in his path. I unlocked it as quickly as I could and released him from the lead. The door was open, and Hammer was running towards the kitchen. Arnold always left it open when he knew I was coming.
“Hammer is just getting some water!” I shouted across the house.
No response. That was odd.
Frowning, I made my away across the twisty and turny thin house and felt ever growing worry send my insides into complete disarray. He’d normally come greet me like the big oaf he was and offer me something. Or on a day like this there would be wine, or beer for him, in the garden, and maybe some strawberries. He knew how much I love them. If anything happened to him…I was felt like I was running and then I heard, tap, tap. It was the typewriter going in the backroom, he was alive and well.
I pushed open the door with a relieved breath and smiled big as a house.
“Did you not hear me?” I said, tension in my voice.
He continued writing with determination, until eventually he could take his hands up and look at me.
“Sorry, I was lost in this—what’s the matter?” he frowned.
“Nothing.” I waved him off, despite the sheen of tears in my eyes.
“Will.” He stood, his worry growing.
“Sit. Sit.” I told him firmly, to which he did with hesitance. “Just when I didn’t hear you, I thought something awful happened. I didn’t like it. Not at all.” I rose my eyes to heavens and back down again, “I’m just being dramatic. I feel better now. Anyways, I was just saying Hammer is drinking water and slobbering over your kitchen. Did you manage to get the food for him, the Royal Canin, he just needs a small bite.”
Arnold smiled softly and with more weight than I’d ever seen. “It’s in the cupboard.” He replied ever so quietly.
I nodded briskly and headed to the door. The sun was peaking in through the low-down windows. “It’s a beautiful day.” I said, “I’ll make food, and you can have a little break, and then get back at it! I’m so delighted your finally writing again.”
Arnold continued watching me fondly.
“What made you get back at it?”
“I found my muse.” He said, not taking his eyes off mine, and his lip curled into a smile that I’d so grown to love.
My laugh in relief turned into a blubbering cry, and he went to go to me. I stopped him and moved away. “Please continue.”
It was when I had food laid outside, and I was fixing the drinks, that he put a hand on the middle of my back and dropped a page in front of me.
“Thought you might want to see the dedications.” He said against my ear.
For Will, it read, For breathing me back to life.