Clocks – a short story

7:45. The grandfather clock in the corner of the old florist shop let out a soulful “gong” as he entered. Stepping past banks of daisies, he headed for the counter.

“Mikey!” he called to the old man at the table.

Spinning in his chair, Mikey’s eyes sparkled. A beatific smile cracked his wizened face. “Hey, bud! I’ve got it all ready for ya. Whadya think?” In his gnarled hands, he held a beautiful arrangement.

Gently accepting the flowers, he shook his head in astonishment. “Stunning, as always.”

“I figured what with it being such an important day an’ all, you’d want somethin’ a little extra special…no charge of course.” The little man hesitated, and looked up with a shy smile, “I can’t wait to meet her.”

Bending down, he grabbed Mikey in a hug, feeling the tiny frame almost brittle in his arms.

“You will soon, my friend.”

Waving goodbye, he jogged out of the shop and to his waiting car. He carefully laid the flowers beside the cooler in the front seat and turned on the ignition. The clock on the dash read 7:58. He was going to have to push it to make it in time.

The sun was flirting with the horizon as he pulled off the freeway at 8:21. Nine minutes left. His pulse picked up and he felt the familiar dryness in his mouth. Fumbling for a piece of gum, he whipped into a parking space. He gently grabbed the flowers and cooler and stepped from the car, eyes already scanning the crowd searching for her. He flashed back for a second to the first time he’d seen her – standing across the room at a party, tall and elegant in a simple black dress, high heels perfectly matched with a small clutch, a rebellious strand of dark hair falling behind her ear and tracing the line of her neck, looking slightly lost as her date chatted with an associate. Her curious eyes roamed the crowd before locking with his. They stood for a moment studying each other; finally, with a small nod and a tip of her glass she turned back to her companion. From that first moment, and during all their time together, he still couldn’t believe how much she could communicate with a look. She’d always been a woman of few words, but her eyes spoke volumes.

His eyes lit up, and he quickened his pace. Glancing down, he checked his watch. 8:24. A couple minutes to spare. Settling down in the grass, he held out the flowers, “Happy anniversary, baby! Mikey really outdid himself this time. You know, he really loves it every month when I come by to get your flowers. No way I’d trust anyone else to do it.” Cracking open the cooler, he lifted out a package wrapped in foil. “And I’ve got the cake too. I figured I’d at least bring it. Probably gonna taste horrible after a year in the freezer, but if it tastes anything as good as it did last year, it’s worth a shot.”

The sun sank into oblivion sending flames of color across the evening sky. Pulling his iPod from his pocket, he turned on Coldplay. The digital readout showed 8:30. In the trees behind them, a lone whippoorwill took up a mournful dirge. The sky became a canvas splashed with a million shades of color – pink, red, orange, tangerine, ochre, purple, and gray all mixed together and ran in bleeding rivers across the horizon. The evening breeze whispered across the grass bidding welcome to the shades of night.

Flat on his back, he looked up watching Venus flame into existence. Closing his eyes, he breathed it all in, holding on, embracing the moment before exhaling in a long low sigh. He gently pushed himself up on his elbow and turned towards her.

“Tell me what you see,” he whispered. The melancholy music and haunting bird calls were the only answer.

Tears welled up in his eyes. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Curling up against the gravestone, he closed his eyes.

—-

(Thanks to “1 Story a Week” for the inspiration behind this.)

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2 thoughts on “Clocks – a short story

  1. That’s it. I quit. From now on my blog will just say “Please Go Directly To Isaiah’s Blog To Read Awesome Stories.” I was reading it going “This seems familiar…. but way better!” Loved it.

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