Between Then & Now // Hugh Jackman

1 // The Wristwatch

It nestled in the left corner of a floor-to-ceiling glass case. The third shelf up, to be exact. There were larger, much grander clocks nearby, so it lay there almost forgotten amongst them. The wristwatch itself was small. It's leather band was worn out, and the face of it was encrusted in these rich blue stones. Many shoppers must have missed it, distracted by the gleaming brass pendulum to the right.

But, not me.

Something about it called to me. I couldn't explain it, but the moment my eyes settled on it, I felt a pull. Like the watch had been waiting, hidden in plain sight for the right customer. 

Maybe, it was waiting for me.

I'm no stranger to time. I remember the sound of an old father clock in my grandpa's study. The rhythmic ticking had been a constant reminder of those long summers I'd spent with him as a kid.

Every hour, on the hour, it would chime. Not a soft ring like most in his home, but a resonating clunk, deep and brassy. The only time it ever chimed once was when the little hand hit one. When it was two, it did it twice, and followed that same pattern all the way to twelve.

I also remember how annoyed at it I was. I'd wake up in the middle of the night with each sound it made. Sometimes, I prayed that the damned thing would magically stop working so I could get some peace and quiet. At least so I could sleep.

My grandpa, on the other hand, loved it. He'd pause his daily activities to glimpse up at it with a nostalgic smile. Some memory he'd never tell me despite asking him on several occasions.

"Something's are too sacred to share," he'd tell me. At the time, I didn't understand him.

The word 'sacred' was much too big of a word for my young brain to decipher, but with the passing years, well, I was still just as confused. He was never the religious type, so whatever had happened would remain a mystery to me.

Grandpa was the reason I was here at Wayward Reliquary. His 80th birthday was approaching in a couple weeks, and I had yet to get him anything. I had an idea, but I had gone back and forth on it.

Did he really need another clock? He was basically hoarding them. I shouldn't encourage that kind of behavior. Yet, at the same time, he was a lot older.

Who knew how much life he had left in him?

That was a terrible thought to be having, but it was the truth. I didn't know how much time he had left, so I wanted to give him some more instead of keeping it from him. His clocks always made him so happy, and who was I to not let him be?

"That there is a beautiful piece." 

The shopkeeper, an elderly woman with sharp eyes and a knowing grin, jutted her chin at it from beside me. I jerked away. A second ago she was behind the counter when I walked in, how'd she get there so fast?

Just how long had I been staring at the wristwatch?

She gestured toward the case again with a finger. Her nail pressed into the glass, pointing at the antique I was looking at.

"Time has a funny way of finding people, doesn't it?" The shopkeeper asked, but I got the feeling it was more of a rhetorical question. Not that I knew how to answer it anyway.

She went on, "I've had this one for over a year now. No one seems to pay much mind to it, but it tells quite the story."

I frowned, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

The shopkeeper opened the tall door into the glass case. Just far enough to reach inside and carefully pick up the wristwatch, bringing it out into the open and turning it over where initials had been engraved into the back.