The watch is spangled with miniscule gold bolts, and between each reptilian scale was a shimmer of gold, called gold bezel, the effect being to soften visual petting. Mr. Throdahl had considered getting his son this watch, but was presumably worried he would be annoyed at receiving the identical watch. He resolved to this: “Well, you can order any watch you like, for under 1200 dollars.”
Andrew felt a phenomenal sense of bloatedness ordering a replica of his father’s watch. His wrist would forever recall his father’s wrist, despite not being the same vessel of wealth. It arrived a few days later and they had it fitted. The jeweler said, “Twenty one years? This will last you lifetimes and onto your children.” The watch was then clasped onto Andrew’s wrist, incomparably like the visible ring of an invisible, metaphysical handcuff.
Mr. Throdahl said, “It looks very handsome on you.” The saying had not a hint of expense in it. “Don’t wear it in the ocean,” suggested that Andrew would become impotent. “We don’t live near the ocean.” Then he would have no children to pass it onto. The thought arrived sometime later that upon his father’s death Andrew would inherit an all but coeval double. Andrew should have purchased that painting of dead fish they so liked; it had no copy. Perhaps Mr. Throdahl was the only person who could have suggested it. Red paint oozed from their expressionistic eyes. They were herrings I believe. Technique did not have the crisp cut of the watch.
“Furthermore you will be able to play the piano with this watch.” It’s the thinnest watch you can purchase for 1200 dollars. They were in Florida at a resort for a week before Andrew could try it out. He sat down to play a work that had right hand accompaniment. The result was an imagined weight in the left hand melody. “This Ravel may be alright but my Chopin is ruined.” Andrew has played with band-aids on all his fingers thus his watch is no hindrance. His fingers are still buoyant, the watch is not a torpid frustration. Andrew feels drenched in gold despite the actually width being only little more than an inch. He’ll have to change the battery in 2010. The watch is stainless.
Poseidon impregnated Aethra by having her wade out to sea. Venus herself was born from foam. The watch is thin enough that no one will sink if submerged.
Creative Non-Fiction
March 3, 2008 by throdizzle
One Response
-
Flickr Photos
More Photos Category Cloud
I like your take on nonfiction here, Andrew — there are echoes of the fable that you put together for the multimedia project, certainly, but the decision to call your “characters” Andrew and Mr. Throdahl lends a sort of austerity and distance to the piece that I like; it seems fitting for a reflection on death and inheritance and reproduction.
This might be my personal preference, but for me the story really begins with “Mr. Throdahl had considered…” The physical description of the watch at the very onset of the piece was, for this reader, a little too lush.
One of my favorite lines was “‘“Don’t wear it in the ocean,” suggested that Andrew would become impotent.’” I almost want a series of these lines: sayings and their extrapolations. Also, just a small note, but the “We don’t live near the ocean” line that follows was, for me, a slight hiccup in your train of thought — it jerked me a little too entirely out of the thoughts about reproduction happening here.
I love love love where the last paragraph is moving — I like the lines of buoyancy running throughout, the question and confusion of the sea and birth, the sea and death. That said, I’m a little confused by the last line: “The watch is thin enough that on one will sink if submerged.” I think you’re moving towards a wonderful ending, especially since it calls back to that line about not wearing the watch in the ocean. But I was confused by “no one” in this context. Who is “no one”? Will the watch not sink? Will the wearer float?
I’m excited to see where this moves in revision.