Stopwatch

Coach Harper Brauer was given a new stopwatch to help record the times of his runners on the track and field team. Harper had been hired two years before to guide the Pleasant Valley High School to a state championship.  The Hyenas had been state champs twenty years before when Coach Brauer was one of their best milers, but that was a long time ago.  Since that championship, the track and field team continued to wind up last in the conference.  

He toyed with the stopwatch when he found it in his box in the teacher’s lounge on his first morning of the new school year.  There was no note or any other identification accompanying the plain white box the stopwatch came in.  It was one of those old fashioned stopwatches, not digital kind.  Nope, this stopwatch used gears and hands that recorded the ticking seconds, the kind they used when he was All-State on the Hyena’s y track team twenty years ago.   

Attached to the device was a thick string necklace.  It would hang around his neck so he wouldn’t lose it in the excitement of a meet.  He slipped it over his head before heading out to the field for his first practice.

“Coach Brauer!” Hank Stafford called out when Harper emerged from the gymnasium and ran toward the field, “Welcome to Pleasant Valley.” 

“Graduated from here.” He inhaled. 

“Yeah, but now you run the show.” Hank slapped Harper on the shoulder. 

“Coach Bingham built one helluva program.” Harper winked at his assistant.

“Yeah, but he had a fatal heart attack a year after you graduated.” Hank shook his head in somber recognition, “And we’ve had a string of morons that followed his legacy.”

“Am I included in that?” Harper chuckled.

“We will see.” Coach Bingham squinted up at Harper who was nearly a head taller than he was.  Harper had those long spindly legs that made him an All-State runner.  But that was the past.  All that mattered now was bringing back those lost glory days to Pleasant Valley High School again.  Becoming the laughingstock of the conference was more than Nicolas Bingham could bear.  Standing in the shadow of the big man brought a new sense of optimism that had been missing for quite a while. 

“First group, on the line.” Coach Brauer ordered.  Six boys dressed in running regalia stepped up to the starting line.  “On my whistle you will start running.”

He put the stopwatch in his right hand and with his left, he put the whistle between his lips.  

“Keep an eye on Davis.” Bingham pointed to the runner in the third lane, “He’s got a shot at All-Conference.” 

“You think so?” Harper asked from the side of his mouth as he prepared to blow his whistle.

“I do.” Bingham nodded.

The whistle sounded and the runners began sprinting on the quarter mile track.

“Once around!” Coach Brauer called out as they ran the first curve.  His stopwatch was firmly in his hand, “You need to be under two minutes if you want to make All-Conference.” 

Davis crossed the line first as expected. Coach Brauer pressed the stopwatch button.

Everything came to an immediate stop. All motion was frozen in that instant when Benny Davis crossed the line at 2:02.  He looked over at his assistant who was frozen in mid-chew of his gum.  He looked at the other five runners as stiff as statues as they fought for position behind Benny.  

He held the stopwatch up to his eyes with the white minute hand on the two and the red second hand affixed on the second line after the zero.  2:02.  The whistle fell from his open lips.

“What the--?” He uttered as he pressed the button on the stopwatch.  As soon as he did that all the action resumed as the other five runners sprinted across the finish line while Benny put his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath.  Harper stood there staring at the stopwatch as the second hand raced around the clock face.

Harper called practice around sunset as the blazing red sun was drained from the early autumn sky.  Each time he pressed the button of the stopwatch during practice, the same thing happened, all movement came to an abrupt standstill.  It was as if he could stop time just by pressing the button.  But he knew that was not logical since time constantly advancing forward or was it.  Could there be a small vortex when time would come to a stop? 

“Good practice, eh?” Hank flopped in his desk chair.

“Yeah.” Harper sat in his desk chair with a little more grace than his assistant. 

“Are you alright?” Hank asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Harper fondled his stopwatch trying to make sense of what had happened.

“Where did you get that thing?” Hank peered over at the stopwatch.

“It was in my box.” He did not take his eyes off the stopwatch as he answered. 

“It’s one of those old ones, ain’t it?” Hank chuckled.

“Yeah, old.” Harper echoed.

“You look spooked.” Hank observed as he watched Harper dangle the stopwatch between his fingers.

“What if I told you that when I press this button, time comes to a stop.” Harper tilted his head.

“I’d say that you’d better wear a hat since the sun can play tricks on your bare head.” Hank laughed.

“Did you feel it?” 

“Feel what?” Hank was still snickering. 

“Time. Stop.” 

“Man, you’re serious.” Hank quit snickering and looked at his boss with grave concern. 

“I’ll tell you what, in tomorrow’s practice, why don’t you do the time on the runners?” Harper seemed hypnotized by the watch. 

“You’re freaking me out, but yeah, I’ll do it.  I’ll prove that this is just a regular old stopwatch.  Like the ones they used in your time.” He shrugged. 

“Alright, let’s do this.” Hank said as he took his place next to Coach Brauer.

“Here.” Harper handed Hank the stopwatch.

“Alrighty.” Hank put the string over his head and around his neck.

“First line!” Harper called out.  Six runners made their way to the starting line. “On my whistle, you will run.” 

Harper blew the whistle as Hank pressed the button to start the stopwatch.

They both watched the runners come along the homestretch as Hank held the stopwatch ready to press the stop button as Ben Davis approached the finish line.  Hank pressed the button.

Time was frozen in that instant.  The gum he had been chewing on fell from his gaping mouth.  Ben Davis had his foot over the finish line.  The stopwatch read 2:01, but the hands were no longer moving.  He looked over at Coach Brauer and noticed he was not moving either, his whistle was stashed firmly between his lips as he prepared to blow it, signaling the end of the heat.

“What is this?” His whole body was ready to collapse in the shock of what he was seeing.  He glanced at the stopwatch, his instincts told him to throw the device as far as he could into the thick wooded area around the school.  He pressed the button and time resumed.

“Well?” Harper asked after blowing the whistle.

“I think we should get rid of this thing.” Hank held the stopwatch up so Harper could see it.

“It happened, didn’t it?” His face now lined with alarm. 

“Yeah.”  

Neither one of them wanted to converse after practice, but the silence seemed to by screaming at both of them.  Finally, the last athlete left the locker room.  Hank coughed and Harper looked at him with his head resting on his hand. The clock on their office wall sounded with a tick, tick, tick.  

“What do you think?” Harper finally broke the awkward silence. 

“I think we have some kind of cursed artifact.” Hank gritted his teeth.

“How so?” Harper shrugged.

“It stops time.” Hank managed to say through his clenched teeth.

“Yeah, I noticed.” Harper sounded a bit sarcastic.

“It ain’t right.” Hank shook his head.

“So, what do we do?” Harper asked, squinting and looking at Hank through one light blue eye. 

“If it were up to me, I’d throw this thing into the river just beyond the trees. 

“Hold it for just a minute.” An idea passed through his mind, but it was not an idea he would later cherish.  But it rang out inside his skull, and he wanted to share with his assistant coach.  Holding up his index finger, Harper said, “Suppose we learn to control the stopwatch. Our first meet is in two weeks against the defending state champs, Cross River High School.  There is that moment when time stands still.” 

“Yeah, it’s kinda freaky.” Hank shook his head.

“What if we learned how to move things during that time when everything is frozen.” Harper smiled, but Hank did not like the facial expression that accompanied the smile. 

“Move things?  What things?” He put his hands below his chin.

“The runners.” Harper waved his hands in the air.

“Can we do that?” 

“I don’t know, but tomorrow during practice, we can give it a try.” His sinister smile remained fixed on his face.

“I don’t know if I like this.” Hank tried to look away, but the fact was, he was eager to see if Harper was right.  He had been right about the stopwatch.

Last year, Hank ran into the locker room with the spectators jeering him and the team as they finished dead last in the conference.  He was unable to eat for a whole week which would have been fine, except during the holidays, he binged and gained even more weight.  It seemed his mood was tied into his appetite.  Frankly he was tired of being the butt of jokes that circulated on social media about how badly the hyena sucked.  

That night, he had terrible dreams and Franny, his wife, woke him up, “Hank, you have been tossing and turning all night.  You kept me awake most of the night.” 

“Sorry.” Was all he could manage before he dashed out the door to get to school to teach his first Physical Education class.  As he got the basketball cart out onto the court, he saw Harper working with his class of freshmen females.  He waved.

“Whadda think?” Harper walked over.

“I say we give it a try during practice.” Hank nodded.

“If this works, we can run the conference.” Harper puffed out his chest.

“If this works, we can wind up either being famous or notorious.” Hank grabbed a ball and shot a jumper.  The ball swished through the net.  Basketball was his game in school.  If the truth be told, Hank never did care for track and field.

The day seemed to pass slowly.  The time seemed to drag through each of Hank's classes as if someone was pressing the button on the stopwatch.

The final bell sounded, and Hank hustled out to the track where Harper was already waiting for him.

“I’m gonna move Dylan McOllroy so it will make him the winner.  I will stop the watch at 1:55 which will give him the official school record.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” Hank nodded, “What was your record by the way?”

“I raced in a final where I cleared 1:50.” Harper did some trunk twists.  He was feeling jittery and needed to let some of the pressure out and the only way he knew how was to do some stretching.

Harper called the runners to the line as Hank held the stopwatch.  They took off from the starting line and began to run a very spirit run.  When Hank for to 1:55 he pressed the button.  Just like every time before, everything stopped.  Coach Brauer hand his hand on the stopwatch when Hank pressed the button.  Anyone making physical contact with the stopwatch seemed to be unaffected by the strange power. 

Dylan McOllroy was several yards behind Ben Davis, the leader.  Hank and Harper were able to life Dylan since he was small in stature and did not even weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet.  It turned out to be easier than either of them though.  When the deed was done, Hank pushed the button and Dylan stumbled across the finish line.

“What to go, Dylan.” Coach Brauer shouted his encouragement. 

“What gives?” Ben complained, "I was ahead of him all the way.” Ben watched with envy and dejection as the other four runners congratulated Dylan. 

Hank glanced at Harper who just nodded his approval. ,

“I don’t get it, coach.” Ben ws still out of breath as he walked over to Harper, “I was clearly ahead until the end.” 

“I saw Dylan kick it over the last fifty yards.” Harper put his hands on his hips as the dejected star runner shook his head.

“There ain’t a horse alive that could make up the time he had to in order to catch me.” Ben continued to protest.

“It happens.” Harper hung his arm across Davis’ shoulder as they walked back to the locker room. 

The first scheduled meeting took place on the college track between the two rivals Pleasant Valley lined up on one side while Cross River on the other.  The rival team appeared as mutants as they recited their rituals about how they were going to humiliate Pleasant Valley like they had done last year and the year before that.

“You're pretty sure this is gonna work?” Hank Bingham asked, trying not to look at the opponents' drills. 

“I am.” Harper held the stopwatch in his hand.

“I hope so.” Hank put his fingers on the device.

The official fired a starting pistol, and twelve runners began moving around the track. Coming into the final stretch, Coach Brauer waited to press the button even though Ben Davis was a a few strides behind Stretch Jarvis, Cross Rivers’ All-Conference runner with Ali Sweeny right on his teammate's heels.

Coach Brauer pressed the button.

Time stood still just like all the times before.  Hank and Harper hustled onto the track and lifted Ben, placing him in front of Stretch and Ali.  He smiled to see what they had done.  Hank smiled as all of the futility was about to end for Pleasant Valley.  

“Where’s the stopwatch?” Coach Brauer cried out in frustration, “Do you have it, Hank?” 

“No coach, I do not.” He began to feel Harper’s frustration. “It was hanging around my neck, but it’s not there.” 

“It’s gotta be somewhere.” Hank threw his hands into the air.

“I don’t have it.” Harper was nearly in tears.  His face was scarlet red as he walked around looking for the stopwatch.

He heard the mournful crunch as he stepped on the stopwatch. . Moving his foot back, he knelt down and examined the stopwatch which now lay there in several unusable pieces.

“Oh my God, what have I done?” He wept over his broken stopwatch.  Hank felt a cold icicle stab at his heart.

“Coach, what are we going to do?” Hank swallowed before asking this question. 

“We have stopped time, but the instrument we used to accomplish this has been destroyed.” He sobbed. 

“What does it mean?”

“It means we’re are prisoners in a time vortex that we created.” Harper stood up and saw Benny Davis poised to cross the finish line, but because the stopwatch had been destroyed, he would never cross it, Benny Davis would become a still life. Slowly the horror of the situation filled Hank as he screamed, “NO!”

But no one was able to hear his cry of desperation except Coach Brauer who was picking up the pieces of the stopwatch in the futile hope that he could reassemble the shattered device. Try as he might, there was nothing he could do as time refused to move forward. 

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