The Timex Watch

The words consecrated themselves into my marrow. They hijacked my life for decades. It was another scorcher in Mobile, and I was sitting next to Aunt Sophie, glamorous and mysterious Aunt Sophie- on the back porch of my grandpa’s house, drifting back and forth with her on the green and white glider, when suddenly, she grabbed both of my hands- clasped them to her chest and exclaimed: “ The greatest treachery in life is falling in love.. Run like hell if you find yourself in this situation, Laurie. Y’all better be listening to me. The truth of the matter is that if you allow this to happen, gut wrenching loss is bound to kill you.” She let go of my hands, dramatically rose out of the glider, cleared her throat, wiped the black tendrils back from her forehead, harrumphed a few times, and reentered my grandpa’s house.

Now, being a product of Irish lunacy and having had plenty of experience int the see sawing rhapsody of pain, I thought I had heard it all. But this proclamation was a genuine head scratcher, Christ Almighty, if falling in love was treacherous, what the hell was safe?

This episode occurred in the summer of 1971- I was sixteen years old.

In April 1998, at the ripe old age of forty-three, treachery hit me for the first time. I utilized the necessary distractions from his charm. Came late to meetings. Avoided his gaze. Ignored his phone calls. Yet, he beckoned, like Cathay, to a story that had no other ending than for us to be us. I lost my Aunt Sophie composure. I wrestled with crumpled feelings of confusion and wonder. This man, this doctor – Harold- floated on air, He was fresh water tossed onto my soul daily. One afternoon, after a particularly grueling family therapy session – he asked if he could meet with me alone. Yikes What he said as he closed his office door floored me: “You know, this isn’t what I signed up for”.

“Are you kidding me? I didn’t sign up for this, either! Is this some kind of joke?”.

He employed silence like no one’s business. He directed the lens of his deep blue eyes into the hidden recesses of my heart and soul. I was catapulted to a mystical experience- I cannot describe it; I only began to live it at that moment. He buzz- sawed away all the debris, all the pain of my past.

When he leaned down to kiss me, the certainty of our life together was formed. The kiss was life stamping down its glorious acceptance, its hope for us.

We began a whirlwind courtship that was clandestine and intense. We could not let anyone at work know we were dating- which-of course, made us nearly crazy. One of the first quirkily things I noticed about Harry was that he always wore his watch with the face against his wrist. I asked him about it after an intense night of romance and he explained that that none of his patients would ever catch him checking the time- he elaborated by stating he never wanted anyone to feel that he/she was not the center of the universe when he/she was in session with him. He never had a clock in his office for the same reason.

One late summer morning, Harry and I were sitting next to each other at an administrative meeting- Harry nudged me and whispered:” My watch stopped working. And I have a slew of clients this afternoon. What the hell am I going to do?” I gave him a meek shrug, and before the meeting ended, I pretended to have to use the bathroom, But, actually, I made a beeline for the Rite- Aid two blocks down and bought a cheap Timex for twelve dollars and ninety-nine cents. I ran back to the office, up the stairs, two at a time, and just as he was ushering in his noon time appointment, I handed him the watch. His reaction was to give me a reverential nod to all we were becoming.

The intangible and fixed galaxy of our lives took a turn after the bestowing of the watch. - it became a talisman for us. We were married a few months later, despite Aunt Sophie’s dire warning, I had no choice but to surrender to love.

Our life together was cataclysmically the most private exchanging of souls that can be imagined. We burned up with desire to know each other more and more as the years went by. We were too old for children, so the focus on each other was intense and quite humbling. To be loved and love this deeply was a commitment like no other. Of course we had disagreements, but they never once sullied our love.

The first year we were married, we bought a lakeside cottage that offered us respite from our demanding jobs as therapists. Our most sacred times together were spent swimming, kayaking, and reading on our dock at Waterman Lake. Waterman Lake became our Paris. Through it all, Harry never went a day without wearing that watch.

One hot summer day, as we were kayaking together, Harry directed me to follow him into a shallow enclave. We got out of our perspective kayaks and walked uphill towards an empty meadow. He told me: “Now that we are in this meadow, Laurie, watch the sodden bees zig zag away loaded down in a bee line with their pollen.” I did. It was fascinating! I was so excited!

He next guided me to an adjacent meadow.

“Watch the bee line of those bees- where the two lines meet will be the hive.”

And sure enough, we followed the bee linen and there was the hive!

I hugged him so enthusiastically that we toppled over-, me on top of him- laughing our asses off!

What he said as we lay together in that meadow will forever be seared into my memory bank:

“We all rush to different meadows, Laurie, carrying our pollen, our burdens, our joys to slanted angles. But our angles were unique, dear girl.. Our angles intersected with love.”

Over the fourth of July weekend in 2016, Harry and I were cocooned together on the dock, reading and snacking on pretzels and red licorice. I was engrossed deeply in my novel, A Littlel Life when I felt Harry touch my thigh. He was kneeling next to me and had his watch in his hands, holding it up to me for inspection- he stated woefully: “Laurie, the watch stopped! Do you realize this has been my favorite gift of all time? I have worn it everyday for eighteen years.”

Before I could say a word or even kiss him, he jumped into the water and ambled over to his kayak, retrieving something. I couldn’t see what he was doing at first, but he returned, walking waist deep in the water, holding a hammer, with two nails perched on the outside of his mouth. He was next to me, and I saw that he had taken one of the straps of the watch and was hammering it into the side of the dock. He did the same with the other strap. When he was done hammering, he looked up at me and said:

“ Time stood still the first time I laid eyes on you. Our time together will always be here, it will never stop. Our love is here- into eternity. This watch will make sure to keep us safe here.”

You know for ordinary people, this would stand out as the most cherished moment of their lives…. but being married to Harold was like being married to King Arthur. His romanticism was iconic and constant- it was one of many moments of sheer love and devotion and idealism.

In 2020, during the pandemic, we sold our cottage. We had retired to a seaside home, and we could not manage two homes.

When Harry died last year, all the colors of the universe faded to black. Being his wife, his lover, his best friend allowed me to breathe in the oxygen of utopian love. I was detonated by his passing away- the loss like a nuclear explosion.

A few weeks after Harry’s death, I began thinking of Aunt Sophie. For the first time, I felt the true impact of her words. Being madly in love is a disease that has no cure- thank God. - but holy shit, she was right! To love so deeply is to surrender to potential madness when the loss comes -however it comes. I have never thought of myself as nothing if not resilient- but this? This loss? Unbearable pain. However, I am glad I ignored Aunt Sophie. To be filled with love of another/for another is the main purpose of human existence- but it is hell to survive alone.

I have so many of his writings, so many pictures, so many movies, so many tangible things to help me to cope. But the nights are unbearable. I cannot explain it to anyone. I am like a babushka at the wailing wall.

I have spent countless hours alone on our back patio- late at night-, crying for him- asking him if he is okay. Does he know how much I will always love him? Begging him not to forget me. To wait for me.

I am writing this because my friend, Jennifer, called me last night.

She was one of our neighbors at Waterman Lake. She told me that yesterday afternoon, she and her husband, Dave, went out for their maiden spring voyage on the lake.

And what she told me made me realize that life is a goddamned poem, it really is.

“So, Laurie, I had Dave go and check out your old dock. And guess what? You know that old watch that Harry nailed to the side of your dock? It is still there! The new owners kept it. Really weird. I never knew why Harry did that, but he was always eccentric. Geniuses are, I guess. Anyway, I just wanted you to know.”

The lexicographical commentary on love is found on that dock- with that watch.

The sacred host of love that was intensified with platelets of intimacy is forever present-

He reached out from somewhere in the universe to remind me that time stood still in the spring of 1998. Our love is eternal. Thank you, Harry. I love you.