Bygone

1930. That was the year the first symposium took place.

Wrist watches had already overtaken the market, but true gentlemen still knew elegance and sophistication could only be achieved through the ownership of a pocket watch. They came in many sizes and many shapes, some made of gold and some made of silver, yet all of them had one thing in common: they bestowed upon the buyer a spell of refinement, an enchantment rooted in the mystical qualities of more fashionable days. Gentlemen adorned with pocket watches were warriors, guardians who safeguarded relics from a romantic past.

As such gentlemen had become a rare breed, and Pocket Watch Makers faced stiff competition on the market, Friedrich’s grandfather took it upon himself to hold the first Pocket Watch National Symposium. Hiring a business-savvy hotel maid as his presenter, he showcased the most beautiful items of his collection, and the conference attracted the papers’ attention. From that day on, every year, craftsmen and collectors from across the country flocked to a ballroom adjacent to the Time Hotel down in Brooklyn for a weekend of watch worship. After the old man passed away, Friedrich’s father became the herald of the event, and it was of course expected Friedrich would also carry the torch when his moment came.

At first, the young man felt little connection to the family business. All the hip kids at school wore wrist watches, and a part of him wanted to do the same to fit in. Truth be told, he was too young to be nostalgic over old-fashioned watches. On his sixteenth birthday, however, things changed.

“Here,” said his father, placing a small gift box in his palm after pulling him away from the dinner table. The patriarch’s large and dense mustache was another vestigial trait of the old days valued by the men in his family, something he had always found amusing. “It’s about time I give you one of these.”

Friedrich unfastened the ribbon that tied the gift. Inside the box was a pocket watch of course, but not just any pocket watch. It was the most attractive item the boy had ever seen, wrought in gold, with his initials carved in the center. The warm light from the living room lamps reflected on the object’s shiny surface and projected an eerie amber glow into his eyes.

“Father, this looks…”

“Expensive?” he anticipated. “A watch can never be too expensive. Nothing is more precious than the tracking of time. Count how many beats your heart skips at the sight of a pocket watch, not how many dollar bills it takes to buy it.”

The pocket watch exerted a hypnotic magnetism over young Friedrich with every tick produced by its intricate mechanisms. He cautiously inserted the object into his pocket and clipped the chain onto his pants. His father leaned over to whisper to his ear.

“The men in our family are guardians of a bygone era, my boy. It’s time you take your turn. The responsibility is on you, now.”

1980. The year of Friedrich’s eighteenth birthday, and his first symposium.

The dawn of the quartz watch had relegated the business to the realm of antiques. Still, many impassioned watch makers converged towards the sumptuous ballroom, in which countless tables overflowed with clockwork mechanisms of all sorts. They were all chasing one thing, young and old alike: the past, whether or not they had lived it.

“Are those handmade?” asked a young woman whose rebellious hair was kept in place by a purple headband.

“Of course,” replied Friedrich, puffing his chest. His heart had skipped just as many beats at her sight as it had when he first saw the pocket watch given to him by his father. “Everything in our family collection is handmade. As a matter of fact, I made this one myself.”

“Impossible,” mocked the young woman. “Your hands look so coarse. I struggle to believe you could have made something so delicate.”

“Perhaps I can show it to you.”

Not without shaking slightly, Friedrich undid the watch’s socket with precision and removed elements of the mechanism, before putting them back into place expertly.

“You got me,” conceded the woman. “I’m Eleanor, by the way. It’s my first time around here, I’ve only just started following into my mother’s footsteps in watchmaking.”

“Friedrich. We’re in the same boat. My father actually organizes this conference every year.”

“Wonderful. I guess I can look forward to seeing you next year, then.”

It took three more symposiums for Friedrich and Eleanor to fall in love. They married in the summer of 1985, and Friedrich’s father passed the following winter. It was hard for him at first to remaining optimistic as business dwindled. Year after year, there were less and less aficionados attending the conference, and by the early 2000s, with the advent of digital technology, he knew it was only a matter of time before he displayed his collection to an empty room.

“Perhaps it’s time to let it go,” said Eleanor one day, locks of grey hair falling over her saddened eyes. She stood by her husband’s basement workstation, desperately trying to capture his attention amidst the cobwebs that surrounded them. “You’ve given this enough of your time, Friedrich. Nobody buys these anymore, you can’t fight it.”

The comment drew ire from the watchmaker, who put aside the intricate mechanism he was crafting to face his wife with reprimand in his eyes.

“How can you say that? I’m the guardian—”

“Of a bygone era, I know. There’s a reason it’s bygone. People have moved on.”

“Our whole lives have been focused on…”

“Your whole life, Friedrich!” she yelled, raising her voice for the first time since they had met. The outburst was so unexpected, they both recoiled in shock. “Have it your way, but I need to find something worth living for in the present.”

She ran up the stairs at a dashing speed, hoping with all her might he would follow. He did not. His hands went back to the only thing he knew: crafting.

Eleanor passed in the winter of 2021, a blow from which the aging watchmaker never fully recovered. Every picture of her pulled him back to that very first symposium, the one from 1980, when he was young and filled with passion. His heart did not beat quite right anymore, and his watches did not tick the same.

In 2025, there were ten attendees. In 2029, three. In 2030, none.

“Impossible,” he said, speaking to a hotel maid as she approached to dust off his collection, displayed on a single table in an eerie, empty ballroom. “This can’t be it. Not after one hundred years.”

“Time flies, doesn’t it?” replied the red-haired employee, a gloomy grin on her face.

“My eighteenth birthday feels like yesterday. I met my wife in this very room, you know. Fifty years ago. I would give anything to turn back time.”

“Wouldn’t we all?”

“You don’t understand. I’ve been in the business of keeping track of time my entire life, and still it flew right by me. It tried to keep alive the memory of an era I never even lived, but the memory faded anyway. Just like my memory of Eleanor.”

“If you can still remember it, it means it hasn’t faded completely. I, for one, still vividly remember the first symposium. The press was all over your grandfather.”

Friedrich chuckled and observed the young maid intently. She must have been in her early twenties. There was no way she had attended more than a handful of symposiums.

“With all due respect, Miss, I don’t think you do. The first symposium took place in—”

Friedrich turned to point at a photograph of his grandfather on the night of the first Symposium, framed on the wall. His heart skipped many, many beats. On the photograph, there she was. The maid. By his grandfather’s side. He turned to her again, aghast, as an enigmatic smile formed upon her lips.

“1930,” she said. “That’s right. I remember it like it was yesterday too.”

“I—how – it’s – I don’t think –”

Friedrich could not form a complete sentence. He remained wide-eyed as the maid took out a pocket watch from the back of her uniform. It surpassed in beauty every watch he had ever seen… but it did not tick.

“Pocket watches. Enchanting aren’t they. I bought this one exactly one hundred years ago from one clueless collector.” She put the object down on the table. “I think you can probably make a better use of this. I’ve spent enough time chasing the past. Perhaps you’ll soon realize it’s not worth it too.”

After sweeping the table one more time with her feather duster, she walked away. Friedrich picked up the watch. It ticked four times. The amount of beats his heart skipped when…

“Are those handmade?”

The voice took him by surprise. He lifted his head, and the room was suddenly packed. A young woman with a purple headband stood before him. His skin was tender, free of wrinkles. He was eighteen. Again.

“Of course,” he muttered under his breath, reliving the scene he remembered so well. “I can show you, Eleanor, if you’d like.”

Surprise dawned on her face.

“How do you know my name?”

Friedrich dropped the watch onto the table.

“I have a better idea. Should we go for a walk by the water? I’ve talked enough about watches for the day. Let’s live in the present, shall we?”

“Thank you,” she exclaimed, relief oozing from her voice. “I’ve had quite enough myself. Frankly, I’m not very into the family business. I’m too young to be this nostalgic.”

They left the ballroom as the watches ticked on behind them. The Symposium attendees chased collector items left and right in their search for anchors to a bygone era they valued so dearly. Meanwhile, two lovers outside chased the future, while savoring every moment of the present.