The Watch

When a colleague asked me for the time this afternoon, as usual I pulled on the lanyard holding my mobile inside my breast pocket, held the volume button down for two seconds to activate the external LCD screen, and then told her it was about three p.m. The whole operation took slightly more than ten seconds.

"So why don't you wear a watch?" She asked.
"I'm planning to get a new one, soon," I lied.

The truth of the matter is that I've got a perfectly serviceable watch, minus straps and battery, in a little compartment inside my dresser. It's located next to a ring I haven't worn for more than a year, and several other knick-knacks and dustballs. The watch was a gift from someone who spent a whole lot of time, effort and money on it, and it was given to me on a first anniversary. On the underside there is a brief inscription, along with the date of said anniversary. I still have the box the watch came in, though I've not opened that compartment in a long, long time.

Sometime in the early months of 2003, during the days when it seemed my relationship at the time was on the verge of breaking apart, I was getting ready to go to work when all of a sudden, as I was putting it on, both straps broke and the timepiece fell with an undignified crash on the bedroom floor. I remember staring at it as it rested mutely on the parquet, and how suddenly I had this sudden premonition of loss, as if it signified the end of everything. I'm not usually prone to superstition, but at that period in time I was so hypersensitive everything was taken as an omen.

The following afternoon I got my first confirmation of the bad news.

After that, I just didn't feel like getting the straps fixed. To me it was as if putting it on required an act of make believe, and at the time I just didn't have it in me to pretend. So in the dresser it stayed, while the familiar lighter strip on my left wrist gradually disappeared until I just got used to not wearing a watch, and the thought of getting a replacement never even crossed my mind. I didn't need a watch, nor did I feel like owning one.

Some time back, a friend forwarded her theory on why I am still watch-less. Apparently, my reluctance to commit to choosing and buying a new one to put on my wrist corresponds exactly to my newfound (at the time) disinterest in relationships. "When you finally decide to be brave enough and get into a relationship again, that's when you'll want a watch," she said.

I think she's probably more right than she ever intended to be. Somehow the old watch printed an indelible mark on my psyche, linking it irrevocably to my feelings toward relationships. So while sometimes I may want a watch, more often than not I realise I don't actually need it, and that I can find other solutions for timekeeping.

Yes, I'm screwed (in more ways than one), but you already knew this before coming here, eh?

So maybe one day the desire will hit me and I'll be able to muster up the courage to actually start something again, and when that happens I think that a watchstore owner somewhere will be very happy...

..and my wrist can finally get a timepiece, right near where my pulse is.