Only Those With A Watch Are Late

In order to tell this tale, I must first admit it’s been a while since I last shared it. The details are a little foggy, and I advise you not to believe everything I say. This tale is one of Time himself, and therefore cursed to get lost one way or another. I, however, will try my hardest to let you in on the beautiful but heartbreaking history of Henry.

Henry lived his life with an unmatched zest for it. He was a husband to a wife he adored. Many believed he was planning to build her a statue in their garden, his way to keep her beauty alive for all eternity. For Henry knew very well he wouldn’t be around forever. You could say he was acquainted with Time himself, aware of his ways and in on his secrets. It would be the only way to explain the fortune that rested over him and his family.

This fortune stretched and grew after Henry became a father to his children. All three healthy and so alike to his wife one could wonder if she made them by herself. He adored them, spoke of them with high dignity and a warmth that could light bonfires.

It wouldn’t surprise you then, that for his sixtieth birthday he was gifted a watch. His wife had arranged for it to be the most beautiful of all. It was coated in silver, lined with a crystal finish and engraved with his own words:

Only those with a watch are late.

The joy he felt after receiving the gift spread like a rumor. The neighbors found out and told the baker, who tattled to his wife who let it slip to her hairdresser. It took the news a day to inform the entire town about how privileged Henry felt. To be loved in this impossible way. To be seen like his wife saw him. To be known as his children knew him. And Henry, who was never late, remained as punctual as ever. He wore the watch with pride. He entered rooms the exact second he was expected, and he was expected everywhere. Even when the watch started to wear off and run a little behind, he refused to take it off.

His wife advised him to get it fixed, fearing that maybe he would actually start to run late if he relied on a broken clock. He never did. He never would. Because Time was on his side, until one day Time decided that time was up.

When Henry opened the door to his home, it smelled of pot roast and freshly brewed coffee. His nostrils opened to welcome the smell, and his throat immediately warmed at the sight of his wife on the fl –

They were panicking, his kids. One was making his way outside to quickly call for help. The other started explaining what happened to her father. The youngest laid on top of his mother, arms around her cold body.

Henry’s heart dropped in his chest. Disbelief and a simple ringing echoed in his mind. He fell to his knees, next to his wife. He touched her face and traced her features. He knew them so well. The dent under her lower lip and the freckle on the right side of her eye. How her wrinkles didn’t make her look old or wore down, they just made her even more graceful. Even more his.

How could Time do this to him? What had he done to make him so upset?

A doctor rushed in. Henry let him have his way. Whatever. It doesn’t matter what he does. His chest already felt empty, nothing but traces of old memories. He couldn’t even cry. He could only stare, watching as they tried to save her and flinch when they did something that could hurt her. Could’ve hurt her.

His daughter took his hand. He tried to move but could only shiver. The only thing he could do was scream. The scream pierced through bone and marrow and everything in between. It didn’t take the news long to spread, and it didn’t take Time long to witness what had happened.

This tale doesn’t end here, but I can assure you it doesn’t end happily.

The only thing I dare to know for sure is that Henry visits his wife’s grave every single day. He doesn’t leave her flowers, for he believes the most beautiful thing on this earth has already left. No flower can compensate for that loss. Henry just stares, and occasionally, he cries. He whines and sobs and feels everything he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for years.

You must understand we all grieve in a different way, and for some of us the only option is to get consumed by it. Consumed until there’s nothing left but tardiness. Tardiness and the shell of a man who once bathed in love.

This is no different for Henry. He roams the streets, gaining the attention of passersby and tourists. Some are old enough to understand what misfortune had befallen the old man and wince at the sight of him. Others just glare, because the gravity of this story has yet to crush them.

His bony wrist and grey skin still bear the weight of a watch. I doubt it still works. I doubt it still shines as beautiful as the pride he used to have, but I can assure you, he still wears it anyway. He will wear it for as long as it takes him to show that Time had won.

I don’t believe there’s such a thing as convincing Time, for he is unreachable and not to be bargained with. Henry, however, shall fight because time has no value when love is lost.

His daughter moved to the coast of Spain, happily married. His oldest son became a shoe merchant in London, and recently a father to his second daughter. The youngest son couldn’t get it over his heart to leave his father alone. He found love a few villages north and opened the tavern you’re currently having your coffee at.

“How is the coffee, actually?”

“It tastes like the one my dear wife used to make. One more, please.”

I nod and make amends to brew one. Before I can fully turn my back to my customer, some light reflects in the corner of my eye. I follow it, only to be met with one of the most carefully polished watches I’d ever seen. And I’d only seen one other.

“I might not be on time for this,” Henry groans, “but – “

I cut the man off with a tight embrace. “You could never be too late, father.”