The Curious Events We Miss Between Two Ticks Of A Clock (Semi final draft)A Story by Peteypie tell me whatcha think
| | 12 | The Curious Events That We Miss Between Two Ticks of A Clock | |
“I wasted time, and now doth Time waste me: For now hath Time made me his numb'ring clock; My thoughts are minutes”
- Shakespeare
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Hello, my name is Charles, Charles Kabrt. Charlie. I was born July 4th, 1967, five pounds 5 ounces, and this is the story of how I died.
Just for the experience of a good read or some suspense or whatever or however you wish to put it, I offer you, you being the reader, the challenge of figuring out who is responsible for my death. If you were hoping for a happy go lucky tale, this sadly enough is not the tale you were looking for. If you were looking for a suspenseful thriller filled with mounting action and intense moments of dramatic plot twists, you will not be thrilled or suspensified if you wish to continue. This is not a romantic romance or horrifying horror. This, my dear reader, is just another tick of a clock, just another story. It is a story about life and try as you might to look for one, life has no plot. No set structure for you to follow. We have our characters, you and me, me and you, everyone. We all have our part to play, as you are about to see. Lets begin.
Before you know how I left this earth, you should know how I came into it. I was born on the fourth of July, also known as Independence Day. Amongst all the celebrating and fire works, I managed to weave my way out of my mother. My father was a watchmaker and he had an acute sense of how things worked. He knew that everything had away of fitting together. Fitting together just right. My mother was, and forever will be, a house wife. It was something she was born to do. I have simply no doubt about it.
Okay. There is nothing wrong with being a house wife. Nothing. Either way, she was born for it. She loved it. Never had a complaint. Her day went like clock work. At exactly six o clock in the morning, she would wake from her slumber and the clock would start ticking. After she immediately got dressed and prepared and whatever girls do, she promptly prepared breakfast. Each day she concocted something new. Something she most certainly have learned from a cooking show she had watched the previous night. When I would go down to eat, the dishes and food were all laid up and the hands of her own personal clock shifted to sweeping. This would be at 7:30. Unless I woke up late.
That is the thing really, I would wake up late sometimes. She never did. She was always finely tuned. She worked like a clock, a watch. One of the watches my dad made. Perhaps, this is only a guess, perhaps that is why they got married. It makes no difference now though. I was always off. Off? How could the son of a watchmaker be off?
I know I am switching subjects but, let me remind you, I’m off. I occasionally asked myself this question. It is a weird question to think about. It seems, you know that word? Abstract? Yes, abstract. In a way I kind of thought that my dad would have made me. Like he made one of his watches. He would piece together those gears and cogs. Screws and wheels and I would turn out into this fine tuned machine. All ways in perfect condition. Perfect order. Just constantly ticking and tocking. That long metal hand would always make its way back to twelve. Always. His fine understanding of things would make me into him. Seeing how things would fit together; knowing how it all worked. I would be a finally tuned watch always ticking in perfect order. As I said, its just this abstract thought that I had. My dad, the watchmaker should have been able to make me like his watches like him. But that’s the way life turned out. THIS is the way life turned out. I’m not him, I’m not my mother, I’m not one of his watches.
I do not want to continue talking about my mother, the housewife. She was just a simple housewife, it is what she was meant to be. A finely tuned woman, working like clock work. My father. The watchmaker. He was a plain man. He worked hard. Put food on the table. Never laid a hand on me, oh the Lord knows I was asking for it. He knew how things work, as I said, and I greatly admired him for that. Finally, I finally see how they work too. And that is why I am doing this. To teach you how things work.
Tick – Tock
It was that day. On the 37th second of the 44th minute, of the 7th hour of the 15th day, of the 5th month, of the 1,989th year after the birth of Christ, I died. Seems pretty blunt to say. Not even blunt, just weird. Or maybe “off” is the better word for it.
The day began just like any other. For in the grand scheme of things, it was any other. Forgive me but I am getting sidetracked. Think about it. On a day that changed your life, one you will never ever ever forget, you would never call this day a day like any other, but I can guarantee you, someone in this great big world will call this day a day like any other. So was this a day like any other? Did this day really really matter? You tell me.
Back on track. A day, just a day in the grand scheme of things, in the big clock, just a day, a day ticking away.
I would like to apologize. I feel like I am getting too, you know, abstract. Too out there. I don’t really know. I’m sure by now it has gotten really annoying. Fantastically annoying. Unless, unless you are the type of person to appreciate such, let me think, abstractions? Ideas? Theories? So, if you enjoy reading these abstract ideas or crazy insights, please feel free to, and if not, do what you wish, but I wish to show you how things fit together.
I awoke late. As you know I often do. The analog alarm clock read 7:34. I stared at it for a second. One single second. A single second. Its perfect circular shape. Its plain white face. A face that mocked me with the time it reflected. I was late for work already. The alarm didn’t go off! It was a piece of crap. I would have loved to take it to my dad, the watchmaker, to fix. He would have popped it open, revealing the convoluted mess of gears and screws and cogs and whatever parts the lye within that thing. So many parts, without one, just one single part. A single part. Without that, the thing would not work at all. The clock would not be ticking, the hand would never make its way back to twelve.
I was not really that SUCCESSEFUL. It was obvious even from my apartment. Single room. Dreary wall paper. Nothing to it at all. Just another tiny chamber in the huge honey comb of buildings and rooms and people that is New York. My apartment just seemed so incapable of being bright. Of being somewhat attractive. Really, it just lacked that kind of quality. My wall paper was a dark lavender. I never thought lavender could be so depressing looking until I laid eyes on those four walls. It makes no difference anymore though. Through the curtains little sunlight emerged, but I did not really care. As my friend said, I “am lucky to have gotten a cheap place in the city to begin with.” I know she’s right, but THIS place. Just not what I was looking for. The air was filled with dust. It used to clog up my lungs and nostrils. But I suppose that’s in the past now.
I was late so there was no time for the usual pleasantries. I didn’t shower or anything. I put on some pants and an under shirt. Nothing special. Just the usual, ordinary khakis. I got out a plain white, button down shirt. Nothing special. It was going to be a long ordinary day at work. I am positive it WAS going to be, but it never even ended up getting that far. I began to button up my shirt when suddenly the tiny fibers holding one of the buttons to my shirt broke, tore, severed. The button slowly fell to the ground and on to the hard wood floor. It bounced and rolled away. Under my dresser. Without this one button, would the shirt work? Would it close? I don’t know. I got down on both knees and stuck my arm under the dresser, patting the floor, searching for this one single part. I did not spend too long searching for the button. But, in a sad, sad way, it was long enough.
“The release of atom power has changed everything except our way of thinking . . . The solution to this problem lies in the heart of man kind. If only I had known, I should have become a watchmaker”
- Albert Einstein
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While I was looking for this button, somewhere in the city, there was a little old UPS man. His name was Jim Jackson, born January 11th , 1953, 6 pounds, 8 ounces. You may be asking yourself, why does this matter? What relevance does this have to this story? Well, my friend, you should come to understand by the end of this story that everything matters. Everything.
As I was saying, this UPS man was like me, he was late. Late on his route. So he decided to speed up. Quickly driving the UPS truck through the city, delivering packages. Speeding along. His hands were wrapped around the steering wheel, his grey eyes stared out onto the street, the cars, the houses. He looks out to see all of the people. Some people he may be delivering packages for, other he may not be. While he drives down closer to my block, I remain hunched over looking for a button.
Tick – Tock
Its 1984 and I am looking for a button in my apartment. 7:36. Its 1977 and I am looking for a cog in my dads work shop. 2:36.
When I was in grammar school, my writing teacher told me that I needed my reader to try to connect with the character I was enlisting. To sympathize. Well, I attempted before, telling you about my father and my mother, really just a round about way of doing so, but I tried. Most likely failed. (I mean my writing teacher failed me too). So now you know the reason for my seemingly pointless anecdote about my parents. I offer you this other one.
Once I was at my dad’s (the watchmaker’s) work shop. You know, where he makes watches. I was ten at the time and he finally felt I could help him around. I thought so too. He was focusing on his work; he had tiny tweezers and a magnifying glass that made my green eyes look like big green apples. So, he was into his work and all of his other clocks in his place read 2:34. Clocks all over. All of the time my family seemed to be obsessed with time.
“One time.”
“Out of time.”
“In time.”
“This time.”
“Nap time.”
“Personal time.”
“For the last time.”
So, out of my own childish curiosity, I conceived a question; What is time? So this one time, before I was out of time and could ask my question in time, I would ask it this time, before nap time, with me and fathers personal time, and I would have my question answered for the last time. This time being 2:35, the year 1977. I raised the question to my father as he was meticulously working away at his work. It seemed just like another question I child asks along with “where do babies come from?”
“Daddy?”
“Yes, son?” he said, not glancing away from his work; still fiddling with the watch.
“What is time?”
He still did not move from his work. “Well whatcha mean?”
“I said what I mean.” My tone grew firm, so did his. I could tell because for the first time ever he glanced from his work.
He took me by the shoulders. Looked me dead in the eye. He said, “This is time.”
What the f**k did he mean by that!? I still don’t really know. And I still don’t know what time is. Just a measurement, or something else, hard to think about isn’t it?
He took me up on his lap and I saw his work. Just a watch and a mess of gears. I clearly did not have his steady hand because I dropped one of the cogs. The cog slowly fell to the ground and on to the hard wood floor. It bounced and rolled away. Under my dad’s work bench. Without this one cog, would the watch work? Would it tick? I don’t know. I got down on both knees and stuck my arm under the work bench, patting the floor, searching for this one single part. I felt stupid in front of my dad. I really don’t think he cared.
Its 1972 and I am looking for a cog in my dads work shop. 2:36. I never found that cog.
Tick – Tock
I never found that button. I finished looking for it, I was wasting time. I was pretty much ready. I buttoned the shirt anyway without the god damn button. I tied my tie, brushed my teeth, didn’t even bother eating. I quickly ran out the door. I was already half way down one flight of stairs before I whispered to myself: “S**t, my coat.”
I sprinted my dumb a*s back up the stairs, stuck my key into the door, twisted until I heard the click. I did not even bother going completely in the room. No time. I just reached in and grabbed my coat hanging next to the door.
I forgot my coat, on this day that seemed just like any other day.
“What, then, is time? If no one asks me, I know what it is. If I wished to explain it to him who asks, I do not know”
- Saint Augustine
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I was running down the stairs of my apartment and at the same time, so was the woman. This impatient b***h. Not in my apartment, but one a couple of blocks away. The only difference between me and this woman was that she did not have the misfortune of being on the tenth floor.
I continued descending down the stair case of the apartment building while she made it to the lobby. This woman was by all modern definitions a w***e. She dressed provocatively and had not problem showing herself off. (Something else I learned from my Writing teacher; sex appeal. Trust me though, if this isn’t what actually happened I would not have had the audacity to put her here). She was in her early thirties but by all means did not look like that. She strutted over to the phone booth in the lobby, walking quickly, well as quickly as possible on her ruby red high heels. Let me repeat myself, she is an impatient b***h. I do not mean to be vulgar but that is the best way to describe her.
She placed her Gucci bag on the floor and slid her quarters into the phone. They fell into the slot and down into the machines intricate parts and circuitry. She picked up the receiver and dialed the number she wanted. Just to let you know a little something about this woman, she is wealthy woman who is as snobby as any Hollywood celebrity; she refuses to take a regular taxi, she wants a high end one. She called a private taxi company and started to talk into the phone.
“Mhmm. . . yep . . . What? What do you mean you have no one available!? Well I suggest you find some one!”
This company was well aware of this woman’s temper, but they were even more aware of her wallet.
“Now that’s what I like to hear! Tell ‘em quick! If that cab isn’t here by . . . its 7:39, I’ll give you 5 minutes, so 7:44! You better be here. Kay, bye.”
She slammed the phone back on the hook. She had gotten all she wanted to in life, she did not even have to work for it.
Its 1989 and she is walking towards the door of her apartment building and I am running down the stairs.
Tick – Tock
Its 1983 and I am still running.
“GET OUT,” my mother shouted, “GET. OUT!”
My dad just sat there reading the news paper.
“Is THIS what you are working for!?” I do not know where she found this energy, this drive. She usually seems so calm and collected. She was screaming at me, never raised her voice ate me before this. When she was done screaming, there was a silence. All of the clocks in our house started to tick even louder, or was that because it was so quiet. I don’t know. In the silence, my dad folded his paper down, looked at me, and calmly said: “Get out, son.”
That was it. I just stared quiet, and I ran. I just ran. Out of the door, down the street. I just kept running. The world faded out into nothingness. My feet slammed the ground with each bound I took. I still lived in the suburbs back then, so all of the people around could hear me running and, nosey neighbors that they are, took a peak. Tears were streaming down my face.
“GET OUT!” My mothers voice, the voice of the quiet house wife, it still rang in my ears. Echoed in my mind. Dropping out of high school was not the smart thing to do. I see that now. I feel like I was broken. Like my parents made me defectively. Like one of my gears fell onto the floor and rolled under my dad’s work bench never to be seen again. Something was wrong with me. Something is wrong with dropping out; with quitting. It was not what I was working for. High school drop out doesn’t look too great on a resume, but I still ended up where most teenage f**k-ups go; New York City. I got an okay paying job as a pencil pusher, doing the tedious everyday jobs that don’t require anything more than a 4th grade thinking level. It wasn’t what I was working for, but its what happened.
If you are a critical reader, you may be asking the question of why I did drop out of high school. The truth is, I don’t really know myself. It was 1983, the Vietnam War was over and I felt like I could change the world. I was sixteen and stupid. I felt like I did not need anything else. Just me. If you just gave me some time I would change the world. Obviously enough, I was wrong. I had no where to go so I went to one person in the world who would always love you no matter what. Grandma.
I never saw my parents again. I just ran.
Tick – Tock
I was still running down from the tenth floor. Late for work. The stairs went on forever. Or that’s what it seemed like. The stair well smelled terribly. Its scent was basically a combination of everyone’s breakfast that was cooking in the building. Not only could you smell everything, you could hear it as well. All of these peoples lives could be heard from just a simple stair well. I heard fights, mindless chatter, and rather dirty language. Something I laughed at was: “SALLY! Why did you have to flush the doll down the toilet! What would possess you to do that!?” Parents. I would say that I miss them, but I would be lying. I would say that I don’t miss them, but that would also be lying.
Every step I took echoed down the stairs. The yellow lights and badly painted walls would be all I would see for the next couple minutes. Sure a couple of people passed by and I stepped on the occasional piece of gum. I was careful not to trip and fall, but I still maintained a quick pace. My hand clutched the metal railing that was bolted to the wall as I descended down the stairs. I stopped to look down at the stair well. I could barley see the floor bellow me as I walked down the twisting stairs. As I looked over, I checked the brand new watch on my wrist. Its gold hands read 7:40. I ran faster. The stairs went on forever.
“People might not get all they work for in this world, but they must certainly work for all they get.”
- Fredrick Douglass
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Just as some people are born to be house wives, others are born to do other things. Thomas Naper, born to be one thing; a comedian. It seems funny to you, but not to him. You see, even though he was born on April 1st, April Fools day incase you were unaware, even though his first words were “knock knock,” referencing the good-old knock knock joke incase you were unaware yet again, and even though he loved to make people laugh, his dreams never came true. Oh, it is not because he was bad at it, trust me if I ever met him I would most likely piss my pants laughing hysterically. But, even though he had worked for it, worked very hard, it never happened. Even though you are born for something and work for it extremely hard, you may not get all you work for.
Then what does Thomas Naper, born April 1st 1959, 5 pounds 11 ounces, do? Well he drives a cab. And on the day of question, he was driving a cab for an impatient b***h. Not just any impatient b***h. OUR impacient b***h.
“Hello Mame . . . A ride from your building to your usual spot? . . . I’m sorry mame, there’s no one available.”
“What? What do you mean you have no one available!? Well I suggest you find some one!”
“Uh, hold on mame.” He took his mouth away from the receiver and exhaled. He knew that she paid well, not well enough to be worth the trouble she presented, but well. “Mame, I will personally drive to your building and take you myse –”
“Now that’s what I like to hear! Tell ‘em quick! If that cab isn’t here by . . . its 7:39, I’ll give you 5 minutes, so 7:44! You better be here. Kay, bye.”
“Impatient b***h…”
Tick – Tock
Grandma. Grandma. Grandma. I really had no one else to turn to. I was an only child and my family kept to themselves anyway. Really my grandma was the only one, the only one I could turn to. Oh, and just to patch up a few plot holes, I did go back to my parents house when they weren’t home to get my stuff. And money that I “borrowed” from them. My grandma lived in Hoboken, near the Hudson River in a small building. Sadly enough I do not remember the street.
So my grandma. There really is no way to fully describe this woman. She was rather large (far be if from me to call my grandma fat), she wore color full clothing with the most tacky patterns, she always had long strands of beads hanging around her neck the dangled to her waste. Her hair was short and curly, wheat colored if my memory serves me correctly. Her skin had become wrinkly over the years.
When I moved in, she did not care at all. She needed the company after my grandfather had died. Whenever the old man was mentioned she quoted an Elvis Costello song; “a toast to absent friends.” And with this toast, she would raise her right hand into the air whether she was holding a glass or not.
“A toast to absent friends.”
“So your not going to tell me how he died?” I knew it did not upset her. She was too happy all the time to ever be upset. That was the type of woman she was.
“Nope, Charlie you ask too many questions!” She laughed and threw more bread crumbs on the ground for the seagulls. We were at the water front, the Hoboken side. We were out for a walk. The year was 1984.
“Ugh, I’m just curious – ”
“Curiosity killed the cat.”
“But satisfaction brought him back.”
She laughed her weezy old grandmother laugh. “I gotta hand it to your mother, she didn’t raise a fool. Not like your granddad. Now that was a fool.” She through more bread crumbs to the seagulls. “Do you know what makes a fool a fool, Charlie?”
She turned her head toward me, the beads around her neck rattled together. She looked at me. “Are you listening Charlie?”
I nodded as I starred of at the skyline.
“Well then your no fool, you listen, a fool would speak, he wouldn’t listen.” She placed her hand on my shoulder. “I’m proud of you Charlie. You’re not a fool. You’re going to get somewhere. Trust me. Its foolish to resist things, its foolish not to listen. Your granddad didn’t listen to me and look where he is now!”
To tell you the truth, I wasn’t listening, I was staring off across the Hudson to the city. So big, so beautiful. I longed to be a part of it. Its where I wanted to be.
I didn’t listen, and look where I am now.
Tick – Tock
I was walking down the endless stairs. I passed a couple people but up came a rather goody looking plumber. I really don’t like to use the word goofy but there is no other way to describe him. He was by all means fat (far be it from me to lie about someones appearance.) He was really fat. He had broken glasses and his mouth was on of those mouths that didn’t seem to close. Just kind of hands there. Anyway. He was walking up the stairs as I was almost done going down them, and him just beginning. He looked at me, already gasping for air even though he had only gone up 3 flights so far, and said “Can you a believe a little girl would try to flush her doll down the toilet? I mean really.”
I smiled and replied. “Yes I can.”
The UPS man was driving. The comedian/cab driver was hanging up the phone, the inpatient b***h was making her way to the door, and I was going down the stairs. And if you weren’t listening before, I suggest you do so, you’d be a fool not to.
“April 1. This is the day upon which we are reminded of what we are on the other three hundred and sixty-four.”
- Mark Twain
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People often say the dying is the most natural consequence of life. They say you die because you have lived. It makes logical sense to me. Our time has run out, the hand made its way back to 12. Interesting enough. When our time comes, it comes. There is no questioning that. But we will never know when this time is. We leave when it is time to leave. No sooner. No later.
Allow me introduce a girl. I do not wish to reveal her name for it may upset her further. I can not say what drives a person to take their own life, I can only speculate. As for this girl, she just lost her husband. She had little money. Little anything. I do not think this necessarily means she had little anything else to live for. Let me explain. Everyone has everything to live for. You have time. You can acquire anything you desire. Its that simple. She had everything to live for. Yet I still do not know why she had chosen to step off the curb. Why she felt her time was 7: 41, May 5th. Her husband may have left her. Her husband’s time may have come. She may have felt alone, but regardless of absent friends, she had everything to live for.
Tick – Tock
“A toast to absent friends!”
“Don’t say that grandma.” I took her weak hands in mine. “You’ll be fine.” The fluorescent hospital lights and white tiles blinded me. Her hands were cold and veiny. “Trust me… you’ll be fine.”
She tried to laugh her wheezy grandma’s laugh, but it never came out. I’m positive my parents were on their way and I did not want them to see me. Not like this. Tears were streaming down my face. “Its going to be alright.”
I am not going to speculate if you had lost a love one or not, but I would just assume so since a majority of human kind has. I would love to share my feelings with you at that particular moment in time, but it would depress you and I am not here to depress you. Therefore, if you wish to be not depressed, I suggest you skip the next paragraph.
I felt like my whole world was just shattered. A hand wrapped its fingers around my heart, preventing it from beating. I couldn’t breath. I couldn’t speak. My hands were trembling more then hers. I had stayed with her for the past two years. She was the one person I loved the most. Sorry, I still don’t like to talk about it (not that I can), so I think I am the one getting depressed.
“Its… Its not fair.”
“Don’t be a fool Charlie! Look at me! I’m old! I’m all wrinkley! For the love God, my b***s sag down to the floor! (I apologize, even though she was 81, she had the mouth of an 18 ear old). Listen Charlie. There comes a time when some people need to let go. There comes a time when you can not fight it anymore. And only a fool would try to fight it.” She leaned in closer to whisper something in my ear. “And you know grandma ain’t no fool.”
I smiled. I admit it. She could always make me smile, even when I am drowning in my tears.
She leaned back down to rest her head on the hospital pillow. For the first time, I looked my grandmas dead (no pun intended) in the eye. Mine and hers were identical. Bright green. My dad didn’t have them, my mom didn’t have them, yet some how I managed to get them.
“So what are you going to do now without big bad grandma?”
I didn’t want to argue with her anymore. I guess she was the one human being who knew when there time was. “I… I don’t know. That’s not important now.”
“I was just curious.”
“Curiosity killed the cat.”
She smiled and said, “This is the one time that satisfaction didn’t bring her back.”
Rest in Peace
Rosemary Day
1899 – 1985
“A toast to absent friends”
Tick – Tock
My grandmother knew when her time was. I wonder if this girl did to. I wonder if she thought, right before she stepped off the curb, I wonder if she thought “There comes a time when it’s just not worth it anymore.” All I can do is wonder. Its just curiosity.
“A dying man needs to die as a sleeping man needs to sleep. And there comes a time where it is wrong as well as useless to resist”
- Steward Alsop
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There comes a time. Comes a time. A time. Your time. Our time. My time. Like I said, most people to not know when there time is. We cannot descide our time. Try as we might.
The comedian/cab driver. He never had his time to shine. Although he could crack a few jokes to the people he picked up as he was driving around the city. I would love to share some of them with you, but most of them were in appropriate, such as his various racist jokes and since I do not know your race, why bother insulting you? The point is, he was a very funny man. Things just did not work out for him.
Its tough living in this world. Don’t pretend like its not. You can work all you want and sometimes what you work for just slips through your fingers. That doesn’t mean you should give up. That doesn’t mean you don’t have anything left.
Even I feel bad for the comedian forced to become a cab driver. Have you ever read A Raisin in the Sun? A rhetorical question of course, but do you know where it gets its title? What happens to a dream deferred? Does it fester like a raisin in the sun? There is a difference between me and the comedian/cab driver, he had a dream and I didn’t. I did not know what I wished to do. I just worked for some intangible idea. He, however, had a dream. A very real one. He had a talent. And now it is left to fester like a raisin in the sun.
Yes had the talent to be a comedian. He saw the humor in everything. Even his own failures.
“Life’s a joke, so even if you don’t get the joke, laugh while you can.”
A slightly cynical approach to things, but that’s what he said.
Tick – Tock
“Sorry Tommy, you didn’t get the gig.”
“But they said they loved my act! Its not fair …is this some joke!”
“Sorry but they hire comedians, they aren’t the ones telling the jokes.”
“F**k you! F**k all of you! Do you f*****g think I’m going to drive this f*****g god damn cab all my f*****g life!” He slammed the pay phone down with all his might. It made a loud clanking noise.
“F**k,” he whispered to himself, “Don’t be a fool, Tommy, you can’t chase this dream forever.” I don’t know about you but I did find myself mumbling things to myself on some occasions all by myself. He continued walking down the side of the street kicking a used coke can.
The year was 1983.
“I have nothing left. Nothing. F**k, I’m a failure.” He gave the coke can another good kick. It bounced forward, making tiny noises as it hit the grafitied cement. “This isn’t funny anymore.” He smashed the coke can underneath his foot.
“Excuse me, sir.” He looked up and found himself looking at a woman with donation box. “Would you like to donate to the cancer fund? It will help save lives and even make life better for several cancer patients. Its for a good cause?” She smiled.
He didn’t. “Listen lady,” he had let all the anger he had built up get the best of him. He grabbed her arm. “Life’s a joke, so even if you don’t get the joke, laugh while you can. Alls it is fake laughs, pointless work, and absent friends who claim to be there!” He let go of her arm and shoved her.
I don’t think she found it funny.
Tick – Tock
Yes, he was in a bad place. Yes, he felt like he had nothing left. But I do not think he wanted to take his own life.
He was driving his cab to pick up the impatient b***h. Speeding of course. There was little traffic in that neighborhood that day. He had the radio arm and the announcer said, “Here is a favorite of mine by Roy Orbison!”
He continued to drive listening to music.
“I sat there alone upon the ferris wheel”
He continued driving on to that girl’s street. The street where she would step off the curb.
“A pastel carriage in the air”
As I said I do not know what would drive some one to kill themselves.
“I’d thought you’d leave me dangling there for awhile”
He just continued to listen to music, singling a long.
“A silly twist upon a childish dare”
She felt it was her time I guess.
“Below I saw you whispering to another man.”
“Another man.” The comedian/cab driver repeated the radio’s lyrics.
“Who held the lever that could bring me down”
I wonder what she was thinking as she walked to the side of the street.
“He’d stop the world from turning at your command”
I can only wonder. Its just curiosity.
“Its always something cruel that laughter drowns.”
“Its always something cruel that laughter drowns.” He began to sing in sync with the radio. The man was still speeding.
“And I am up while the dawn is breaking”
As I stepped down from all the stairs I just descended to the lobby of my building, she stepped down from the curb. In the way of a black cab.
“Even though my heart is aching”
The comedian/cab driver saw a woman leap out in front of him, and quickly veered around her into incoming cars. Avoided her and drove away. Still speeding.
“I should be drinking a toast”
She was wrong, it wasn’t her time. It was mine.
“To absent friends. . .”
“And I am up while the dawn is breaking, even though my heart is aching. I should be drinking a toast to absent friends, instead of these comedians”
- Roy Orbison
| 5 | | | | 6 | | | | 7 |
You are half way there. Half time. And I would like you to take the time to think about what you have read so far, but in the mean time, I am sure that you have many questions. These questions will be answered in time, so do not waste your time worrying about them. All in due time.
I admit, I am not the most fantastic writer, or even a good writer, but some people were born to be writers and I am not one of them.
So, if you have any questions I think you should save them to the end of the story, but I will try to make you understand what was happening in the mean time because I am sure by know you are very confused. I would be too.
Just try to remember all of the small details and everything I told you. I would just list them here but I feel that a reader should do a little work of his own.
I am positive if my writing teacher from grammar school ever wrapped his hands around this, he would scream about how it had too many characters, no plot, no blah blah blah. Well he would be right. As much as it pains me to say so. But life has no plot and we are all characters in this big story. I try to keep that in mind. This one big story. We are all pieces of the puzzle. Parts of a clock. All working together.
I really have no other experience writing out side of that class, that is why writing this proves very difficult to me. He told me to do things that were not trite. Trite being “and they lived happily ever after” or “roses are read, violets are blue.” But I find it difficult to come up with a good story. One of my favorite authors was Edgar Allan Poe, and he once said that you “should not fashion your thoughts to accommodate your incidents” but the opposite. To shape the actions around your thought. I find the most interesting parts of stories to be within thought. However, I have done the opposite here so I do not really know where I am going with this. I have had these incidents fall before me and these are my thoughts about them. I cannot really say that I have shaped them to follow my thoughts, however I do have a single thought in mind.
I am trying to make this clear to you. I really am. But there is so much I can do without revealing the ending. Oh that too. You think I showed you the ending. Took all the suspense out writing this? Well I think you are wrong, well that’s just my own personal opinion.
It is difficult to demonstrate this without boring you, so I apologize if I had.
This is not meant to entertain, but to teach.
“A good writer possesses not only his own spirit, but also the spirit of his friends”
- Friedrich Nietzche
| 6 | | | | 7 | | | | 8 |
As I was walking through the lobby, as the impatient b***h was impatiently tapping her foot outside of her building, as the comedian/cab driver avoided the girl, as the girl was lying on the pavement crying, the UPS as man was traversing the canyons of the city streets.
He was tapping his fingers on the steering will humming to the radio: “even though my heart is aching . . .”
He only had one more package to deliver.
“. . I should be drinking a toast. . .” A package on my block. “. . .To absent friends. . .”
He was going abnormally fast because, like me, he was late.
“. . . Instead of these comedians.”
There really is not much to this man. No tragic story, no dreams deferred. Just a UPS man. I find “just” to be an interesting word. And perhaps maybe you do too. “A day just like any other,” “He’s just stupid,” “She just leaped out in front of a cab because she’s just depressed,” and, my favorite, “he was just a UPS man.” Whether you are just wondering what just means for awhile, or it just occurred to you, it doesn’t really matter. If this man was just a UPS man, just an ordinary UPS man, he should not have done what he did. Because no one is just something, we are something different to everyone. We just don’t know it yet.
I apologize, I am getting abstract again.
Tick – Tock
It was my first day of my new job and I was already called down to the manager.
“I’m sorry… I –”
“Save it Kabrt! Your first day. Doesn’t mean I’m going to go easy on ya. Your first day. And you already fucked up!” I was sitting on a cheap rolling chair, timid and afraid. The vein in the managers bald head was visible from under his skin. He was angry. I doesn’t matter what I did though, that’s not the point of this.
He was hunched over on his desk covered in picture frames of his family. His elbows dug into piles of papers.
“Do you know I hate Kabrt.” He exhaled. “Do you know what I can’t stand?”
“I’m sorry sir. I don’t know.”
He banged his fists on the desk. The picture frames shook. “Apologies.”
“Excuse me sir?” He got up and walked around the office until he was behind me. He placed both of his hands on my shoulders. He squeezed hard.
“You should never apologize. It’s real simple. First, you say what you mean. If you don’t mean it, don say it. If you really mean it, you should never have to say sorry for it. Who gives a s**t what others think. Second, if you make a mistake. We all make mistakes. We all f**k up. Why would you say sorry for something out of your control? That’s just stupid. The only thing you should say sorry for is saying sorry. But, either way, don’t.”
To be honest, at that moment, I was about to say sorry. I think he saw that too.
“Get back to work.”
Tick – Tock
I take it back then. I do not apologize. But still, my manager was fired last week, and, ironically enough, I feel sorry for him.
I was walking through the building’s doors. The UPS man was driving. The comedian/cab driver was driving. The woman was waiting. The girl was finally lifting herself off the ground. I was unsuspecting.
“Mean what you say and say what you mean, because the people who mind don’t matter, and the people who matter don’t mind”
- Dr. Seuss
| 7 | | | | 8 | | | | 9 |
I was running through the main hall of my building. I looked at my watch. 7:42. If I ran fast enough I could make the next path at 7:45. Luckily the station was right across from my building.
The comedian/cab driver was driving through the streets. He looked at the time on the dashboard. 7:42. “S**t.” If he drove fast enough he would make it to the impatient b***h’s apartment by 7:45.
The impatient b***h was waiting on the side walk. She looks at the time on her beeper. 7:42. She was angry. If her cab was not here by 7:45 she was leaving on her own.
The UPS man was driving through the streets. He didn’t care about the time. 7:42. He was tired and just wanted to get this route over with. One package left. And if you are just a curious person, let me just say that this package was a present from a father to his son.
As I was walking out side I double checked the time on my watch.
Tick – Tock
I opened a small brown package filled with Styrofoam peanuts, you know that shipping material. As I dug though it I came to a small card board gift box. Attached to it was a card.
Dear son,
I made this just for you. It will keep perfect timing for the rest of your life. With every beat of your heart, with every tick of this watch, just know that me and your mother our proud of you. Your grandmother was right, you’re not a fool. Don’t forget, we’re all in this together.
Love, now and for all time,
Dad.
It made me smile. Not going to lie. It was dated May 1st, 1989. The watch was silver and the face was black. The strap was a silver metal as well and there was a gold ring around the glass that covered the face, the hands and Roman numeral numbers were gold. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. He was right though, it kept perfect timing for the rest of my life. There just wasn’t much to my life left.
Tick – Tock
I walked out of my building and onto the side walk. I saw the path station and started to walk quickly to it.
Excuse me, sir.” I looked up and found myself looking at a woman with donation box. “Would you like to donate to the cancer fund? It will help save lives and even make life better for several cancer patients. Its for a good cause?” She smiled.
I would have given her the money I was going to use for my path fare had I known I didn’t need it. But I didn’t. I’m really sorry, I don’t have any money on me.”
Her smile faded, only a little. It was still there I mean. “Its okay, sir, maybe some other time.” Yes maybe some other time. I wish I had another time to be kind.
That was something my dad did teach me. To be kind. He said “son, we all are in this together.” He opened the face of our grandfather clock in the living room, showing its insides of gears. “The world works like one big clock. Each piece is doing what it can, doing what it can to make that hand go back to twelve. We all do what we can, we all our part of the same team, part of the same clock.”
As I walked away from that woman, I though about my dad’s words, I thought about his watch around my wrist. What I did not think about was a UPS driver, a comedian, a b***h, and a lonely girl. Even though I should have.
The girl was not fully off the ground, but she was up on her knees still crying. People just walked past her. Cars just honked at her. No one helped her up. I know I would have.
“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”
- Plato
| 8 | | | | 9 | | | | 10 |
If you like a lot of action in your books. If you like gore in your stories. If you like anything of that nature, this is when things may get interesting for you. No lovey-dovey flash backs, no insights, just the cold hard facts. The next two parts are short, for that is how fast they seemed to go.
While I did not donate the money to the cancer fund, the man who had done the same a year before was in his cab, still listening to the radio.
While I did not donate money, while the comedian was driving, the UPS man was speeding to give the package to its receiver, still listening to the radio.
The comedian was speeding down the street.
“They say all those glitters is not gold”
“Its not just that your never coming back to me”
The UPS man was speeding down the street.
The comedian sees that the light is red and decides to cut through it anyway. He only had less then two minutes left.
“It’s the bitter way that I was told”
“And I’m up here while the dawn is breaking”
The UPS Man sees that the light is green and decides to speed up.
The comedian keeps going and looks a head to see if anyone is there.
“Even though my heart is aching”
“I should be drinking a toast”
The UPS man does not bother to see if anyone is coming, he just decides to speed through the green light.
The comedian accelerates through the red light, going fast before anyone can get in sight.
“To absent friends”
“Instead of these comedians”
The UPS man stops short to not hit the black cab that just flew past him.
He stayed there for a second to catch his breath. The music of the radio faded out. Faded into a suffocating silence. Nothing but silence. He then saw the light turn to yellow and quickly pressed his foot on the accelerator to quickly make the light.
Now, do you want to hear something funny? We need to leap a head a little but, we will go back soon enough. Even though the comedian had speeded down the streets of New York, even though he had ran a red light, he got to woman’s building and 7:46, and she had walked off, being the impatient b***h that she was.
I don’t think he found it funny.
“Silence is the wit of fools.”
- Antole France
| 9 | | | | 10 | | | | 11 |
The UPS man drove even faster now. He was on my street. While he was driving I was walking.
They say the dying is the most natural consequence of life. If you have lived, you have died. Simple? Hardly. We all have our time.
Before I stepped of the curb, I checked my watch. The hand just ticked to 7:44. Now, don’t let my writing fool you, this happened quite quickly. There was a large plumbing van next to the spot where I walked off the curb, undoubtedly belonging to the plumber I had seen before. No one could see me step off, even if they were looking for me. I walked off, and using my terrible New Yorker pedestrian skills, j walked. I walked into the middle of the street.
I tell you now, if one of those things that you have read had gone differently, we would be having this conversation face to face. But we are not.
I struggle now, with the thought of giving you a seen of delightful gore or a tasteful alternative. If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t feel a thing. It took me completely by surprise.
They say when you are about to die, your life flashes before your eyes, well mine didn’t. But. If it had, you had just read the memories that I would have seen. Or the ones I would have wanted to see. My mom, my dad, my grandma, all of them. Those were the best things I have lived through. I’m glad to have shared them with you.
I hit the ground at 7:44. At that very moment, the crying girl lifted herself fully off the ground. It was not her time, it was mine. She got up and realized that she had everything to live for. Unfortunately, so did I.
People screamed of course, the UPS driver got out and ran over to me. The cancer people dropped their donation box and all the change came streaming out. Children stared and mothers shielded their eyes.
It was my time. I have lived my life. Only a fool would try to say other wise.
“I shall not die of a cold; I shall die of having lived.”
- Willa Cather
| 10 | | | | 11 | | | | 12 |
Some people are born for things. Some people are meant to be housewives. Some people are meant to be watchmakers. Some people are meant to be UPS men. Some people are meant to be impatient b*****s. Some people are meant to be comedians. Some people are meant to be grandmothers. Some people are meant to live. Some people are meant to die. Some people are meant to be writers. Some people are meant to be readers. Some people. I like to think that I was meant to teach people a lesson. The same lesson my father taught me.
We are all in this together.
Allow me to put this in perspective for you.
If I had not woken up late. If I had not dropped that button. If the UPS man was not late. If I had not forgot my coat. If I did not live on such a high floor. If that b***h was just a little bit more patient. If the comedian had chosen not to give into her. If the comedian gotten that one gig and become a real comedian. If the girls husband hadn’t died. If that girl did not choose to step of the road. If the comedian hit the girl, or stopped before hitting her, instead of veering. If I had ignored those cancer people, or if they weren’t there at all. If the comedian choose to actually stop at the read light. If the UPS man was not cut off by the comedian. If either one went a little slower. If the plumbing van wasn’t there because some little girl clogged the drain with her doll. If I had chosen not to j walk. If I was a little more careful.
If. If. If. That one word holds so much power. IF. If one of those things, just one, did not happen the UPS man would have driven on by. I would have gone to work. I would not have apologized for being late. IF. All of the little IF’s in the middle of LifE.
Everything that happened that day, it all worked like clock work. A system of cause and effect. The point is, we all are connected, don’t pretend that we’re not. We all affect each others lives, where the know it or not. I just felt like letting you know that.
If one of those things had not happed. If one of those gears did not turn. If one of those cogs did not fit. The hand would have never made its way back to twelve. If one thing had happened differently. I would have been alive.
You may ask what happened to those other people? Well, it really is quite simple, and I’m sure my writing teacher would hate me for this, it’s the truth, they lived happily ever after.
The comedian got an act.
The girl got a new chance.
The impatient b***h got to where she needed to be.
And the UPS man got to deliver the package to the little boy. A shiny new watch, just his size.
This is not meant to depress you at all. This isn’t meant to make you change your way of living. This is just meant to inform you. To inform you of how much you matter. How you change the course of things everyday. How every little detail matters. How much everything matters.
Everyone is a character in this story. Everyone has a part to play.
This isn’t a story about me. This isn’t a story about you. This isn’t the story of a watchmaker or a comedian. This is a story about everyone. This is a story about life. Life has not plot. There is not set course.
There is just me. There is just you. There is just a whole world.
Don’t resist it. You would be a fool to do so. Do not ignore this. You’d be a fool to do so. Listen.
There is everything and everyone to live for. We are all in this together. My time came. But you still have yours. Change a few lives.
But don’t forget. The clock is ticking.
Tick – Tock
Good bye, my name was Charles, Charles Kabrt. Charlie. I died on May 5th, 1989, 198 pounds, 3 ounces. And that was the story of how I lived.
“I am above the weakness of seeking to establish a sequence of cause and effect, between the disaster and the atrocity”
- Edgar Allan Poe
| 11 | | | | 12 | | | | 1 |
“A toast to me, your absent friend”
| | | | | | | The End | | | | | 12 | | | |
© 2009 PeteypieAuthor's Note
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Added on January 11, 2009Author
PeteypieBloomfield, NJAboutHello, I'm Peter. I love music, art and writing. My favorite books are Coraline, The Martian Chronicles, Animal Farm, A Series of Unfortunate Events, The Five People You Meet in Heaven, The Complete .. more..Writing
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