Site style: Default | Large Text | Text Only
By Tyler Copeland
My father always had the same digital clock. There was nothing special about it. It was an old alarm clock, cracked and dirty, one that didn't even tell correct time. The numbers on its broken face counted slowly downard, in no way I knew of. There was no reason for the clock to sit where it did, but there it was, from before I was born until the day of father's death. I spent a lot of my childhood fascinated with that clock, and I knew that was nothing compared to my father.
It was February of two years ago, and my wife and I were getting ready to attend an office party when the phone rang. I saw it was Dad and answered.
"Hey Dad. What's up?"
"Nothing much son," he said in his slow, measured way. "Ya'll enjoying the night off?"
I grinned. "Yea, maybe."
"Well, I'm sorry about this Henry, but could you come out here for me?"
My smile faded. Our girls were at an all night lock-in. Sara and I had the night to ourselves, and we wanted to make the most of it. It was a quarter to eight. We had planned to go to a party at eight. Dad lived a half hour away. I chewed my lip thoughtfully.
"Is everything all right Dad? Nothing wrong is there?" Mom had died just over three years earlier, and every so often my Dad would get lonely. I was torn. This was my father though and wasn't I being a horrible son, not wanting to keep him company for a little while if he felt lonely? It wasn't like I was a neglectful son; we visited him all the time. But still, I was a little horrified to find that I wanted him to realize my situation and change his mind, tell me to forget it and go have fun.
That didn't happen. Dad just said "I wish you'd come Henry. I really do." and hung up. Dad had realized all those things I'd hoped he would, and still asked me to come, with definite undertones of sadness in his voice. I felt like the scum of the earth.
I told Sara, and though she was slightly put off, she said I needed to go. I told her to go to the party and have a good time, that I wouldn't be gone long anyway. She kissed me and told me not to take my time. I said not to worry.
Soon after I pulled into the driveway of my parents' farm. It was still festooned with Christmas lights that my dad had usually taken off by then, which was odd.
Dad was waiting for me at the front door, and he gave me a start. He looked skinnier then usual, and I realized I hadn't seen him since Christmas. I hoped he wasn't sick. He saw me coming and opened the door, letting warm light spill out onto the lawn, guiding me inside. I hugged him, and was surprised at how forceful his embrace was. "Good to see you son," he whispered. He stepped back and I looked at him. I instantly felt better, for he looked younger than he had in years. I smiled at him, unable to help myself. He smiled back, then turned to hang up my coat, and sitting on the mantel was the clock.
I had forgotten about it after Mom's death. Even before that though it hadn't had the same hold over me that it had during my childhood. I wondered about it when I saw it, but as I grew older my priorities changed and it had been pushed out of mind.
It had still been around though, and when my parents moved the clock joined them, taking its place on this mantel, though whenever Dad knew my girls were coming over the clock would be gone. But I thought it stayed off only as long as we stayed. When Mom died though the clock left the mantle for good. Until now.
Now the clock had returned, and for some reason Dad had taken everything else off the mantel, leaving just the clock, which was turned so that it was facing the wall, its red light bouncing back towards it. Something about this disturbed me.
"Dad…are you all right? What is this? What happened to all the pictures and stuff?"
At this my father sagged, like a great deal of tension had been released. I think he was glad I had opened the conversation; I don't know if he had the courage tell his tale. He obviously had a lot on his mind, and wasn't sure how to proceed. He clearly meant to tell me something, I would just have to wait.
Finally, he spoke. "Let's go into the playroom, watch the snowfall. That'd be nice." With that he turned and walked to the playroom, which had a picture window covering an entire wall. Dad and I sat there, gazing out into the snow, lit by Christmas lights. It was beautiful. I realized how much I missed the times like that, times I had spent with Mom and Dad before the girls were born and Sara had been gone on business trips. I could almost hear Mom making hot chocolate. God I missed her. We both did.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see clock's glowing light. Even here it tainted things. Just noticing it chased the memories of Mom out. I felt a hatred for that clock come up, a strong and irrational feeling. I wanted nothing more than to smash it myself.
Dad fidgeted in his chair. After a deep breath he started to talk.
"I'm proud of you son. You've grown into a good man, a great father. And you've always been the perfect son."
I swallowed, afraid I knew what he had to say. If he was dying I wanted it quick, like Mom. I didn't think I could watch him slowly die. I'm not that strong. God help me, I'm not.
I didn't really want to know, if something was wrong, but I couldn't not know. My voice shook a little as I asked, "Dad…you're not sick or anything, are you?"
He laughed, and as shocking as it was, it ate away at all the tension in the room. I didn't even notice the red glow anymore.
"There's nothing as dramatic as what you're thinking of. It's nothing that the doctors could have picked up."
I relaxed, then the last part of what he said sunk in. "What do you mean, 'nothing that the doctors could have picked up'?"
Looking at me he said. "I'm sorry Henry. I'm dying. Twelve hours and fifteen minutes. That's all I have."
"The hell?!" I yelled, jumping to my feet, adrenaline coursing through me. "Twelve hours? What kind of crap is that?" I stood tense. Dad stared up at me, looking content in the gentle lights from outside.
I did not. I paced, trying to absorb this information. Dad sat silent, letting me work it out myself. I stopped and leaned my forehead against the window, the frigid glass a relief in my frenzied state. I breathed deep, composing myself. Without turning around I said, "Twelve hours and fifteen minutes?"
"Yes son. I'm sorry, I –" I held up my hand.
"How can you be sure? You can't know that."
Dad gave me a wan smile. "I'm sorry Henry, I really am. Nothing's turning out the way I meant. I didn't mean to shock you; I don't know what I was thinking."
I couldn't handle him apologizing. "Dad, please, don't say you're sorry." He looked up with an apologetic face and I threw up my hands. "Dad, please. Just…don't. I can't handle it. All right?"
Thankfully he simply nodded.
"All right. Start at the beginning, and this time I won't freak out." I hoped.
Dad studied me carefully, seeing if I was really alright. I wasn't, but he went on.
"I know you won't believe this Henry, but it is true, and I hope that you'll eventually accept it.
"It started before you were born. Me and your mom hadn't been married long and, while not struggling, we were careful, and often shopped at flea markets." I couldn't understand what that had to do with anything.
"Once at the market I was accosted by this filthy, crazed man. He had something in his hand, but I couldn't see it." I felt cold. I knew what it was.
"This guy was gibbering away so fast I could only understand every other word. I caught 'curse', and 'death', and I think 'devil'. But I wasn't listening, just trying to get away. I managed to get him off when he showed me the clock."
I stood still against the window. I wasn't looking at what was in front of me now, but at the red glow in the living room, where I knew his story would end. I didn't want to believe it, but I had no choice
"Then it didn't look so bad. Not great, but not too bad. Except that it didn't tell correct time. It looked like military time, but not quite.
"I've never forgotten what time it first read. You don't forget the numbers you see on that clock." He fell silent, thinking of his own set of numbers I believed.
"But still, it looked fixable. And its owner was crazy. Surely it wouldn't be a hard buy." He laughed. "Well, it wasn't. In the end, he didn't even take the money."
"I could tell though that he wanted to be rid of that clock, but when it was time for the trade he acted like he wanted to keep it after all. For a moment I thought he was going to call the whole thing off. But he looked at the clock again, and something he saw made up his mind. He screamed and threw the clock at me, then ran off. I thought it was weird at the time, but soon forgot about it."
Dad stood up with a slight groan, stretching. I watched him, looking for any signs of death. I saw none. But no one had predicted my mom's death either, so that meant nothing. Dad wondered into the glow cast by the clock, and I bit my lip to keep from begging him to get out of that horrible light. Dad though was smirking, defying the clock and its light. In that moment he looked timeless.
"What's the rest Dad?" I wanted to keep him talking. Maybe if he kept talking Death wouldn't be able to take him. I never wanted him to stop if that's what it took.
"Well," he said, "first thing I did was check the batteries. This is where things got strange. I couldn't find any space for them. I checked it over, and realized that not only was there no place for batteries, but there were no breaks in it at all. No seams or screws or "Made in Taiwan" stickers or anything so that you could tell it had actually been built." Dad chewed on his nail, lost in time.
"It was definitely weird, but since I couldn't get it to work I ended up chunking it. And that should have been the end."
"Next day though, a few hours shy of when I'd gotten the clock, I saw this blinking red light in the trash. The clock. On its face were quadruple zeros, blinking red. Then they stopped and a new set of numbers popped up. As I read them I felt a sort of dread come over me. And when they started counting down, I felt it very clearly. I couldn't explain it at the time, but it was clearer after the news.
"That man's body had been found, killed sometime in the day, and I knew when it had happened. The moment the clock's screen had changed to zeros. That clock had been counting down his life." Dad didn't have to go on, but he did anyway. "And now, that man's life over, the clock needed a new life to countdown. Mine."
I exploded. "Dad, come on! It's a clock. That's all. That doesn't make sense!" And it didn't. But it was true, and we both knew it.
"I know how it sounds, but it's true. That clock has a presence. Once you've seen the countdown start, it's all you can see." His voice became hollow. "Every time I've closed my eyes since then I've seen the countdown. I can see them in the dark, my four red numbers. Then they start to go down, dropping down to zero. And it's horrible. There's no greater torture. I've had to endure it every time I've closed my eyes for decades. I've come close to breaking Henry. Close to ending up as insane as that man in the market. So close…" In that moment I saw with perfect clarity how the clock had ravaged him. All the pain and suffering he had kept secret laid bared.
"Then why didn't you? What saved you?
Dad then smiled at me, and the clock's marks disappeared.
"I had you." He said, beaming.
"What?"
He cupped my face. "I had you, and everything changed. I knew when I would die; I was always reminded. And it was a long way off. But you, so small and fragile, who knew how long you would live. Would I be able to forgive myself for not spending time with you because I was fretting over my own death, decades away? No! You were my anchor Henry. You kept me from death, kept me young. Thank you." He kissed my forehead, and we were crying. I hugged him fiercely. "I love you Dad."
"I love you too Son."
We embraced for minutes. After, I turned to the window, wiping my eyes, when a thought struck me.
"Why did you keep it? Wouldn't it just torture you more, always seeing it?"
"Yes." He sounded exhausted. "But what was worse was not seeing it. Knowing that it was out there, counting down out of sight. I wouldn't have been able to handle that. I couldn't break it either. You've got to understand Henry, I'm sure that thing is alive. And I was…afraid of it." Dad started to break down. I put my arms around him. It had been a long, strange night, and he was overwhelmed. We both were. Nothing about it seemed to be real, and then it was passing away. I held him and found myself falling gratefully to sleep.
I woke up the next morning to my cell phone, chirping from my coat pocket. Dad was sound asleep beside me, the sunlight brightening his face. I got up, looking outside. The sun was shining down on the fresh snow. Everything looked peaceful. I let the tableau sink in, and realized how high the sun was. The temperature dropped.
"Dad?" I called, not looking. "Wake up. Its morning…" Except it wasn't. It was past twelve. Past fourteen hours since Dad had begun to tell me his story. I turned around, tears forming. "Dad?" I asked one last time.
It was easy to see why I had mistaken him for sleeping. He was lounging in his chair, head rested on shoulder, with a smile on his face. He looked peaceful.
I backed up into the window and slid weakly down. I ran my hands through my hair, at a loss. At some point I went to him, looked him over. He not only looked happy, but younger too. It looked like what had died had not been my father, but instead all that emotional and mental baggage that had tried to bring him down; that was what had died, leaving nothing but peace.
Only one thing marred him; red light, blinking from the living room onto his face. I would change that soon.
I noticed a note in his hand and read it.
Henry
I beat it. The countdown ended half an hour ago, and I'm still here. It's hard though, I can feel myself fading, but I'm not afraid of dying, I was merely afraid of letting that damned thing win, but I've beaten it now!
I love you son. And Sara, and Carrie, and little Beth. Give them my love, don't worry about me. Spend all the time you can with them Henry, never let them go.
Love
Dad
I put the note gently into my pocket and kissed him. "I love you too, Dad. I've got one more thing to do for you."
I picked up the fire poker by the hearth, then headed into the living room. There on the mantel was the source of the blinking light. I knew that facing the wall were four zeros. I intended that they never change.
I walked forward quickly. I had to go fast. I raised the poker and prepared to bring it down when the lights stopped blinking and glowed a steady red. I knew what that meant. I brought the poker down but could feel my resolve slipping. I didn't want to know, but I also couldn't not know. I lowered the poker to my side and the next thing I knew there were four red numbers shining up at me. I stared at them, feeling them, along with something hungry, sink in. Then I smiled.
"Is that all you are?" I asked, raising the poker. "Four little numbers? You don't mean anything."
And then I slammed the poker down. Again and again I came down, until there was nothing but pieces left, which I burned.
I closed my eyes and saw those numbers starting their countdown. I opened them, took a deep breath, and closed them again. This time I saw no numbers. What I saw was my family, growing up and happy, and that is all I've seen since.
© Tyler Copeland 2007
Page last updated: 12/6/2007 12:22
College of Education and Health Professions | University of Arkansas | Graduate Education Building | Fayetteville, Arkansas 72701
Tel: (479) 575-3208 | Fax: (479) 575-3119 | E-mail us | RSS
©2007-2008 College of Education and Health Professions