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Stories

The Watch

by Steve Della Penna

Ever since I was a child, the watch that perpetually adorned my grandfather's left wrist had fascinated me. Not a particularly fancy or expensive watch, it seemed to have a certain charm and character about it that was strangely befitting of its owner. Grandpop was stationed in France during the Nazi occupation when, in need of a watch, he swapped his Zippo lighter for one owned by a French soldier he met in a local tavern. Grandpop would fondly refer to the watch as a constant companion that had never let him down, both on and off the battlefield. The earliest I remember noticing the watch was when my grandfather would take me fishing at the nearby lake. We would spend hours in the boat with our lines in the water, talking about nothing in particular as the sun lazily crossed the sky. Occasionally Grandpop would fidget with the watch, whether to wind it or idly run his fingers over its shiny, gold surface. His face would sometimes lose all expression and, at such a young age, I couldn't understand how a simple wristwatch could garner such intense scrutiny. As the years went by, I became aware that he never went anywhere without the watch and I asked him one day what was so special about it. He told me the story of the French soldier and how the watch was a perpetual reminder that he was one of the fortunate ones to return home safely from the war. Besides, he said, it kept good time. My grandmother had a different opinion of the watch. After seeing it on her husband's wrist every day for the past forty years, she opted for a slight change of scenery, so she bought him a new one. She asked me if I thought he would like it and I said he probably would but that he would never wear it. Grandmom never did like that old watch; she said there were too many bad war memories associated with it. Ironically, the watch symbolized many of the more pleasurable times in my life. I suppose it's all a matter of perspective. Grandpop reacted to his little present just like I had anticipated. He appreciated the watch but couldn't understand why she bought it when she knew how much he liked his old one. Both being equally stubborn, Grandpop insisted that he would never wear the new watch and Grandmom refused to return it, as though by doing so would be an admission of defeat. For the longest time the watch remained in its box on top of Grandpop's dresser. He didn't want to hurt Grandmom's feelings by returning it but he also couldn't bring himself to wear it so eventually it was forgotten. Years later I asked him why he never wore it; he answered by simply saying he had one already. The terseness of his response discouraged me from pursuing the topic any further. As time went by, events and situations in my life prevented me from seeing my grandparents as often as I once had. I remember five years ago getting a call from my grandmother regarding a surprise eightieth birthday party for Grandpop. My job had been exceptionally stressful so I decided to take that Friday off and spend a long weekend visiting with my grandparents. I left early Friday morning and throughout the entire trip I reminisced about the countless memories that were born on my grandparents' cozy little farm. Nearly two years had slipped by since I had last been there and I was looking forward to some much-needed relaxation. The party went on for most of Saturday and everybody, especially Grandpop, had a wonderful time. Later that afternoon, when most of the guests had thinned out, Grandpop asked if I wanted to take a walk to the lake and throw a couple lines in the water. He must have been feeling quite nostalgic since we hadn't fished together since I was a kid. The thought of spending time with Grandpop out on the lake seemed like an appropriate way to end a memorable day. The lake was placid with a golden sheen of sunlight sparkling on its surface, beckoning us to immerse ourselves in its tranquility. I helped Grandpop put the old boat in the water, surprised that it was still seaworthy after all of these years. Grandpop had brought a small container of nightcrawlers, the best bait for catching bass, he always said. We rowed out to the middle of the lake, baited our hooks and waited for the fish to do their part. This was the first time all day that I had a chance to talk to him and we spent the next half-hour catching up on events of the past two years. The fish apparently weren't very hungry and I was about to comment about it when I noticed Grandpop staring at his watch. Periodically he would run his finger slowly, almost lovingly, across the crystal face, as if it were a magical talisman. I asked him if he was okay and he slowly looked up at me, a dark, almost empty look in his eyes. Gradually, his eyes regained their original clarity and a cryptic smile formed on his wrinkled lips. Before I could say anything, he removed the watch from his wrist, grabbed my hand, and placed it in my open palm. The gesture was so sudden, so unexpected that I nearly dropped the watch as I stared at him in astonishment. Instinctively, I try returning the watch but he closed my hand around it as he held my eyes with a look that spoke volumes of how he felt. Reluctantly, I thanked him and he smiled, saying that he always knew how much I liked the watch and he felt it was time to pass it on. The rest of the fishing trip passed by without incidence, except for a few nibbles on our fishing lines. When we got back to the house everyone had gone home and my grandmother was alone in the kitchen drinking a cup of tea. I told her I was tired and wanted to turn in early and maybe read for a while. She thanked me for helping make the party such a success and I hugged and kissed her goodnight, unable to recount to her the events that took place on the boat. Once in my room I withdrew the watch from my pocket, turning it over in my hand and admiring its heft - a sign of quality, as Grandpop would often say. Time had been especially kind to the watch over the past half-century, and it easily could have passed for being no more than fifteen years old. I slipped it on my wrist and was pleased to find that it fit perfectly and the band wouldn't need adjusting. The question that kept echoing in my head was how Grandpop knew I had always wanted that watch. My grandfather passed away a week shy of his eighty-third birthday and, in honor of his final wish, was buried by the lake. Each year, on his birthday, I make it a point to visit his grave and pay my respects. The boat is still there and sometimes I'll row out to middle of the lake to remember that special day five years ago when Grandpop fulfilled a childhood dream by passing on the watch; the same watch I've worn every day since.

© 2003 Steve Della Penna

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