I am having an awful morning. Like, appalling. Despair-inducing. Panda-had-to-stop-me-from-pitching-myself-out-the-window-level bad.
In his haste to both get to work and before doing so, reassure me that
a)The rodents in the kitchen weren’t going to attack me
b)The roaches outside weren’t going to attack me
c)Nothing is worth pitching oneself out the window
…he forgot his watch. His very special, so attached-to-it he sleeps with it on (which is something I only thought my strange little sister did) watch.
After I resigned myself to the fact that ill winds were going to come my way, whether I freaked out about them or not, I emerged from my comforter/pillow fort, put on a deceptively cheery (mustard yellow and peacock blue) outfit and went in to the bathroom, to splash water on my face. And there it was. Heavy metal, out of place. Forgotten.
Several months ago, when I was reeling from loss and disappointment, I met a new friend at Mate in Georgetown, for happy hour, even though I was anything but. As I ordered Pomegranate margaritas two-at-a-time, I became concomitantly bitter at my shitty luck and trashed with tequila. Slurring my words like a champion, I blathered something at poor Panda about how when I was small, I liked to wear my Dad’s watch. Then, though he had known me for all of two hours at that point, I grabbed his hand and started to maul it.
It’s fair to point out, however, that even if I had been sober, I wouldn’t have been able to unlatch the clasp, because it was different from those I was used to. Panda very patiently took off his beloved graduation gift and handed it over, and I immediately put it on, while exclaiming about how “effing heavy thith thing ith!”. After my fifth margarita and the end of my tale of woe, he gently suggested that I might want to consume something besides triple sec and he escorted me out of the lounge. I blurted, “Amma!” and since anyone who has read me at all knows exactly what and where that is, he dutifully walked me there and ordered me lemon rice. I don’t remember much of the evening, beyond that. I think I gave the watch back, but kept wearing his beautiful, pastel, silk twill tie. Oh yeah, I forgot about that bit—when trashed I like to take off peoples’ ties and demonstrate how “awethome I am at, like, tying a winthor.”
Anyway, that was almost six months ago and I haven’t worn this watch (or that tie!) since then. Not until today, when it seemed like some sort of omen, some confirmation that I was doing the right thing by facing my demons vs the pretty aqua duvet fabric.
So I put it on. And today is rough, but my aching left wrist (thith thing ith heavy!) is a constant, weighty reminder that even if I lose all of this, the hand which normally wears this watch will always be there to help me up, when I fall.
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