You Can Always Rely On Time

I met the most beautiful woman of my life seven years ago.

I met the most beautiful woman of my life seven years ago. I was working for Layfette General Hospital as a nurse. Imagine me, twenty years old with a 90s ponytail, having just grown up out of being the envy of every guy on the football team in high school. I used to miss those days.

One night, I was assigned to room 413, and that is how I met Rose.

Rose was ninety-three years old and suffered from extreme arthritis and macular degeneration. She had been admitted due to chest pains she had been having. But that is not what this story is about.

Rose had a watch. It was round and gold, but probably not 100% because it seemed to be tarnished pretty badly. The thing must have been as old as she was, I couldn't tell though just by looking at it. With her most recent bout of arthritis she wasn't able to wind it up anymore.

So imagine my surprise when the first thing she did was ask me to wind it for her. I went along with it, and pulled the little dial out to spin it up. "No more than three turns!" she would quietly warn me.. After I had set the time, I would gently place it in her hands. She always said that the watch was "so warm" from my hands. She would then hold my hand against hers and ask if I could feel her pulse. You see, she believed the hands could heal, one of those old mystic types.

That is how we started every day. And every day, I would measure her pulse with that pocket watch, and it was always in time. You see, three turns was equivalent to just 24 hours of timekeeping, and no more.

At first I would argue, suggesting that it would be better to wind it all the way. She insisted however, and developed a bit of a catchphrase between us: "You can always rely on time". I would go through the rest of my duties, and she would hold the pocket watch wrapped in her blankets, trying to keep that warmth in. She was a dear old lady, and we became quite close over that week.

She was kept for a second week due to some worrying measurement with her heart. I wasn't given all of the details, it was just my job to keep her calm and comfortable, but I felt a drop of ice in my stomach when I heard the news. She was old, but I was hoping she'd get to leave soon. I shamefully admit though, a part of me was glad she was still there. She was a much bigger joy to be with than most of the patients.

It was on the eight day, at seven in the morning, when she broke her routine. She told me to wind the watch all the way up. After I did that, trying not to object too strongly, she had me read her pulse as usual. Right on the beat. I wondered what her heart condition was, because by that watch, it was as regular and strong as a horse's.

She didn't wake up the next morning. We kept her in the ICU, stable but in a coma. On my free time, I would come in and hold the watch she had given me, warming it back up before putting it back in her frail, small hands. It made me think of a simpler time, back before all of this technology. I wondered what her life was like, where she got the watch, and what she was like at my age.

On the twelfth day, she woke up. I was so very happy, but they had to keep her on dialysis and a respirator. She wasn't going to be able to afford this very long, and we both knew it. On the sixteenth day, she asked me to wind the watch again, and

I asked her what she thought about the future.

"You can always rely on time."

I didn't really know what she meant this time, but I just wanted her to be comfortable. I had seen other patients pass, but I admit, we cried together a few times. They were debating pacemaker surgery, but I don't believe they thought she could survive it. Neither did I

On the eighteenth day, the watched stopped again. She was asleep when I came in, so I took the watch and wound it up, three turns exactly, and set it next to her cold hands. I resolved to make sure I was back before the watch needed to be wound again, still feeling the rhythm of her heartbeat in my anxious palm.

She was gone the next morning. I wasn't told much, but I knew it was going to happen. It always does, and we are told not to get too attached to our patients because of it. I learned a lot from Rose. She may have been old, but she was truly beautiful on the inside.

A few months afterwards, I received a package from her family. They sent it as a thank-you for making her last days comfortable. This usually happens with such cases, and I tried to not let it get to me. I still almost cried while trying to sign for it.

When I opened it up, there inside was that ancient pocket watch. It was still warm and ticking.

I cried for hours afterward. I will keep this watch until I die.

This post was written in 20 minutes, start to finish, by author Taylor James, as part of his Kickstarter campaign to fund his new book. You can read it and purchase a copy here: God's Machine. Help support independent, young, skilled authors by tweeting, liking, and sharing this post!