The following is a piece I wrote for a creative writing class I am taking. If you're an aspiring writer, I highly recommend this class.
The Lost Watch
Back in 1990 I had a very nice black and gold Armitron watch
that I bought from Sears. It featured a twisted bracelet-style band that I could
just slip on. The watch was inexpensive but fancy enough for me to wear to
work. As a bank teller, I was required to wear dresses and pantyhose every day.
Yes, pantyhose. Casual Fridays
weren’t a thing yet. As a matter of fact, a lot of things weren’t a thing yet.
For those of you who don’t know or can’t recall, let me set
the scene. There was no Netflix. We watched regular network TV shows like “Cheers”
and “Roseanne.” Cable television and VCR’s (old fashioned DVD players) were
available to people who could afford them. But most of us had to watch shows as they aired.
There was no Pandora. We listened to a rotation of songs on the
radio by artists like Milli Vanilli and MC Hammer. Sure, we could listen to
CD’s that we bought from the store, but there was no music that was streaming or that could be downloaded. Those words weren’t in our
vocabulary yet because there was no
internet. I’ll just pause here for a moment while you absorb that...
Let me continue. There were no cell phones. No. Cell. Phones. Cordless phones for
landlines had just recently become popular. I was thrilled to be able to walk
around my apartment and talk without a cord pulling me back, but I couldn’t go
much farther than my front porch. And I couldn’t use the phone in my car or
take pictures with it.
Now that you know we were living in the Dark Ages, let me
get back to the story of my watch. As I previously mentioned, the watch was
easy to slip on, therefore it was easy to slip off. It must have done just
that, because one day it went missing. I searched everywhere–no luck. I was so
disappointed. Not only was I on a very tight budget, the unique design of the
watch would make it difficult to replace.
One day I saw the landscaping guy outside mowing the lawn
for the apartment complex, and I asked him if he’d seen my watch. He was this
surfer dude with Wayfarers, a dark tan, and blond hair. “No, I haven’t seen it.
But I’ll keep my eye out for it,” he promised.
A few days later he showed me a watch he had found. Turns
out it wasn’t mine. However, I was impressed by the landscaping guy’s
determination. (And green eyes. And cute butt.)
A week later I saw him in the parking lot. His blond hair
was covered with a baseball cap this time. When I saw that it said U2 “Rattle
and Hum” my heart did a little flutter. I loved
U2. I was obsessed with Bono and Ireland and the music. And now here was this
guy who was clearly a fan. Maybe it was fate.
We chatted for a while. His name was Matt and he was a very
nice guy, but he was just too young for any type of romantic connection, I
decided. What would he have in common with me, a 24-year-old divorced single
mom?
The next time we bumped into each other was at the grocery
store. I was strolling down the aisle with my little daughter in the cart (and
an embarrassing bag of generic Oreos) and here comes Matt carrying a 6-pack of
beer.
“Oh, hi!” We greeted each other with big smiles. “Aren’t you
too young to be buying beer?” I quizzed. The legal age was 21 and he looked
about 18. “No, I’m 24,” he laughed. My heart fluttered again. He was exactly my age.
After “accidentally” running into each other a few more
times, Matt and I began dating. Two years later we got married. In between that
time we saw a U2 concert together—from the fourth row!
Over the span of 27 years, we’ve lived a life of adventure,
creating a home and raising a family, experiencing all the sunrises and sunsets
that life has to offer. One constant among the chaos has been the love that we
share.
These days Matt is more golfer than surfer, and I wear cozy yoga
pants more often than I wear dresses. But we’re still the same two people who
found each other because of a lost watch.
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