Forever Linda by Rob Schwartz
Recently divorced Alvin resents the engraving on the watch his ex-wife gave him.
He had to take care of the watch, now that the papers were signed.
A Rado DiaStar. A prized possession. Not up for debate in the negotiation with his ex-wife Linda and her lawyer. It weighed heavy on his mind and his wrist.
Alvin grabbed his coat and walked outside. It was a grey day in March, although the weather had not committed to rain. The first thing he saw when he left the building was Smith & Wollensky. Leave it to New York to have a steakhouse that sounded like a law firm.
He headed north and tried to free up his mind from the heaviness of the last few months. And erase what he had seen from Linda.
The wind had picked up, but he walked headlong into it. It took him back to those early spring practices when he ran track in high school. When, in spite of the March bite, all seemed open and possible.
A bus roared past and splashed water from the street. Alvin was back to the task at hand. Fix the watch.
The only jeweler he knew was the place where he had found the engagement ring for Linda and their wedding bands. As he trudged up Lexington, he looked at his left hand. There was an indentation in the skin where his wedding ring used to sit. He looked then shoved his hand in his coat pocket. He focused on his steps.
It took Alvin a while, but he finally made it to 75th Street and looked around. He didn't see the store. Could they have closed in the twelve years since his wedding?
Things change. He had changed. Dropping out of law school, trying his hand as a playwright, giving up and landing on Wall Street, and now drifting.
Uptown, he saw an older woman in a beret and dark sunglasses walking a Yorkshire terrier.
"Excuse me," he said. "Wasn't there a jewelry store that used to be here?"
The woman looked at him in that way New Yorkers do to make sure you're okay to talk to.
"Hazan?" she said. "One block up on 76th."
"Hazan, right. Hazan..."
Alvin turned and looked north. She stood there a moment as the Yorkie looked at Alvin, then back up at her. The dog blinked, then resumed his work.
Alvin walked along the avenue. The day he had walked here all those years ago, Linda filled the spaces between his every synapse. He'd loved her ideas for films she never made. He loved that she ran the reservoir loop every morning at six, rain or not, then ate over-buttered Kraft Mac and Cheese for dinner without apology. Sundays they stayed in bed until noon, the Times scattered across the sheets, sections traded without a word.
What he hated now was how little all that seemed to cost her. The divorce had not destroyed Linda. It had organized her.
Alvin walked one more block and saw the faded green awning. He rang the bell above the door. The owner eyed him through gray bushy eyebrows and then pushed something that clicked, and Alvin walked in.
"You've been here before," said Benny Hazan, the owner of the store.
"Years ago," said Alvin. "Several pounds ago."
"Waters, right?" he said. "Alan Waters, isn't it?"
"Alvin."
"Yes, of course, Alvin." He wedged himself from behind the jewel case, his arms outstretched to shake Alvin's hand. "A two-carat diamond, if I recall. And platinum bands."
Alvin nodded.
"Are you looking for an anniversary bracelet, perhaps?"
"Not quite," said Alvin. "Today is about this."
Alvin pushed his arm through his coat to show Benny the Rado. It was given to him by Linda for their seventh anniversary. The DiaStar looked like something people would wear in the future. Its shape formed as though it had been poured from liquid silver and sculpted smooth and round. In its center was a deep midnight blue face. A few simple lines indicated where the numbers were. And on the back of its rounded form, an engraving.
The words said, "Forever Linda."
Alvin undid the fastening and removed the watch from his wrist. Benny went back behind the counter and reached for a red velvet display tray. He wore glasses around his neck on a chain and put them on, then with two hands gracefully relieved Alvin of the watch.
He placed the timepiece on the velvet and looked at it from several angles. Then he picked up the watch and held it to his ear. Then he laid it down on its face and inspected the back.
"Beautiful work," said Benny. He read the engraving softly. "Forever Linda."
"The engraving is the issue."
Benny held up the watch again and looked at the carved words more closely. He touched them with his forefinger.
"I don't see a problem," said Benny. "A professional job. Not too deep, but deep enough to stand the test of time."
"That's just it," said Alvin. "Forever is over."
Benny looked away.
Just then, Benny's wife came out from the back. She was Sephardic like Benny, with jet-black hair and a few streaks of gray.
"You remember my wife, Sarina."
Alvin didn't. He faintly smiled anyway.
Benny said something to her in Ladino. She nodded and picked up the watch. Her hands were all long red nails and gold rings. She stared at the engraving and said something else to him in their ancient language.
"This is a beautiful sentiment," she said.
"Well, it was," said Alvin. "Linda is no longer around. The papers were signed this morning."
Sarina looked at Alvin with her large dark eyes.
"This will be a challenge, this watch," said Benny. "This is one piece."
Alvin stared.
"With this model, when you do any kind of adjustment, you remove the whole movement and the bezel," Benny said as he held the watch in his right palm and used his left hand to show how he would do it. "You lift the mechanism out from the body."
"Ah, so you can't just replace the back?"
"Correct," said Benny. "We can maybe file the words down."
"Like erase them?" Alvin asked.
"Maybe." Benny looked at the watch closely. "It might leave a mark."
Sarina took the watch again and studied it, her dark eyebrows furrowing, a few wisps of hair escaping her taut bun.
"What if you did not erase?" she said.
Alvin looked at her.
"Sometimes erasing is the worst part," she said. "You still see where the thing was."
"I don't want to see it," said Alvin.
"No," said Sarina. "Of course not."
Benny leaned over the watch. "There is room above the engraving. Not much. A few words only."
"A few words," said Alvin.
"If you add something," said Benny, "you keep the body intact."
Alvin looked at the watch lying there on the velvet.
Forever Linda.
The words had not aged. That was the trouble. They were still as young and stupid and certain as the day she gave it to him.
"What could you add?" said Sarina.
Alvin almost laughed. He thought of all the things he could add.
Unfortunately.
Apparently.
Formerly.
Benny waited.
Sarina waited.
Outside, a taxi tapped its horn twice.
Alvin said, "Nothing."
"Nothing?" said Benny.
Alvin kept looking at the watch. "Nothing is."
Sarina smiled.
Benny picked up the watch and tilted it toward the light. "'Nothing is' above 'Forever Linda.'"
"Nothing is forever," said Sarina.
Alvin looked at her.
Then Benny said, "Linda remains Linda."
"In a sense," said Alvin.
"But forever becomes a different statement," said Sarina.
Alvin nodded. "A truth."
Benny held the watch in his palm. "I can do this. Small letters. Clean. It will look intentional."
"It is intentional," said Alvin.
"Good," said Benny. "Then I do it for you now."
Alvin sat in the chair by the door as Benny and Sarina disappeared into the back. He could hear the small sounds of work: a drawer sliding open, metal touching metal, Benny murmuring, Sarina answering.
He looked at the empty place on his wrist.
Nothing is Forever, Linda.
Alvin entered the street and looked at the Rado. A ray of sun hit the silver body of the watch.
He checked the time: 5:17. He made note of those numbers.
The wind had quieted. The air was warmer. Alvin looked west and saw the trees of Central Park. He made his way down 76th Street.
He walked briskly and removed his overcoat and then his suit jacket. At Fifth Avenue, he didn't even wait for the light and dashed across the street. He hadn't run for years, and he didn't want to stop now. He pushed himself harder as he entered the Park. The gray clouds were tumbling aside revealing a milky violet evening. Alvin ran to the point where he simply could not drive his middle-aged body any further. At a cherry blossom tree, he stopped, hunched over, and with his hands on his knees he breathed heavily, taking in as much oxygen as possible.
A petal unmoored itself and fell gently on the back of his neck and then to the ground.
from FICTION on the WEB short stories https://ift.tt/Y1ZbJiO
via IFTTT
 |
| Image generated with OpenAI |
A Rado DiaStar. A prized possession. Not up for debate in the negotiation with his ex-wife Linda and her lawyer. It weighed heavy on his mind and his wrist.
Alvin grabbed his coat and walked outside. It was a grey day in March, although the weather had not committed to rain. The first thing he saw when he left the building was Smith & Wollensky. Leave it to New York to have a steakhouse that sounded like a law firm.
He headed north and tried to free up his mind from the heaviness of the last few months. And erase what he had seen from Linda.
The wind had picked up, but he walked headlong into it. It took him back to those early spring practices when he ran track in high school. When, in spite of the March bite, all seemed open and possible.
A bus roared past and splashed water from the street. Alvin was back to the task at hand. Fix the watch.
The only jeweler he knew was the place where he had found the engagement ring for Linda and their wedding bands. As he trudged up Lexington, he looked at his left hand. There was an indentation in the skin where his wedding ring used to sit. He looked then shoved his hand in his coat pocket. He focused on his steps.
It took Alvin a while, but he finally made it to 75th Street and looked around. He didn't see the store. Could they have closed in the twelve years since his wedding?
Things change. He had changed. Dropping out of law school, trying his hand as a playwright, giving up and landing on Wall Street, and now drifting.
Uptown, he saw an older woman in a beret and dark sunglasses walking a Yorkshire terrier.
"Excuse me," he said. "Wasn't there a jewelry store that used to be here?"
The woman looked at him in that way New Yorkers do to make sure you're okay to talk to.
"Hazan?" she said. "One block up on 76th."
"Hazan, right. Hazan..."
Alvin turned and looked north. She stood there a moment as the Yorkie looked at Alvin, then back up at her. The dog blinked, then resumed his work.
Alvin walked along the avenue. The day he had walked here all those years ago, Linda filled the spaces between his every synapse. He'd loved her ideas for films she never made. He loved that she ran the reservoir loop every morning at six, rain or not, then ate over-buttered Kraft Mac and Cheese for dinner without apology. Sundays they stayed in bed until noon, the Times scattered across the sheets, sections traded without a word.
What he hated now was how little all that seemed to cost her. The divorce had not destroyed Linda. It had organized her.
Alvin walked one more block and saw the faded green awning. He rang the bell above the door. The owner eyed him through gray bushy eyebrows and then pushed something that clicked, and Alvin walked in.
"You've been here before," said Benny Hazan, the owner of the store.
"Years ago," said Alvin. "Several pounds ago."
"Waters, right?" he said. "Alan Waters, isn't it?"
"Alvin."
"Yes, of course, Alvin." He wedged himself from behind the jewel case, his arms outstretched to shake Alvin's hand. "A two-carat diamond, if I recall. And platinum bands."
Alvin nodded.
"Are you looking for an anniversary bracelet, perhaps?"
"Not quite," said Alvin. "Today is about this."
Alvin pushed his arm through his coat to show Benny the Rado. It was given to him by Linda for their seventh anniversary. The DiaStar looked like something people would wear in the future. Its shape formed as though it had been poured from liquid silver and sculpted smooth and round. In its center was a deep midnight blue face. A few simple lines indicated where the numbers were. And on the back of its rounded form, an engraving.
The words said, "Forever Linda."
Alvin undid the fastening and removed the watch from his wrist. Benny went back behind the counter and reached for a red velvet display tray. He wore glasses around his neck on a chain and put them on, then with two hands gracefully relieved Alvin of the watch.
He placed the timepiece on the velvet and looked at it from several angles. Then he picked up the watch and held it to his ear. Then he laid it down on its face and inspected the back.
"Beautiful work," said Benny. He read the engraving softly. "Forever Linda."
"The engraving is the issue."
Benny held up the watch again and looked at the carved words more closely. He touched them with his forefinger.
"I don't see a problem," said Benny. "A professional job. Not too deep, but deep enough to stand the test of time."
"That's just it," said Alvin. "Forever is over."
Benny looked away.
Just then, Benny's wife came out from the back. She was Sephardic like Benny, with jet-black hair and a few streaks of gray.
"You remember my wife, Sarina."
Alvin didn't. He faintly smiled anyway.
Benny said something to her in Ladino. She nodded and picked up the watch. Her hands were all long red nails and gold rings. She stared at the engraving and said something else to him in their ancient language.
"This is a beautiful sentiment," she said.
"Well, it was," said Alvin. "Linda is no longer around. The papers were signed this morning."
Sarina looked at Alvin with her large dark eyes.
"This will be a challenge, this watch," said Benny. "This is one piece."
Alvin stared.
"With this model, when you do any kind of adjustment, you remove the whole movement and the bezel," Benny said as he held the watch in his right palm and used his left hand to show how he would do it. "You lift the mechanism out from the body."
"Ah, so you can't just replace the back?"
"Correct," said Benny. "We can maybe file the words down."
"Like erase them?" Alvin asked.
"Maybe." Benny looked at the watch closely. "It might leave a mark."
Sarina took the watch again and studied it, her dark eyebrows furrowing, a few wisps of hair escaping her taut bun.
"What if you did not erase?" she said.
Alvin looked at her.
"Sometimes erasing is the worst part," she said. "You still see where the thing was."
"I don't want to see it," said Alvin.
"No," said Sarina. "Of course not."
Benny leaned over the watch. "There is room above the engraving. Not much. A few words only."
"A few words," said Alvin.
"If you add something," said Benny, "you keep the body intact."
Alvin looked at the watch lying there on the velvet.
Forever Linda.
The words had not aged. That was the trouble. They were still as young and stupid and certain as the day she gave it to him.
"What could you add?" said Sarina.
Alvin almost laughed. He thought of all the things he could add.
Unfortunately.
Apparently.
Formerly.
Benny waited.
Sarina waited.
Outside, a taxi tapped its horn twice.
Alvin said, "Nothing."
"Nothing?" said Benny.
Alvin kept looking at the watch. "Nothing is."
Sarina smiled.
Benny picked up the watch and tilted it toward the light. "'Nothing is' above 'Forever Linda.'"
"Nothing is forever," said Sarina.
Alvin looked at her.
Then Benny said, "Linda remains Linda."
"In a sense," said Alvin.
"But forever becomes a different statement," said Sarina.
Alvin nodded. "A truth."
Benny held the watch in his palm. "I can do this. Small letters. Clean. It will look intentional."
"It is intentional," said Alvin.
"Good," said Benny. "Then I do it for you now."
Alvin sat in the chair by the door as Benny and Sarina disappeared into the back. He could hear the small sounds of work: a drawer sliding open, metal touching metal, Benny murmuring, Sarina answering.
He looked at the empty place on his wrist.
Nothing is Forever, Linda.
Alvin entered the street and looked at the Rado. A ray of sun hit the silver body of the watch.
He checked the time: 5:17. He made note of those numbers.
The wind had quieted. The air was warmer. Alvin looked west and saw the trees of Central Park. He made his way down 76th Street.
He walked briskly and removed his overcoat and then his suit jacket. At Fifth Avenue, he didn't even wait for the light and dashed across the street. He hadn't run for years, and he didn't want to stop now. He pushed himself harder as he entered the Park. The gray clouds were tumbling aside revealing a milky violet evening. Alvin ran to the point where he simply could not drive his middle-aged body any further. At a cherry blossom tree, he stopped, hunched over, and with his hands on his knees he breathed heavily, taking in as much oxygen as possible.
A petal unmoored itself and fell gently on the back of his neck and then to the ground.
from FICTION on the WEB short stories https://ift.tt/Y1ZbJiO
via IFTTT
Comments
Post a Comment