A bit, nostalgic, over this, “dying breed” of professions, translated…
“That white-iron colored watch that you’re wearing, was like that first watch my father gave me as a gift.”
I’d leaned in too close to the man who was fixing up the watches, he’d, only lifted his head for a second, looked at me, then, continued, taking apart the watch from the back.
Or rather, my dad had, handed it to me, casually; that night he had a fight with my mother, and that watch, because a ricochet that grazed the floors. By the time the watch became mine, time was, standing still, and, it’d become, this, out-of-sorts decoration, like how the children in adult clothing are.
“Didn’t you get it fixed?”
“Where can a child manage to get the money?”
“Yeah, that’s best, because the watches, rarely become broken through use, they normally break, because someone, tried fixing it. Its structures, too delicate, a smallest twist or turn the wrong way, is like how you’d, clipped off a nerve ending in a surgery.”
The watch fixer originally owned a shopfront, but as cell phones appeared, there are, less who wear watches, and, the counters of watched on display at the mall, looked more extravagant than his display case he told me of how good the business was once, how he had this shopfront, to how now, he only, has a small desk, at the corner of a night market, tick-tock, tick-tock, his expressions changed too as he’d told me.
A customer handed him a watch of about two hundred dollars N.T., asked him if he has the clipper that matched, he’d opened up his drawer on the left, and told the customer to pick from what he had. Originally, he’d, kept his head down, working, but as the crowd gathered, he’d, taken out the bands, and the new watches, displayed them on that small desk.
I’d remembered how as I bathed myself in the summertime as a kid, I’d, taken my watch off, and, there would be, the imprint of the watch I was wearing on my wrist, then, I’d, used a pen, and drew on the watch, based off of the imprints, that, was the memories of time and people, relating to one another. And, I suppose, this is why, people still take their watches, to get fixed.
Yes, that small buzzer on his work table, was what, attracted me there in the first place.
And this, would be, considered, a sort of a, “dying breed” I suppose, because almost NOBODY wears watches anymore, as when we need to tell the time, we simply, take out our cell phone, and yet, there are still those, who are, wearing their watches, like the writer, because they don’t want to lose something that’s, old and a sort of a, tradition, maybe???