The Horologist Page 2

  Leo looked down at his feet like a timid boy. “But I’m so young! How am I supposed to know what I want to do? What if I can’t find my path?”

  Winslow set down his tools and fully turned from the canvas. His tone was firm and absolute. “Never, ever, think like that. It doesn’t matter how old you are, where you’re from, or how much you have; you are here to fulfill a purpose.” Winslow grinned. “In fact, your youth is an advantage. You have so much ahead of you. Time is on your side now more than it ever will be.”

  Oliver and Leo perked up.

  “When you’re young you have more time to take risks, to find out who you are, to fail. In that process, you will realize just how little you actually need and how much you can truly accomplish. You will see that nothing can stop you. And as you push beyond your boundaries and break through adversity, you will only grow stronger.”

  The boys took to Winslow. The world seemed a bit brighter and their spirits lifted a little higher with these words. Oliver looked at the other pieces of artwork Winslow had under the shade.

  “How did you find time to paint all these?” Oliver asked. “It must’ve taken you forever.”

  Winslow chuckled. He began to paint the view of a man who had fulfilled his purpose. “Once my path was in sight, I knew I couldn’t rest until I saw it through. As I began to paint, I realized how little time we have, and how fulfilling a dream really comes down to how you use it. Think about it. Everyone only has twenty-four hours a day. Everyone. The billionaire and the beggar. So, the quality of your life is dependent upon how you use those hours. Remember that. And understand that fulfilling a dream is not as complex as it seems; you just have to give something back to the world, and the very first thing you must give back is time.”

  Winslow put his finishing touches on the easel. He looked to the boys for reassurance. “What do you think?”

  The boys nodded in amazement.

  “Off you go, boys. Think on what I’ve said.”

  Oliver and Leo exited through the main gate of the courtyard and continued along, and as they ambled, Oliver found himself lost in thought. Winslow had made an impression. The truth had stung at first, but he realized with cutting honesty that most of his time had been spent pointlessly.

  With each step, Oliver began to escape the machinery of his mind, as he considered: Life is so backwards. The more that you steer away from the usual path, the more interest you draw and the more unique you become.

  This idea trickled into the boy, and like a compass needle aligning north, the inclination of his heart began to shift. Veil after veil peeled back as Oliver realized everything he hadn’t done. Where he was, who he was, and what he was, was not enough. It was clear that the comfort from his mother and father, and the familiarity of his village, would not always make him happy. At last, Oliver decided: He would find his own path in life, and to do so, he needed to leave behind the safety and comfort he once knew.

  As they made their way home, Oliver expressed this insatiability to Leo. He explained that he wanted to leave town for the summer, and how he wanted Leo to join, and that both their lives would be richer and fuller and more exciting because of it.

  The two discussed the feasibility, and as virtuous thinkers do, they debated the idea and analyzed the outcomes.

  “Where would we go?”

  “I’ve always wanted to see Moscow.”

  “Too cold. Paris?”

  “Too compact.”

  And this continued.

  “How do we travel?” And again, the conversation took them into every nook and cranny. Then Oliver came to a realization. “Where we go and how we get there isn’t the question. The question is why.”

  Oliver impatiently tended to the meal his mother prepared. He roosted at the table with a leg out the door, stabbing at the food like it was his first time using a knife and fork. When a break in conversation came, Oliver addressed his parents. “Mother. Father. I want adventure in my life. I want to get out and see the world. You have always supported me . . . I’d like permission to travel for the summer.”

  The boy raised his hand. “Before you say anything, know that I have thought this through. I understand that uncertainty lies at the edge of our town, but it is this uncertainty where I must go.” He carried on for a while and revealed that Leo would be joining him on the journey.

  Oliver’s mother could see great determination in her son. “The desire to grow is natural and ordinary, Oliver; it is almost a universal sense of responsibility within us. I must ask, though, what do you expect to receive from such a journey?”

  Oliver responded quickly. “To find my way, Mother; to start to become someone. I may stay here and age comfortably, but I sense that I will never be fulfilled. Or I may go out into the unknown and age uncomfortably, but find fulfillment.”

  His parents understood their son’s thirst. They each had once known such a drought in their hearts. And, years ago, they fulfilled each other with love. It was time for their son to find his own fulfillment.

  His father took a draw of tea. “And what will you do, Oliver? When you become someone?”

  Oliver leaned on the quiet for a moment. “Just what you have done. Provide for my family, and give back to people around me and those in need.”

  These words settled his father. “This desire you have—fulfillment. It’s an arduous path. But this path will make you stronger and wiser for enduring its difficulty. Oliver, this may sound harsh, but if you go, I want you to leave for much longer. Your mother and I will always be here, and so will the safe path. So, go out until you find what you’re looking for, and don’t come back until you do. My son, you are destined to become a man that the world needs. Break out of your shell, clear your mind, open your heart, and you will find the person you were meant to become. Take the night to think this through.”

  Oliver’s decision did not change after the moon had come and gone.

  The next morning, before he departed, Oliver was presented with an envelope. He opened it, smiled at his parents, and happily stored the money in his pack. The boy kissed his mother, embraced his father, gave one last nod, then left the village with Leo.

  And just like that, they were on their way.

  THE TROUPER

  WITH PALMS WRAPPED around their packs, Oliver and Leo marched along the road leading from home. Beads of sweat flowed from their brows as they reached the town’s outskirts. The boys had been this far before, but this time it was a deeper goodbye.

  To the right of the crossroad was a cairn, and it spoke to them in the moment. The marker symbolized the stability they came from and the sturdy homes they could one day return to. But it was time for the boys to build their own foundations.

  Facing the crossroad, Oliver asked Leo, “Which way should we go?”

  They stood and watched as different people took different routes to different lives. Then a whistle blew. It came from the bed of a cargo truck. Inside was a friendly fellow with a dirty shit and an open collar. He waved them in, and as the truck peeled off, Oliver and Leo looked back towards home with pride. They were rolling along with life.

  “Name’s Frakkoh, but people call me Freddie.”

  The passenger shook their hands. Freddie was a convivial character of high-voltage. His hair was stiff and golden-brown, and he wore a scraggly beard of four days. Freddie was a solo musician out on the road. He’d been at it for months, and when he spoke of his love for music, he did so with a daring level of effeminate mannerisms.

  “People don’t believe me, but I’ve always known I was born to play music. I used to rush home from school to learn a new song, then wake up before class to do the same. I just had to keep at it for a long time before I got any good.

  “Then one morning, I was sitting on my porch with a guitar in my lap and a notebook in hand. I was looking out to the ocean tide, trying to come up with lyrics, but something deeper was speaking to me.”

  Freddie’s voice was smooth, but intense.

&n
bsp; “I watched set after set of waves ripple up and crash into the surf. Suddenly, my hand started writing. I looked down and the words were coming with ease. I rushed to the studio and recorded the song, and it became my first hit. I’ve been out here traveling ever since. So, that’s how I got right here. I’ve just been riding my break.”

  Freddie pressed out a yawn. “People say I’m crazy for following my dream. They say I’m taking too much risk. But honestly, I think they’re the crazy ones. A life without a dream is insane, to me.”

  Freddie pulled a booklet from his jeans, unwound the marbled cover, then tossed it across the bed.

  Oliver and Leo held the journal between them. Many pages were folded, some torn, and it came with a heavy odor of smoke and fried food. Inside was like a mad scientist’s notes. As the boys lined through, it was clear that the moxie of his songwriting birthed a unique style.

  Leo looked up. “Freddie, how do you get up on stage and sing and perform? I’d—”

  Freddie knew what he was about to say. “My friend. Fear is a compass; it tells you what you have to do to grow. Afraid of being by yourself? Become a lone wolf. Scared of asking a girl out? Walk up and get rejected. Fear the spotlight? Force yourself to bask in it. If you master fear, you can master yourself.”

  “But how did you get people to believe in you?”

  Freddie laughed. “First, I had to believe in myself. But music has never been about the rewards or trophies, it’s about the expression of who I am.”

  Freddie stretched out against the railing. “Look, life is hard, but a normal life is hell. I figure, if I’m going to take some punches anyway, I might as well take them doing what I want.”

  Oliver and Leo flipped through a few more of his pages. Bold black sharpie had crossed out lyrics. Oliver flipped the journal to Freddie. “No good?”

  “Better believe it. Took months before something good finally came. But the wonderful thing is that you can become great at anything if you just put in the time. It’s just that few are willing to stand against the headwind long enough to see their work blossom. Most people quit too early or never even start. You know how it is. You hear people saying they want to do this or that, but they don’t do anything about it.”

  Freddie and the boys then exchanged stories for hours. The newcomers mainly listened except when Freddie asked what Oliver and Leo were doing there in the truck bed.

  Oliver replied. “We’re doing the same as you: just out looking for our break.”

  Freddie beamed. “I love it. A token of advice as you do—don’t lend much credence to the opinions of others. If someone is encouraging and trustworthy, that’s one thing. But negative opinions are only reflections of people’s own fear.”

  The conversation pivoted to the boys’ plan. When Freddie learned of their open-ended travel, he invited them to his next show. “Ever been to a chiringuito?”

  The boys hadn’t.

  “It’s like a beach bar. I think you’ll love it.”

  Freddie leaned back against the truck bed. His guitar was to his right, his pack was to his left, and two new friends to his front. Freddie was happy the boys were tagging along. He didn’t see Oliver and Leo as inexperienced boys on some flare of a summer trip. He saw them as brothers, as partners to share a journey with, however temporary or permanent their time together would be.

  THE DREAM

  NEAR SUNDOWN THE cargo truck turned on a road cut into the side of a hill—cliff above, sea below—and down towards the coast of Barcelona.

  The driver threw the wheels onto the shoulder and braked stiffly. Freddie and the boys extended an arm over the side and leapt to the street. They reached back for their gear and nodded to the driver before the taillights reddened and the truck drove off.

  When Freddie and the boys turned around, the chiringuito rrevealed itself. It sat on a beach plot sectioned off with railway posts and oversized rope. Inside was a stage, a white stucco bar and umbrellas, and a young crowd spread across the cool sand.

  Oliver and Leo grinned as they looked around and questioned whether they were in paradise. The chiringuito was a sea of gorgeous people on a gorgeous coast.

  Freddie was backstage for an hour before the stage simmered. The crowd gathered in front as the fanfare began a low roar, and with a stream of light, Freddie rushed forward as his voice exploded through the microphone. His vocals were as clear and loud as a trumpet, and when his voice brushed your ear, the heaviness of life receded. The crowd picked up their dancing and the probability of seduction soared with it.

  Oliver was almost back from to the restroom when something caught his eye—the petals of a sapphire rose. There was something reminiscent in that color; something that made him stop and stare at the flower.

  The petals sat over the ear of a dream. She was across the crowd, laughing and dancing amongst friends. Her impassive green eyes relaxed underneath her brunette hair. She wore a white half-slip that ended a few lengths above her knees, and her long, tanned legs glistened in the nightlight. The thought came like a lucid dream—Isabella?

  Oliver was shaken, and in no coincidence Isabella rose up and looked over. She recognized the boy, but years had passed since they saw each other, and she couldn’t figure out how she knew him. But Isabella parted her lips and smiled at the familiar face, and in that moment, Oliver’s soul expanded.

  “Oliver . . . Leo . . . get up here!”

  Oliver’s name came over the loudspeaker. Freddie had finished a song and was calling him and Leo onstage. Oliver froze, his heart racing. Leo rushed over and pulled him.

  Onstage in the spotlight, Freddie introduced the boys to the crowd and spoke of their trip. The fans roared and cheered and agreed to treat them like royalty. Freddie then brushed them off with a wink and the boys descended back onto the beach.

  As they stepped down, Oliver could feel a pair of eyes engulfing his every step. Isabella was staring at him. She and her friends had edged their way to the stage and were only a few paces away. On the sand, Oliver hesitated, but not for long. He purposely moved past her before he heard her voice.

  “Oliver?”

  His ears were ringing. She recognized him. He bucked the flow of the crowd and moved towards her. On the surface, he was relaxed, but inside, he rattled with the restlessness of a caged tiger.

  “Is it really you?” She advanced towards him.

  Neither Oliver nor Isabella could keep their eyes off the other. Isabella’s voice turned defensive as she asked what they both were thinking. “What happened? Why did you never call?”

  After Oliver explained himself, he asked her the same.

  “I waited for your call, and it never came. I thought you didn’t want to talk to me. It broke my heart.” Then the moment shifted. Isabella gave Oliver a smile, turned, and headed deeper into the crowd.

  His dial turned to ten. Their connection resurged. His heartbeat raced as he followed her into the mass.

  They bounced in cadence as they maneuvered through the sea of bodies. In the wattage they danced, and Oliver took in a brilliant feeling, like when you know you’re coming to a turning point in life.

  As the show continued, Oliver was so immersed in the moment that he considered doing what he had been wanting to do for a long, long time—pour his eyes into hers and kiss her. So, he imagined what would happen if he did—what would pan out if he took this break.

  Before he did, a fearful thought came: What if she jerks back? She might giggle at his sincerity, and pull away with a smile and a wagging finger. She would tease him, and Oliver would go crazy, because the tease harps on an instinctual desire: We always want what we can’t have.

  So, electively, Oliver let the moment pass. He danced and entangled himself with Isabella, and the heat of their bodies acclimated as the music pulsed and their hips locked. Their rhythms were the same, and each chord in the beat elevated and merged them.

  Isabella reached her arm around the back of Oliver’s neck, shifted towards him and soaked in
his eyes. She once again found him addictive and appealing. She found him refreshing and genuine, and all her old feelings started to come backcome back . . . and this terrified her.

  She released him and suddenly turned away and dotted her path out of the crowd.

  Hypothermia swept through Oliver. His throat contracted. He raced after her, following Isabella’s ebbing path. With every second, her route faded as the people bobbed and weaved with the music. Oliver pushed forward, half-guessing his way towards the edge of the crowd. On the fringe, he stopped. A glimmer came. Sapphire. A deep-blue rose Isabella was exiting the concert, alone. Oliver leapt and caught up with her outside the fence. “Isabella! What happened? Why are you leaving?”

  There was trepidation in her eyes. She didn’t say anything. But Oliver understood what signaled her alarm. He felt it too. It was a longing to be connected as strongly as possible. It was something he never thought he could feel. Something intoxicating.

  There are things that you only get to do once in your life. There are moments that define who we are and capture the grand design of our souls. This is one of them—the first time you kiss the person you love.

  Neither let go as a hypnotic pull brought them together. Their pulses were galloping, and in an adrenalized move, a catalyzed action, Oliver placed his lips against hers, and kissed her deeply.

  When the cover lights came on and the concert ended, Isabella gave Oliver a coquettish smile, locked her fingers in his, and dragged him along to find her friends. He observed his fellow males, their faces full of jealousy as he marched along. He loved every step of it. How he devoured every stare.

  When Isabella found her friends, everything had fallen into place. Leo was with one of them. Aisha was a languorous blond with cornflower blue eyes and fluttering lashes. She was in a pale orange sundress, which did her no harm, and she had the level of appeal that sprinkles into your mind long after you’ve left her side.

  When the boys saw each other, they smiled, and Oliver nudged Leo, “Remember that girl I told you about?”