Fob Watch

Part I

“Four, four, four, do I hear 400?” the auctioneer’s voice boomed, even though he was more than 500 feet away, he sounded as if he were standing right beside me.

I laid there on the dirt floor of the old run-down barn, staring vacantly at the roof. I flipped my dad’s fob watch open and shut rhythmically, the sun light breaking through the gaps in the roof flickered off the glass face, throwing light in all directions.

It was the only thing I had left of my dad. Through the window of the barn, I could see the side of the hill where my dad had died. The tractor that had rolled over him was still laying there on its side like a stranded bug.

I have replayed that moment in my head, over and over, like a movie on a slow-motion loop. I’m standing on the front porch of the house with my mom joking and laughing with her. We’re watching my dad maneuver the tractor around a big boulder trying to dislodge it when the ground gives way causing a landslide. The boulder and mud take my father and the tractor with it. In one fell swoop my father is falling from the tractor, and it is tumbling over him.

Mom and I sprinted up the side of the hill as fast as we could. It seemed to take forever. It wouldn’t have mattered how fast we made it up that hill, dad was already gone. I remember his face looking both strangely contorted yet at peace. His eyes wide open. I remember how mom gently closed his eyes and hugged for an eternity while I just stood there looking, not knowing what to do.

That was nearly a year ago now. Mom had worked hard at keeping the farm going but she had trouble getting workers let alone good ones. They were either lazy or dishonest and often both. It broke my heart to see the level of disrespect and contempt these farmhands treated my mom with. I would get angry at myself for not protecting her more, but I was only a boy of 12 trying my hardest to be a man. The farmhands never treated my dad that way.

Gradually, the work became too much for mom and me alone and the physical and financial strain eventually broke us. We had to sell the farm. It had been hard watching all of mom and dad’s hard work slowly going down the drain, but it was harder watching the vultures scavenge and pick over their possession taking advantage of an unfortunate situation just to make a small profit. In fact, it was downright revolting.

Through the barn doors, I could see the auctioneer waving his gavel around, sweat flying off him with every swing. It was a hot summer’s day, but I shivered. In the foreground, I could see mom walking towards me.

“Are you OK?” asked mom as she walked into the barn.

“Yeah”, I glanced in her direction while continuing to flip the fob watch open and shut. “Do we have to stay and watch the vultures feast?” I looked back at the dilapidated roof.

My mom sat next to me and took my other hand. “You know me Daniel, when I do something, I have to finish it and that means staying here until it’s over, no matter how painful.”

“I know.” I stopped flipping the watch for a second. “I just wish we had found dad’s hidden rainy-day tin.”

Mom brushed my hair out of my eyes, “sweetheart you know that tin never existed. It was just a story your dad would tell us to help us feel financially secure. We were only ever just making ends meet, we had no money left for a rainy-day fund.” Mom made the inverted commas sign with her fingers as she said the last part of her sentence. It irked me when she did that.

I didn’t want to believe my mom but after nearly 12 months of turning the entire farm upside down looking for that damn tin box, it was pretty clear there wasn’t one.

I tried to answer my mom, but it only managed to escape out of my mouth as a sigh.

“Don’t give up Danny boy. It ain’t over until the fat lady sings.” I could hear my dad’s words of encouragement in my head.

I continued to flip my dad’s fob watch hoping for an answer to fall out of the sky. I was going to be the first generation after a long dynasty of four generations to not inherit and work the family farm. It broke my heart.

Snap, I opened the watch. I followed the small circle of light projecting off the watch face with my eyes.

“Going”.

Snap, I closed the watch. I stared at the dilapidated roof.

“Going”.

Snap, I opened the watch and followed the light again.

“Gone”, the auctioneer smacked his gavel down. I pictured the vultures being covered in the splatters of sweat flying enthusiastically off the auctioneer through the air. Mom was still brushing my hair gently with her hand even though it was no longer in my eyes.

Snap, I closed the watch and looked at my mom.

“If you’ve purchased something today, please go pay the lady.” I could hear the auctioneer bellowing outside.

Snap, I opened the watch.

“Well, that’s, that” I said struggling to my feet. As I flayed my arms around trying to catch my balance the light reflecting from the watch face glinted off something shiny in the rafters of the barn roof and caught my eye.

I froze staring at the roof. Mom had started walking towards our bags sitting by the barn door.

“Are you coming?” She asked as she looked backwards over her shoulder.

“Can you see that?” I pointed to the shiny object.

“See what?” Mom turned around.

“In the rafters.” I pointed. Mom’s eyes followed. “It’s a tin box.” I started looking around the barn for something to help me climb up to it. I dragged some old wooden fruit crates over, stacked them and started climbing on top of them.

“Danny, be careful.” Mom was trying to hold the wobbling crates I was standing on. “I don’t want to lose you too.”

“It’s OK mom, I’m not going to fall.” I grabbed the tin box from the rafter. It was a tobacco tin, the kind my father used to smoke. I clambered back down the rickety makeshift ladder with mom fussing behind me trying to stop me from falling.

I smelled the tin box, even with the lid on I could smell my dad’s tobacco. The scent brought back fond memories of my dad and I sitting on our front porch of an evening. Him stuffing tobacco into his pipe me trying to whittle a stick into a hunting spear.

Slowly, I opened the tin. It was full of several tightly rolled wads of 100-dollar bills. Mom was bouncing around behind me trying to see over my shoulder into the tin.

“Is it enough to stop the sale of the farm?” she asked between jumps.

“Easily, more than.” I replied, closing the lid and handing the tin to her.

Mom stood there staring at the tin for the longest time, her thumb rubbing back and forth as if she were holding my dad’s hand. Then she looked up at me. Her eyes were watery. She didn’t have to say anything, I could see it in her eyes and deep down I knew she was right.

I picked up my suitcase and started walking down the driveway towards the main road. Mom grabbed her bag and jogged after me. I put dad’s fob watch in my pocket, grabbed mom’s bag and slung it over my shoulder. I turned my head and looked at the barn shrinking away behind us. I looked at my mom and took her hand, fixed my gaze forward and together we continued down the road.

Continue to Part II