From time to time . . .

It was third grade when my mother handed me an old watch with brown leather straps. The rounded white backdrop had been yellowed with age, and the dial shook a bit inside the cage of glass. 

"It belonged to your grandfather," she said, "and he wanted you to have it."

Strange item to bequeath to a girl, but after she gave it to me, I strapped the watch onto my small wrist and wore it everywhere. School, recess, grocery store trips with Mother, walks and bike rides around our small town. Nights while watching TV, I'd hold the face to the glowing screen as a means of reflection--both my face and the television would merge with a swirl of Victorian numbers. 

Grandfather grew up in Vinita, OK. amid stories of the Younger Brothers a hint of Dodge City, which wasn't too far away. He was co-editor of the high school newspaper, played on the football team, and made money rounding up horses in town. Yes, horses. That's why when WWI started, he was sent to the cavalry. To France he went, and there managed the horses and injured soldiers along the field. He even stayed for a while after the war to round up attractive French girls and had memorized specific phrases to lure them. Even better if they had wine and smokes. Doesn't seem he was too keen on going back to Vinita because apparently, he and his father--a heavy-drinking travelling sign painter--did not get along. 

So, he hopped a train to Kansas City and worked in law.

There's one story I love and it's when young Cyril wrote to the Trump of Kansas City--Tom Pendergast--for a tax job at the state capital. Lucky for him he was refused, because a few years on tax fraud send Pendergast to jail. But that's not to say Grandfather didn't benefit from TP's under-the-table generosity. It was the Great Depression, and not only was Grandfather aided in securing a foreclosed home but was also helped financially from time-to-time (from what I've heard) so that he, his wife and four girls could stay housed when many others found themselves out in the streets. I don't judge him for taking help, and especially knowing that not everything was perfect and beautiful. Ramona, their middle child, died of the flu and left the family in a season of grief.

Grandfather would stand rigid at the fireplace every evening and stare at her picture on the mantel. 

Cyril went on to become a judge in KC, such a stark difference to the place he came and the path he'd travelled. My thoughts of him are of a tall, sharp-tongued man who always wore a fedora. I remember him driving us down a gravel road in his old Pontiac before he died; the windows open so that hot air blew in, and every other word he said was sh*t, d*mn or h*ll.

We went to a funeral home one dark evening in Kansas City and my pale freckled face with wide eyes merged into glass at his still frame. All I could think was, when would he open his eyes? I thought he was sleeping. The man I knew had been so animated and lively. Someone gave me a piece of gum and it took my thoughts to a happier, more settled place. 

His watch, a strange treasure for a child, ticked like a heartbeat when I held it to my ear. That is, until I wound the dial too tight and something cracked inside. Truly, I felt sick. I was up in Mother's bedroom sitting on her queen-sized bed while she sat downstairs watching the nightly news, and it broke. 

Knowing I'd ruined the one thing left of Grandfather broke me, and I cried. The next day, the watch was hidden in a box and put away so never again would I have to think about what I'd done. 

Sometimes I wish Mother hadn't given it to me, or that Grandfather hadn't left it to me. Perhaps it would still be around and running. But like time, it faded into the unknown. Looking back, it was a moment captured like a Kodak picture. The sound, the feel, the detail--those stay with you forever. Every day that passes is a yesterday. We have many of them--and not all remain so clear.