Table of Contents
Copyright
Other Books
Carpe Tempus
Note from the Author
About the Author
Carpe Tempus
Daniel Adorno
Original cover photo by JD Hancock
CC BY 2.0
Copyright © 2014 by Daniel A. Adorno
Lost Coin Press
534 Tamarack Trail
Farmington, MN 55024
danieladorno.com
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CARPE TEMPUS
Daniel Adorno
Carpe Tempus
Sorting through boxes of Granddad's old junk was not the way Clayton wanted to spend his Sunday afternoon. Mom kept on pestering him to help her organize everything for an estate sale. On more than one occasion, she happily interrupted an episode of Doctor Who to lay on the guilt for his laziness and apathy towards the whole thing. So now he stood baking in the sweltering heat of their garage, picking through useless crap.
Granddad passed away three weeks ago and Clayton knew Mom hadn't taken it well at all. She was crabby all the time and worked late on the weekdays. And tomorrow she was taking off for a week-long business trip—a rare occurrence for a woman who hated being away from her only son for too long. Clayton was ecstatic she was leaving though. Now he could finally read the stack of comic books in his room without interruption. Escaping into fantasy worlds was the best way to numb the pain of being constantly bullied. He was shorter than most teenage boys his age with a paunch that bulged through all of his Star Wars t-shirts. His love of all things geeky made him an easy target for the moronic jocks who attended Gladeway High. Blaine Jansen was the ringleader of the jocks at his school and the idiot responsible for creating the moniker, "Clayface," when referring to Clayton.
He walked toward a pile of boxes next to their washer, imagining the top box was Blaine’s face as he punched it open. Inside there were coils, wires, and circuit boards of every shape and size. Granddad was an engineer and an amateur inventor, so he kept parts and trinkets for his myriad of projects. Clayton dug through all the parts, setting them aside to confirm no valuables lay inside. He pulled a thick power cord out and glimpsed something shiny underneath. His hands grasped a glittery jewelry box about the size of a smartphone, but much thicker.
"Bingo," Clayton whispered. Maybe Granddad had hidden away some gold he could pawn off for a new video game. Clayton unclasped the golden lock on the front of the box and pushed back the lid. A tiny ballerina popped up inside and began twirling in front of a small mirror. His brown, dull eyes stared back at him as a tinny melody played. The inside of the jewelry box was lined with red felt and multiple compartments. A frown formed on his face when he realized the tiny compartments only held bobby pins and lint. He dropped the small box on the concrete floor and heard the clink of something metal hit the floor.
The box was lying on its side and the compartments were askew. Clayton picked up the box, realizing the small compartments formed a divider which was removable. He lifted the divider and found a secret compartment underneath. A pristine silver watch with a black leather wristband sat inside the compartment. Mom once told Clayton her dad had operated a successful clock making business. Fugate Clocks was the name. The watch face bore a small inscription just above the 6: Carpe Tempus. The inscription reminded Clayton of the last thing Granddad had said to him before he died.
"If you only remember one thing I ever tell you, Clayton, it's this: don't let time slip by and don't think you can control it. I did once, but never again. Carpe tempus, son," Granddad had said, waving a finger at him.
"Do you mean Carpe Diem? 'Seize the day'?" Clayton had asked.
"No. Carpe Tempus," he repeated. "It means, 'seize time.'"
A week later, Mom got a call from Granddad's neighbor. The old man was found in the backyard sprawled out on a lawn chair. Despite the devastation of losing her father, Mom said she was glad he died peacefully in his own home rather than a hospital or nursing home. But that wasn't comforting to Clayton.
The news of Granddad's death brought on a surge of guilt. He could have paid his grandfather more attention or visited more often. Their house was only six blocks away from Granddad's and Clayton hadn't paid a visit since he was twelve. Immersing himself in episodes of Doctor Who and playing video games non-stop after the funeral helped Clayton bury the grief and guilt. But now as he held Granddad's watch with the peculiar phrase inscribed on it, the guilt hit him afresh.
The roar of a familiar engine disturbed his thoughts. Blaine. A black Pontiac GTO pulled into his driveway and Gladeway High’s star athlete walked out, a basketball tucked under his right arm.
“Clayface, what up, man?” Blaine said. “Me and Tommy were wondering if you wanted to play some ball.”
Blaine’s lackey, Tommy Thomas, sat in the passenger’s seat, grinning like an idiot.
“Leave me alone, Blaine,” Clayton said.
“Ooh, aren’t you tough? What’s that on your nose?”
“What—“
Blaine threw the basketball, smacking Clayton’s nose hard. Searing pain spread throughout his face and a trickle of blood poured down his nostril. He clutched his nose and pinched it to stop the blood flow.
“Gotta think fast, Clayface!” Blaine laughed, retrieving the ball from the ground.
The door leading to the house opened and Mom stepped into the garage. “Clay, are you finished with the boxes yet?”
“Hi, Mrs. Burroughs,” Blaine said.
“Hello, Blaine. Hi, Tommy. Did you boys come to pay Clay a visit?”
“Yes, we did.” Blaine placed his arm around Clayton and spun him around to face his mother.
“Clayton, what happened to your face?”
Clayton drew in a breath and felt Blaine’s fingers dig into his shoulder. “I…hit my face accidentally.”
“You can be so clumsy sometimes, Clay,” Mom said, shaking her head.
Clayton heard Tommy snicker in the car behind him.
“Well, gotta run. See you at school, Clay!” Blaine said. He slapped Clayton on the back before getting into his car.
The two jocks backed out the driveway and sped off laughing.
“Here, honey, use this,” Mom said, pushing a rag onto his bloodied face. “What do you have there?”
"Uh, I think I found one of Granddad's watches,” he said. Clayton held out the wristwatch.
"Oh yeah, that's one of Dad's watches," she said. Mom inspected the watch while she applied pressure to Clayton’s nose. "You know, I think this is the same type of watch your Granddad gave to your father.”
&nbs
p; Her face completely changed at the mention of Dad. She hadn't talked about him for years. Clay barely remembered when he left them. He was four years old? Or maybe five? He wasn't sure and he didn't care. One day Dad decided to leave without saying a word. He left for work and never came back. According to Mom, they had a happy marriage and nothing was amiss. She was certain something terrible happened to him. Clayton caught her once checking the FBI website for updates on kidnappings and missing persons.
"I think you should keep this watch, Clayton...your Granddad would want you to have it," Mom said, releasing her grip on his nose and tossing aside the blood-stained rag.
He placed the watch on his left wrist and buckled the strap. "How's it look?" He asked, waving it in front of her.
"Very nice," Mom replied. A smile worked across her lips before her brows furrowed. "Oh, it looks like the band is loose, Clay." She pointed to the little spring bar connecting the leather band to the watch itself. One side of the bar was unattached. Clayton fiddled with the tiny spring, slowly managing to reattach it. When he flexed his wrist to make sure the watch was secure, the spring popped out again.
"Stupid watch," Clayton said. He popped the spring back in and tugged the band to make sure it was secured.
"It just needs a new band--it'll be fine. Now finish up here, dinner is almost ready.”
Time crawled
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