Live Forever

You wake up on the floor, your hand in a bowl full of hardening nacho cheese. You make a disgusted face and pull it out, wiping your hand on the floor. Your mom will yell at you for that one later when she cleans your room.

You get up and jump in the shower, tossing your spaceship pajamas on the floor next to your other dirty clothes. Your dad always tells you to take them to the laundry room right after each shower, but honestly, you think making daily walks down to the scary basement isn't worth it.

When you get ready in your play clothes, you leave your room and sneak downstairs. You see that nobody is up yet, and your older sister hasn't returned from her sleepover either. Your parents said she got to go out more than you because socializing helped her feel better after your grandpa's death. You didn't get why it meants she could stay out much later than you did, but like always, you assumed it was the age difference. You sometimes also assumed it was because she was the favorite, and you were just their troublemaking kid who made messes in the play room. After all, they have gone through six microwaves since your birth.

You take a drinkable yogurt and a banana from the kitchen, put on your backpack and quietly leave the house. You eat the banana as you walk down the street and make your way through town. You don't see that many people, just older couples sitting out on their porch. You think that everyone is going to die out soon. Everyone has been dying too soon. You think you might be next

You reach main street and throw away the banana in a trashcan. You walk through the stores, a lot of them barely opening. Some people sweeping outside their stores smile at you, others stare curiously and possibly wonder what you could be carrying in the backpack of yours.

When you reach your destination, you stand in front of it and drink your yogurt. It would open in a few minutes. You check your watch continuously. Your dad asked that you didn't wear it until you grow older because it fit big. He didn't want you to lose your grandfather's watch, that was it. But, not really caring much for your father, you put it on everyday. It's summer, you told him, I won't lose it in the house.

You watch almost every passing second on the watch, the little hand moving faster and faster. Then the door opens, and the old man at the door smiles at you.

"Hello again," he says before walking inside. You chug the rest of your yogurt and throw it away before opening the door and going inside the antique shop.

"Hi, Mr. Doyle," you say, walking behind the old man who is going through his shop with a clipboard. "Did you get any new watches?"

"Same ones as yesterday," he says, not looking at you. "Do your parents know how many watches you've got on you?"

"Just the one on my wrist, Mr. Doyle," you hold up your wrist, the big watch sliding down your skinny arm. Mr. Doyle sees that and chuckles before walking away. You follow behind him like a little duck and say, "Mr. Doyle. I just need one that looks like this one."

"You've boughten eleven watches, kid," Mr. Doyle yawns. He's heard this conversation almost everyday for four months. "Shouldn't you be saving that money for college or something?"

"I'll get scholarships, Mr. Doyle, " you brush him off. "My grandpa wouldn't mind me spending the money like this anyways."

"Why do you keep buying watches if they don't match that one?" he asks you. He's never asked that before, and it excites you.

"Because, Mr. Doyle. They're the same brand as this one. The Muitton Crossbow brand is never going to die. If I get the other watch that looks like this one or even looks the same, I'll never die." Mr. Doyle stops in his tracks and looks at you with the face your parents always give you. Adults never know whether to be amused or concerned.

"Well," he says, patting you once on the head, "good luck, kiddo. They only made two of those watches. Whoever has the other one, won't want to let it go." You thank him and leave the store.

You come back the next day and buy a new watch. You leave again. You go the next day again and talk to him for a while. You tell him your grandpa was born and raised in that town and that if both the watches were united, the owner or owners would live forever. You knew Mr. Doyle didn't belive you, but your grandpa wouldn't lie to you. You were his favorite.

You go everyday for a week and then you skip three days because you're grounded. You put one of the watches in the microwave out of curiosity. Seven microwaves.

You go back for two weeks straight and get three more watches in that time. Mr Doyle asks if you really want to live forever and you say of course! But when you go home, you see pictures of your family from years ago. You'd have to see all of them die. Seeing grandpa die hurt. You'd have to hurt for the rest of your life. Does everyone hurt for their rest of their life?

Then you stop going. School starts, and it's very hard being in the fourth grade. Then Mr. Doyle dies. Heart attack the adults say. That's what they always say.

You go to the funeral and you leave him some lillies. He always had those in his shop. His shop was ran by his daughter now, who you saw a couple of times. She was crying a lot. She only had him left. She had no kids, no husband. You thought it was quite sad.

Mr. Doyle's death didn't settle in with you even after the funeral. You wanted to get him back, but you knew you couldn't. You wish you would've found the other watch so he wouldn't have died until he was ready. You would've let him borrow yours for as long as he wanted.

Someone goes to your house the same day, and you run upstairs to hide. You lay out all your watches in a circle now, and you watch them all tick at the exact same time. You feel dizzy. There's a knock at your door, and you reach over to a dirty shirt next to you to cover the watches up.

"Mom and dad said to come downstairs," your sister says. "Frida Doyle is here." You simply nod at her, and she walks away. You hear her lock herself up in her room again. You get up and go downstairs and see Frida and your parents in the living room together. When Frida sees you, she stands up and smiles at you. She has a watch box in her hands, stretched out to you. Without saying anything, you take it. "Dad left this for you. He liked your daily visits."

"Daily?" your mom whispers to your dad in the background.

"Oh," you look down at the box, heart hurting. You can't tell her to thank him for you. "Thank you for bringing it."

"Of course," Frida tells you. She pats your head and takes off after saying some words to your parents. Meanwhile, you don't take your eyes off the Muitton Crossbow box. You already know what's inside, and you feel guilty. You start to cry, and your parents run over to you to hug you. They haven't done that in a while, but you let the weird feeling settle in.

"He's so happy you have the watch now," your mom coos.

"You can wear one on each wrist now," your dad says. "There's no need to cry."

"There is a need to cry," you start to sob, your nose getting extremely runny and out of control. "Now I have to live forever."