They’re All Just Memories ( A True Story)

The most interesting thing I found in the old house was a clock. A mahogany grandfather clock standing in the corner caught my eye when I discovered the long-forgotten attic. There was a film of dust blanketing the outer layer of the wooden clock. The dust slowly rolled to the floor as my fingers ran past sooty surface. I could see that the hands of the clock were moving, ticking by at each second as time flew. How long had this been here? Continuing to examine this peculiar antique, my fingers ran across a set of carvings within the aged wood. It was just on the rim around the glass face of the clock. Brushing away the dust that had built up over what looked like decades, it revealed intricate carvings set within the red wood. Faded gold paint glinted slightly as I blew away the last piece of soot concealing it. I had spent some time looking at the intricate carvings. My mind was blank. What was this meant to mean? Tracing my index finger through the carving, I slowly deciphered an ‘S’ and a ‘J’. I stood there in front of the clock, pondering about the meaning of this before something else captured my attention- a framed photograph sitting on the shelf above the grandfather clock. Carefully taking the photo with both hands, I looked at it.

An old man.

He was captured in the picture stroking his long, silver beard and looking out the window. There was a clock standing behind the man. He looked familiar. Suddenly, I felt like a light was switched on. The man in the photograph was my grandfather! The two letters carved into the clock was his signature. The clock was his. I held the photograph close to my chest.

Fond, yet antiquated memories resurfaced, projecting into my mind. I saw seated on the bench in a park. Alabaster snow that carpeted the ground, each breath was a milky mist. Grandpa was seated next to me, sipping coffee from a faded blue thermos. We gazed into the distance; silvery trees surrounded the frozen lake. It looked like an orchestra. Then, I remembered exploring this very house a long time ago, he’d summon me downstairs for dinner, always greeting me with a warm smile. Those times were long gone now.

I gazed nostalgically at the grandfather clock; tears brimmed up in my eyes. Gently placing the picture back on the shelf, I stepped back and bowed at the clock. As I looked up once again, it was like seeing his face again, I watched the subtle movements the hand each second. These precious memories were preserved within time. I sighed and looked out the attic window, with each soft tick of the clock, time flew by.

I had grown up.