Twirling Hands

A lovely woman in a full blush-colored dress held the hand of a dashing man in black. He wore a suit with a long coat tail and had combed dark hair. She held her free hand daintily at her side. She twirled around while connected to the man. The two danced to gentle twinkling music. She tapped her toes carefully on the floor, trying to keep up with her leader. She looked at the man with her glassy blue eyes and red-painted smile. As they were dancing a giant hand shadowed over them. Its massive pale fingers closed the lid to their tarnished music box. They disappeared beneath the lid, and once again waited for someone to reopen their cage. The music box tinkled softly until eventually, it went silent. The giant hand belonged to a young woman named Lydia. From underneath the baggy sleeve of her sweater, Lydia held a brown feather duster that she carefully used to remove the thick layer of dust off the top of the gold box. She had a large task ahead of her. She was asked to dust every trinket and treasure at Priscilla’s Timeless Antique Mall. Lydia smoothed back her dark curly hair behind her ears and got busy dusting. She had to be careful not to be caught “lollygagging” instead of working. Lollygagging was Priscilla’s favorite word. Pricilla would have been displeased by how long Lydia had watched the little porcelain couple dance, but Lydia could not help it. Their dance was entrancing. Even more entrancing were the words etched on the inside of the lid. “Time Heals All Wounds.” The phrase was a strange backdrop for two lovers to dance by.

“Lydia quit that lollygagging!” Priscilla scolded, wiggling her wrinkly finger.

“Sorry, I am just so fascinated by this old music box. I feel like if I cleaned the music box’s keys and tightened a few gears, the little dancers would spin more smoothly. I love this box. It’s such a curious little thing.”

“If you don’t finish dusting your job will become a curious thing. Now I mean it, quit lollygagging!” Priscilla’s bobbing head looked like a Q-tip that had a ruffled tip. She was also as skinny as a Q-tip. She wore rectangular glasses that were connected to a beaded spectacle chain. She often wore old turtlenecks tucked into jeans that reached the bottom of her saggy breasts.

“Lollygagging is a curious word,” Lydia said, “Where did it come from? What does it truly mean? Did the creator of the word get choked on a lollipop, and if so, how does that relate to dawdling around? I think a girl could spend a whole day thinking about the word lollygagging.”

“Oh, good grief,” Pricilla said, waving her hand in exasperation. Pricilla walked back to the register to check out an older man who was buying a stack of vinyl records. How could Lydia not lollygag a little? There were so many lovely things to admire. So many mysterious objects to study and to imagine their history. So many things she could fix or make better if only she were able to study them long enough. As Lydia strolled across the large antique store, she carefully ran her duster across each magnificent curiosity. There were so many wonders to wonder about. She walked over to a large, faded globe. She dreamed of sailing across its dark blue seas with someone special. She ran her finger across the mountains and valleys thinking of the wonderful people she could meet on her journeys. She tried spinning the globe only to find that it squeaked and stopped mid-spin. Perhaps she could stop its squeaking by adding oil to the globe’s stand. She stopped studying the globe when she realized a confused old man had been watching her. She grew embarrassed and pretended to be busy dusting. As she pretended, she moved on to her next wonder. She walked over to an old piano. She slid her hands across the dusty keys. The keys looked worn, and some of them were chipped. She could tell that the piano had been played and loved for many years. She looked around her, making sure she was unseen. She sat down on the chipped piano bench and pretended to play. She closed her eyes and imagined she was a mother playing happy tunes. She imagined little children and a handsome husband dancing around the piano, their excited steps making the rickety wood floor sing and shout. Her eyes popped open to the sound of three shrieking keys she mistakenly pressed. She cleared her throat and stood up from the bench. As she pretended to dust and search for her next wonder, she wondered if she could learn how to tune the piano. It sounded a bit out of key. She sauntered on to the next booth and found herself drawn to an old stereoscope. She adored little old devices such as it. The stereoscope sat beside a box of old slides. The slides contained black and white prints of landscapes. Each slide had two copies of the same print side by side. When placed in front of the viewfinder of the stereoscope the two pictures became one and gave the illusion of depth. She placed her favorite slide in the device. It was a view of the ocean, with the silhouette of a couple sitting on the sand. She looked at it dreamily imagining what he and she were talking about. She noticed one issue. The pictures were not merging. She wondered if the glass of the stereoscope had somehow shifted. She took out the slide to find the issue, thinking perhaps she could fix it.

As she was peering through the stereoscope, she noticed a magnified young man holding a box. Through the dusty glass, she could see him speaking to Priscilla at the register. Lydia slowly lowered the stereoscope and once again pretended to dust. As she distractedly dusted the air, she watched the young man from the corner of her eye. He looked to be about her age, which was strange. Not many young people came into the store. He was holding a large box of old trinkets and decorations. Lydia assumed that he was going to open a booth in the store or add items to an existing booth. Priscilla’s antique mall was full of booths that people would rent to sell their antiques. Priscilla made money from the rented booths, and the booth owners made money from the items they priced. There were many booths scattered around the large two-story shop. Lydia noticed a charming little clock peeking out of the young man’s box. Clocks were often one of the more expensive items in the mall. A working antique clock was often worth hundreds of dollars. Lydia felt a bit sad for the clocks in the store. They often went untouched because of how expensive they were. Each hour hundreds of clocks would chime and cry, begging for someone to move them from their dusty shelves. Lydia knew it was hard for them to go unnoticed. They were little busybodies, and all they desired was for someone to acknowledge their rapid movement. They never stopped, unless of course they were broken. Luckily, Lydia loved fixing things. Because she was curious about how they worked, she quickly learned how to fix them. She would often repair the broken clocks that came into the store. She loved to watch their once-still hands move again. She liked to watch their time progress. She could have spent the whole day watching the clock’s hands spin round and round and round.

“Lydia!” Pricilla barked, “Quit that lollygagging and come help this fella with his stuff.” Lydia nodded and walked up to the counter. She looked up at the young man and smiled. He was quite tall. His tan face was stern and had little expression. He had dark hair that was neatly combed and clothes that were clean and pressed. His lips were tight, making it obvious they fought to stay closed. He looked down at her past his long and pointed nose. His dark eyelids rested lazily over his light blue eyes.

“Take him to booth F4 and help him unpack his box,” Pricilla said. Lydia nodded and waved for the young man to follow her. Lydia led the young man down narrow walkways and past crammed booths full of jewelry, old toys, chipped dishes, and other used things.

“My name is Lydia, what is your name?” she asked.

“Harrison,” he said shortly. His voice was deep and monotone.

“I like that name. I wonder who created that name. I wonder if the first man named Harrison had a father named Harry, you know, like the son of Harry? Or perhaps he was a hairy baby. Imagine a baby covered in hair, that would be strange,” Lydia laughed. Harrison offered a short and fake laugh.

“I was named after my great-grandmother. Many people hate their names, but I adore mine. Old names are so mysterious and fascinating. It makes me wonder who else in the world has had my name. I wonder if all Lydia’s have something in common, and I wonder if a name could carry that kind of weight. Names are such a curious thing, don’t you think?”

“Hm? Oh yes, I suppose. This booth is quite far,” Harrison said. They had walked almost completely to the back of the store. The walk felt especially long for someone who was holding a heavy box. Harrison’s knuckles had turned white from trying hard to grip the large and awkward load. Lydia stopped quickly.

“Oh, dear! I got lost while thinking about the beauty of names. Your booth is upstairs.” Harrison closed his eyes and took a deep breath. After Lydia rambled on about stairs and who could have possibly invented them, they finally made it to his booth. Harrison quickly placed the heavy box down.

“Now, I haven’t all day to unpack this box,” he said, already pulling objects out, “I need to get back to my dorm and study.”

“Of course,” Lydia said with a smile. She picked up the little clock that had once been at the top of the box and studied it. It was an antique Gilbert shelf clock. It had a dark wood body with gold details painted on it. Its face was gold and it had black hands. The glass that protected the hands was slightly cracked. Lydia could tell right away that it was broken.

“Where did you find all these lovely items, anyways?”

“They were my grandmothers,” he said shortly.

“Did she not want them anymore?”

“She passed away.”

“I’m so sorry,” Lydia said softly. Harrison lowered his eyebrows.

“I’m not upset. It is a part of life. I don’t get sentimental about silly things like clocks,” he said, looking down at the one in her hands.

“Why didn’t you want to keep these beautiful things?” Lydia asked

“Beautiful?” Harrison asked with a chuckle, “They are outdated decorations. They would likely do better in the trash.”

“I’ve never understood people like you,” Lydia said, “I would do anything to be able to have some of my family’s old treasures. Items like this are invaluable gems. It is a way that you can be connected to the people you have lost. It’s wonderful to think that your grandmother once touched and loved these very items.”

“Stop that,” Harrison said waving his hand at her, “Why are you trying to make me feel guilty? Isn’t it your job to sell old things?”

“I’d rather look at myself as a rescuer of precious relics.”

“Or a hoarder,” he said, placing dishes from the box on a shelf.

“Well you are delightful to be around,” Lydia said.

“Just help me unpack this box so I can leave,” he said. Lydia looked down into the box and gasped.

“What?” Harrison asked, annoyed.

“I knew you were disagreeable, but I didn’t know you were that kind of person.” Lydia pulled out a stack of black and white photos. Lydia looked at him with a scowl. “You mean to tell me that you would give away this whole stack of magical portals to the past?”

“For the love of God,” Harrison said.

“No, I’m serious. There is nothing in the world more precious than old photographs. I would die to have old pictures of my family and you are going to just throw them away. It’s like you are abandoning your family!”

“They are nothing but old pieces of yellowed paper that take up room.”

“You’re a monster!” Lydia said through her teeth.

“If I let you have them will you be quiet and help me?” Harrison asked. Lydia thought for a moment and nodded. She leaned up against the booth and looked through the stack of old photos. The first picture was of a beautiful woman sitting on a stone wall. The wall was surrounded by thick trees and foliage. She was looking straight at the camera, her light eyes shining. She had short curly hair that was in victory rolls. She wore a lovely light shirt and a matching skirt. Her pantyhose-covered legs were crossed and she was clutching one of her feet. Her heels sat beside her on the stone wall, as well as a white pillbox hat. Lydia flipped over the photo and saw something written on it. The swirly handwriting said, “Riverside at 132nd near the church. My poor feet!”

“Was this your grandmother?” Lydia asked, showing Harrison the picture. He looked over his shoulder and nodded.

“She was lovely,” she said. Harrison did not respond and placed a teapot on the shelf. Lydia looked at the next photo. It was once again his grandmother. She had her hair clipped up and she was wearing cat-eyed glasses. She sat at a desk with her fingers placed on the keys of a typewriter. Lydia flipped the photo over. The handwriting on this photo was different and sloppier. It read, “Opal busy writing, as usual.”

“Was your grandmother a writer?”

“Yes, she enjoyed writing short little stories,” Harrison said, still busy.

“How wonderful. I also enjoy writing. I’m majoring in English now and I hope to one day write magnificent novels of daring adventures.” Harrison looked back at her and did something shocking. He smiled.

“Makes sense,” he said. He picked up an oil lamp and placed it towards the back of the booth. Lydia looked at the next picture, this time it was of a man. He was stern-looking, standing up straight in his clean uniform. It was clear he had fought in World War II. Lydia looked up at Harrison. He had the same features and demeanor as the man in uniform. Lydia turned the photo over and read “To Opal. From George.” Below the writing was a maroon lipstick stain.

“Was George your grandfather?” Lydia asked. Harrison frowned and nodded. “You look a lot like him,” she said.

“No, I don’t,” he said quickly. Lydia could tell he was offended.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She watched as Harrison’s dark brow lowered and his lips tightened even further. She wondered why they were so tight. Lydia walked up beside him and helped him place glass cups on the shelf. As she placed the cups, she studied him closely. Harrison noticed this and asked,

“What are you looking at?”

“Why don’t you want to look like George?” she asked.

“Pardon?”

“You clearly resemble him, but for some reason, you don’t like that. Why?”

“That is none of your business,” he said trying to avoid her eyes. Lydia looked past Harrison at the clock on the floor.

“How did the clock break?” she asked.

“Excuse me?”

“The clock,” Lydia said. “I can tell it’s broken. Someone tried to repair it but did not know how. The glass is even cracked a bit. It has been broken a long time, so why did your grandmother keep it? It must be special.” Harrison ignored her and pulled some old quilts out of the box. “Did you live with your grandparents growing up?” Lydia asked. Harrison dropped the blankets and clenched his eyes shut.

“Look, I know your type. You love to try to open people like me up so you can fix me, but you can’t. You remind me of one of those kids at the aquarium who tap on the glass, press their little noses up against the tank, and shout for the fish to come out of their hiding. You can keep tapping, but I am not coming out.”

“Alrighty then,” She said, with her hands in the air. She went back to her stack of photographs. She looked at another picture of George and Opal. Opal was wearing a white jacket, a matching skirt, and a short veil. George was wearing a black suit. Opal’s eyes looked strained.

“Yes,” Harrison mumbled. He was now folding the quilts he had dropped.

“What?” Lydia asked.

“Yes, I did grow up living with my grandparents,” he said.

“I didn’t grow up around a lot of my family,” Lydia said, “I have always been envious of people who are close to their grandparents. I see my grandmother once a year or so, but my grandpa died before I was born. I wish I could have known him.”

“You aren’t missing out,” Harrison said. Lydia set down the pictures and walked towards the box. She looked inside to see an old black typewriter under other dusty items. It was the same one from the picture. She dug her way down to the typewriter and pulled it out. She studied the device, noticing some of the keys were missing. She knew she could find a way to replace them if he would let her.

“Were you close to your grandmother?” Lydia asked, wiggling one of the loose typewriter’s keys.

“I don’t get close to people,” Harrison said, taking the typewriter out of her hands. He placed it up on a high shelf over his head.

“I love getting close to people!” Lydia said, “I love strong relationships and deep conversations. I love learning about people’s lives.” Harrison looked Lydia up and down and nodded.

“I was right. You are a tank tapper,” he said, “Just like my grandma was.”

“I think I would have gotten along with Opal,” Lydia said. Harrison was quiet. Lydia reached in and found an old pillbox hat. She placed the hat on her head and posed.

“I bet George swooned over Opal when she wore this hat,” Lydia said. Harrison looked at her and tried not to smile.

“My grandpa didn’t know how lucky he was,” he said.

“Why do you say that?” Lydia asked, slipping that hat off her head.

“There you again. Tap, tap, tap,” he said poking out his finger with each “tap.”

“Can I help that I am curious?” she asked, “All I do is dust this store and hope something exciting will happen. You are the most interesting thing that has happened in a long time. I feel like you are this great big treasure chest. You are cram-packed full of gold and gems, but you have got this pesky lock that I cannot seem to pick. It’s all rusted and broken, but I know I could open it if you would let me.”

“If you think I’m interesting, then you must truly be bored,” he said. He picked up an hourglass and a vase. Lydia looked at her photos once again. The next picture in the stack was a blurry image of George and Lydia dancing together. They looked happy.

“I sometimes wonder how my grandparents ever got together,” Harrison mumbled. “They were so different.”

“Different isn’t always bad, is it?” Lydia asked.

“I suppose not. I think it is bad when one person tries to change the other,” he said. Lydia looked back at the photo. George and Opal were smiling, but again Opal’s eyes looked strained. Lydia realized that the frozen moment of delight was exactly that. Only a glossy and colorless moment that concealed the rest of the story.

“George tried to change Opal,” Lydia said softly.

“She is like me, she didn’t want to be changed,” Harrison said. “At least she didn’t want to change the fundamental parts of who she was. My grandpa wanted her to be more practical and realistic, but her impractically was her most wonderful characteristic. She did not want to change, but more than that she wanted everyone to be happy. She was a peacemaker. Oh God, now I sound like a sap like you,” he said. Lydia looked closer at Opal in the picture and said,

“You know, I think you favor your grandmother more. I really do.”

“No one has ever said that,” Harrison said.

“You truly are alike. You both have dark hair, light eyes, and the desire to fix things,” she said looking down at the clock. Harrison noticed what she was looking at and frowned. He did not respond. He pulled a small jewelry box out, and as he tried to place it on the shelf, Lydia stopped him.

“Hold on,” Lydia said. She took the jewelry box out of his hands. It was small and wooden with several tiny drawers. She quickly pulled open a drawer and found a gold diamond ring.

“Harrison!” Lydia scolded.

“What?” he asked.

“You are going to sell your grandmother’s wedding ring?”

“I forgot it was in there,” he said, looking down at his feet.

“No, you didn’t,” she said, “You left it in here on purpose. Why would you get rid of something so valuable?” she asked. Harrison’s lips curled in tighter and his eyebrows lowered. “You have to keep this,” she said.

“Why should I? It would make me and your store a lot of money. I think you’re the worst sales clerk I have ever met,” he said. Lydia set down the box and walked up to Harrison. She grabbed his hand, which startled him. He tried to pull himself free, but Lydia would not let him. She opened his fingers and placed the ring inside his palm.

“Some things are worth keeping.”

“Not this,” Harrison said, dropping it back in Lydia’s hands. Lydia sighed and placed it back in the box. Lydia watched as Harrison took the objects out of the box more quickly.

“You have distracted me long enough. I want to unpack these stupid antiques and leave.” Lydia picked up the clock and looked at it more closely. It was one of the oldest models she had seen.

“Harrison, why is the clock still broken?” Lydia asked. Harrison stopped what he was doing and clenched his fists. He curled his lips in tight and closed his eyes. “Who tried to fix it?” she asked. Harrison shook in frustration. “It was you, wasn’t it?” she asked. With that question, Harrison popped. He stormed over to Lydia and snatched the clock out of her hands.

“Alright do you truly want to know?” he asked loudly, “Would that make you happy? To fix the unfixable man. Fine, I will tell you, but I can assure you that I am beyond repair. This was my grandmother’s favorite clock, and my grandfather knew that. He got mad one night and threw it at her. He missed and the clock smashed into the wall. After that, my grandfather left my grandmother and me. I knew how much she loved it, so I tried to fix it. I worked for months trying to fix it, but I couldn’t. My grandma kept it because she felt sorry for me, I guess. I hate that stupid old clock and all these stupid old things, You finally pulled it out of me. Are you happy?” He dropped the clock in frustration, causing a loud crash. He rushed down the stairs and towards the door. Pricilla watched him from behind the cash register, confused.

“Did you finish setting up your booth?” she shouted. He ignored her and rushed out the door. She shrugged.

“As long as his items are here and ready to sell, then I don’t give a flying flip,” she chuckled to herself. Lydia looked down at the clock with teary eyes. As she looked at the broken clock, the hundreds of other clocks chimed, as they always did each hour. The sound of her dear friend’s chimes and cries overwhelmed her and caused tears to roll down her cheeks. Once again, her curiosity got her in trouble. She was disheartened by upsetting someone as interesting as Harrison. She was mad that she allowed the clock to break further. Perhaps she truly was nothing but a lollygagger. As she studied the fallen clock, She noticed that the back had fallen off, and some of the gears and springs had popped out. Beneath some of the clock’s insides was a folded piece of paper. Lydia picked it up and opened it. Inside the note was familiar swirly handwriting. The note read,

Dear Harrison,

“If you are seeing this note, then you must be trying to fix our old clock again. I knew you would eventually come back to it, and that makes me proud. I know grandfather hurt you, but I fear you are not allowing yourself to heal. They say time heals all wounds. That is only true if time is allowed to spin. A wound can only heal if it is left to scab and mend itself. Healing is often a long process that requires patience. You, my boy, are restless. You remind me of anxious fingers that pick and pry at scabs. Right as the wound is about to heal, they peel open the wound causing it to bleed and throb all over again. Don’t let your grandfather’s choices put your life on hold. Don’t isolate yourself with your pain. Don’t allow yourself to keep picking and prodding at your past hurts. Don’t stop moving. Finish fixing the clock. Time can only heal your wounds if you allow the clock’s hands to keep spinning.”

Love,

Granny Opal

Lydia looked down at the broken clock, knowing what she needed to do. Her curiosity was finally going to be of use.

That following week, Lydia spent every spare moment she had repairing Harrison’s clock. Her goal was not to repair it completely. It was only to get it back to the condition it was in before he brought it in. She busily screwed gears back into place, oiled grimy mechanisms, and replaced broken springs. She did this all with the hope that Harrison would return. She had no real way of reaching him. She could sneak a look at Priscilla’s contact book, but Lydia knew that even if she called and asked him to return, he likely would not. She hoped that her theory was true. Her theory was that nothing wants to remain broken. At the end of the week, Lydia was pleased to see that the clock was back to its original state. As she waited for Harrison to return, she had to convince several customers not to buy the clock.

“You don’t want this clock,” Lydia said behind the register.

“No, I think I do,” a little old woman said. Her whole tiny frame shook as she spoke.

“But there are so many other clocks in our store,” Lydia said exasperated.

“But I fancy this one,” the lady said pointing at it with a shaking finger.

“But it isn’t working, don’t you want one that works?”

“I want one that’s cheap and pretty. I don’t care if it works.” The woman dug in her giant purse and shakily pulled out a wad of wrinkly cash. Lydia looked over her shoulder to see Priscilla watching. Lydia knew she could not hold onto the clock forever. She also knew that Harrison was not coming back. Lydia cringed as she reached for the money. Right before her fingers reached the cash, a deep voice stopped her.

“Stop! That the clock isn’t for sale!”

It was Harrison. He stood at the door of the antique mall. Lydia smiled and pulled the clock close to her chest. The old woman slowly snapped and said,

“Oh rats, I guess I better just get that Elvis cookie jar I was eyeballing.” She toddled away, grumbling as she went. Pricilla rolled her eyes and went back to her office. She hated when dealers were wishy-washy with their items.

“You’re back!” Lydia said with a wide smile.

“I only came back to check on the clock,” he said looking at his feet. “I wanted to make sure it wasn’t too damaged to sell.” He looked up at the clock and squinted his eyes, “Although, it appears to have suffered little damage from its fall.”

“I may have repaired it a bit,” Lydia said, “but I promise I tried not to fix it any more than you had. I was hoping you would come back.”

“You were?” Harrison asked, his eyes wide. “I expected you to hate me after my outburst. I am sorry for how I acted. I have a hard time opening up.”

“I wasn’t upset at all. The things you shared were hard to talk about, but I was honored that you did. I was hoping that maybe we could work on the clock together. Maybe we can get the hands to start spinning again. I have some experience with fixing clocks, so I think we could do it.”

“Perhaps that has been my issue,” Harrison said. “I have been trying to fix it alone. When I could not do it, I gave up. I want to see it working again. I know it would have made my grandmother happy.” Lydia patted the pocket of her jeans, feeling the folded note hidden inside.

“We are going to make sweet Opal so proud. It may take us some time to fix it, but you know what they say, time heals all wounds.”