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September 13, 2005
Ode to my Watch
I wear my watch everyday. It is both functional, and well, used to be attractive but everyday wear does take its toll. The once clean purple leather band is now tinged with a brownish color though the plastic buckle is still clear. The leather feels smooth and supple and will bend in any direction I wish it to though I know it prefers to follow the shape of my wrist. The outer edges have a funny bluish tint. From where this comes I do not know. There was once a small pink ribbon folded and attached to the band near the face but it is no longer there. It ripped off as I was putting my backpack at the end of an English class my junior year. The two pinprick holes are still visible though. I smell the band. J’adore Dior not an earthy leather smell. The face of the watch is remarkably near scratch free though a small crack in the left lower side reveals it has taken as much of a beating as the band. Try falling out of my car before cross-country practice one year ago. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. The sound is rhythmic and gentle. The tiny pink second hand is stark against the silver background. The small pink date box where a ‘6’ should be is off by two days. It says ‘9’ but should say ‘11’. I don’t care. I never use it anyway. Tiny metallic letters underneath the ‘12’ read SWATCH. I gaze at my watch more. A bit of the purple has peeled away from the leather on the small strap that secures the opposite end in place while I am wearing it. The stitching along the sides look like tiny railway tracks and the holes in the middle remind me of Frosty the Snowman’s buttons. The very top hole is the most stretched out because that is where I wear my watch every day. I have tiny wrists. If I turn the watch over I can watch through the clear plastic the tiny gold gears turning away. They look like miniscule wagon wheels. I can tell which gear is the second hand because it is the largest and moving the fastest. There is a smaller wagon wheel behind it that at first I though was stationary but upon pressing my nose to the clear plastic I could see was moving ever so slightly in the opposite direction of the larger wheel. I cannot tell whether the even smaller gear is moving at all. I assume it is for the hour hand. When I move my head to angle the light I see tiny letters engraved upon the plastic. Swiss made. A bubble of pride rises in me. Swatch watches are all I’ve ever known and this will not be my last. Swatch watches aren’t just watches. They’re art.
Posted by lcisfreya at September 13, 2005 10:31 PM
Comments
Freya,
I really loved your last sentence. You describe your watch in such detail and then end with an incredibly simple and powerful sentence. I have never thought of a watch in that way before! Excellent job!
Posted by: Christina at September 14, 2005 04:59 PM
Freya,
I really enjoyed your piece. It was so simple, yet so detailed at the same time. I was really impressed with your "descriptive words". Fascinating!!
Posted by: Brenna at September 14, 2005 05:15 PM