Dealing with Time

The young man stood there, alone, in front of a rusty metal door in an alleyway. He checked the business card. Just above the door was a wooden sign with the words, “Horace and Flo: Time Specialists”, carved out of it. The appearance of the worn down, blocky lettering of “Horace” was dwarfed by its following word “Flo” which had the appearance of a flourished signature protruding off the sign in a vibrant sky blue color. The word “Time” was in a font reminiscent of a digital clock in neon green with a large crack that bolted across it. Strange sign inconsistencies aside, it assured the young man of his destination.

Contrary to the dilapidated appearance of the entrance, the interior was pristine. The young man found himself in a large room filled with shelves and glass doored cabinets that stored countless varieties of clocks that shined as if they were thoroughly buffed right before his arrival. Every clock was set to the exact same time and were in perfect sync with each other. The clocks that ticked with every second did so in unison while the rest of the clocks joined in at every minute to amplify the collective ticking like a chronological chorus. As quiet as the ticking of his own watch was, the sound of it being clearly out of sync with the rest of the clocks caused him a great discomfort; like his very presence was a disruption to the immaculate environment. “Hello?” He asked, not sure where to direct his voice.

“Who is it?” came the hoarse voice of an older man somewhere further down the store.

“It’s Mark,” said the man. “I have an appointment.”

“You mean you’re late for an appointment” snapped the voice.

Mark checked his watch. Only by a minute, he thought. He scanned the store to find three pathways through the maze of shelves and cabinets. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure if I was at the right store,” he said while switching his attention between the three paths to try to get an idea on which one the voice came from. “How do I get to you?”

“Just walk towards my voice.”

“Which path do I take?,” asked Mark.

A sigh filled the store. “They all lead to me, but the one to the right is the easiest.”

“Right. Thanks,” Mark replied with an apologetic tone before heading down the instructed path. Along the path were more shelves and cabinets of clocks. Mark could not make out any specific method or pattern to how the clocks were organized. On one shelf was a digital clock with neon red numbers that one would expect to find in a seedy motel sitting next to a Victorian style clock with its gears displayed within a glass panel. A metal wind up alarm clock with two bells resting on top of and a happy cartoon face was next to a clock in a case with floral designs. There were even a few different types of grandfather clocks wedged between some of the shelves and cabinets. After a few turns, Mark finally made it to an opening where a man was sitting at a work table, hunched over with his head down under a lamp. “You must be Horace,” said Mark.

“Master of the obvious, this one is,” said Horace without looking up. The hair sticking of his visor glowed a bright white under the lamplight. The wrinkles along his liver spotted face remained rigid as he squinted down at the magnifying glass; his pointy nose was pressed against it. Mark walked to the table to find, to no surprise, the old man was working on a watch with some small tools. “You know I probably have a timepiece to help you with your punctuality problem.”

Mark checked his watch on his wrist to see if it matched the rest of the clocks in the store. Aside from being out of sync with the rest of the clocks, the time was the same. “My watch is fine,” said Mark.

Horace placed the watch he was working on down and looked up to examine Mark with his eyes still squinted. “I’ll be the judge of that,” said Horace. He presented an open hand to Mark to make a demanding gestured for his watch. Mark obligated himself to cooperate with the old man in order to get what he really came for. He unstrapped his watch and gave it to him.

Horace stared at the face of Mark’s watch, carefully tapping his finger along with the ticking the store provided for what Mark felt like was an awkward length of time. 

“I-“ Mark began.

“Shhh,” said Horace.

Mark complied and attempted to busy himself by looking around the different watches around the repairman. Similar to the clocks, there was a vast variety of designs. “Your watch is a little late at 37 seconds but corrects itself at 42 seconds,” Horace finally said. “It’s not terrible but definitely not a good match for you.”

“A ‘little late’?”

“Yeah by 2.1 nanoseconds,” Horace said. He opened a desk drawer below him and started to rummage through it with his free hand.

Mark tried to fathom the accuracy of Horace’s diagnosis. “You’re joking right? How can you determine something like that by just staring at my watch?”

Horace stopped rummaging to look up at Mark for a second with a glare. “I’ve been doing this for a looooooonnnnnng time, kid.” He pulled out a watch and held it next to Mark’s watch that was in his other hand. He stared at both of them for a moment, nodding his head with the store’s ticking, and gave a grunt of approval. “This should help prevent any future problems.”

The watch wasn’t bad looking but it was a little more humbling than Mark’s current one. The leather straps were a little more worn with faint cracks forming on parts of the edge. The face had Arabic instead of Roman numerals. The hands, simple lines of metal instead of the fancy arrows of his own. Mark couldn’t help but grimace at, what he considered, a significant downgrade. “This watch looks a bit cheap.”

“And yet, it measures time much better than yours,” said Horace.

“I’m sorry but I’m not here to prevent future problems,” said Mark. “I’m actually here to prevent a...,” he hesitated at the absurdity of what he was about to ask, “...past problem.”

“Well too bad,” Horace huffed. “I don’t deal with past problems.”

“But I certainly do,” came a woman’s upbeat voice from behind Horace, who cringed at the sudden intrusion. Mark looked ahead to find, to his surprise, a young girl with bright blue eyes in front of a doorway not too far from them. She wore a white, silky robe-like dress with a thin, glittering rope tied around her waist. She ambled her way over to Horace and stopped beside him. “Horace,” his cringing intensified at the sound of his name being projected from the girl’s mouth ,“my homeslice, it looks like this gentleman is in need of my special dealings,” she said to him with a smile. Mark fought the urge to take a retreating step when she directed her smile towards him.

“H-hi,” Mark said with reluctance. 

“What’s the matter?” said the girl.

“You seem a bit,” Mark took a moment to confirm the appearance of the girl, “young.”

The girl cradled her cheeks in a form of mock shyness. “Oh you,” Horace let out another involuntary cringe as she gave him a playful nudge with her elbow. “Better keep an eye on this one.” She brought her attention back to Mark. “I assure you I’m much older than I look.” The edges around her smile sharpened which gave Mark a slight chill throughout his body. “Much older.”

“Does that mean you can…,” Mark cleared his throat, “...take me back in time?”

“That I can,” said the girl. She thrust an open hand over Horace’s desk toward Mark. “Flo’s the name. Dealing time’s my game. Well, I guess most consider it a service, but I’m having a devil of a time trying to come up with a good phrase that rhymes with ‘service’ and I’m such a sucker for a good rhyme. Saying a good rhyme helps me have a good time. See?!” 

Mark glanced over at Horace, unsure if he was in a trance of serenity or utter rage. Mark’s hand crept over to shake Flo’s hand. “Mark,” he said as he kept a cautious eye on Horace.

“Well salutations to you, Mark. How about you step into my office so we can see what I can do for you,” said Flo. She took Mark’s watch from Horace’s hand, who retained his statuesque mannerisms, and tossed it back to Mark. “I can take it from here Horace, old buddy.” She gestured Mark to follow her to the doorway that she came from.

Mark took a few steps towards the doorway and started to strap his watch back on when Horace grabbed his hand to stop him. “Don’t do it,” he said while looking at Mark with pleading eyes. “It’s never a good idea to mess with time.”

“I…” The look in Horace’s eyes gave Mark a tinge of guilt. “How about I buy that watch, anyways?”

“This isn’t about a sale, kid,” said Horace. He glared at the doorway for a moment. “It never is.” His focus returned to Mark with genuine concern. “This is about your timeline!”

“Coming Mark?” asked Flo.

“I’m sorry,” he said while using his other hand to free himself from Horace’s grasp. “I need to do this.” He continued to the doorway.

“Kid wait!” yelled Horace. Mark turned to barely catch a watch that was thrown to him; the same one Horace offered him earlier. “Put that on as soon as you go back.”

Mark stopped in front of the doorway to find the other side of it to be completely pitch black. He found it strange and a bit unsettling that none of the light in the store went past the doorway; as if the darkness was some kind of barrier for the room. Suddenly, two hands emerged in front of him from the darkness; one hand tapping the wrist of the other hand. “Time’s a wastin’, Mark. Tick tock,” came Flo’s voice before the hands slipped back into the darkness. He took a deep breath and stepped into the void. It was like all the lights were suddenly turned off. Just when his face passed through the doorway, light erupted all around him and the sound of the synchronized ticking came to a sudden halt. The flash of illumination took a moment for eyes to adjust to the sight of a white room; empty save for a woman standing next to a pedestal with a large hourglass on it. The woman looked like she was around her mid-thirties, much older than Mark, and was wearing the same kind of robe that Flo was wearing. 

“So what can I do for you, Mark?” said the woman.

“Hi,” Mark said with reluctance. He looked around the room. “Where’d Flo go?”

The woman let out a quick laugh. “Ha! Flo. Go. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“I’m sorry. What?”

“Flo. Go,” the woman repeated a few times under her breath. “How about this? When there’s a time you want to go, don’t hesitate to ask Flo. What do you think?”

“Think about what?” asked Mark.

“The rhyme, silly! Don’t tell me you already forgot about my love of rhymes.” A familiar smile appeared on the woman’s face.

Mark’s eyes widened at the sight of the woman’s blue eyes. “Flo?”

“Present,” she said with her head and raised hand tilting to the side with a flick.

“I don’t understand.“

“You will in due time,” said Flo with assurance. “Now,” she said while clasping her hands together with excitement, “let’s get down to business. When would you like to go back?”

Mark reached into his pocket to pull out a folded newspaper clipping. He unfolded the clipping; staring at it to build up the courage to follow through with his decision. He looked back at Flo to give her the clipping only to find a hunched, elderly woman in her place. “What is-“

“Still Flo,” said the elderly woman with a creaky voice and trademark smile. 

“R-right,” said Mark. He handed her the clipping. “How far back can you take me from this date?”

The older Flo brought the clipping close to her face and squinted at the headline. “Su…sssssuuuuunnnnn…,” she pronounced.

“It says-“

Flo’s eye’s opened back up as she removed her hunch with a straightened posture. “I’m just messing with you,” she said in her normal voice. She continued to read the headline with ease. “Sun Finally Makes an Appearance to Break Week Long Rain Streak. Must have been quite the sunny day.”

“I’m not going back there for the weather. I kept it as a reminder for the date.”

“Oh?” Flo said with intrigue. Her bony hand slid along Mark’s own hand as she drew closer to him; he kept his attention on her blue eyes eyes, the only familiar part of her, to distract himself from the close-up view of the rest of her wrinkled face. His body tensed at the sound of her voice changing back to match her elderly appearance. “Now what kind of milestone/tragedy/turning point on this day would such a fine young man as yourself want to change?”

The question caused Mark to glance at one of the white walls. “What makes you think I want to change something? Maybe I just want to relive something that happened.”

“Oh please,” Flo said back in her normal voice. Her hand caressed Mark’s cheek to coax him back to looking at her; his face grew warm at the sight of a very attractive woman staring back at him with piercing blue eyes. “Nobody ever asks to go before a certain date to relive something. They’d simply go on the date it happened.” She grabbed him by the shoulders and straightened out her arms to adjust her distance from him. “Now let me get a good look at you.”

She examined him up and down while pacing back and forth from one side of him to the other. Images of the other versions of Flo cycled through his mind as he made sure to keep his eyes on her. This version definitely put the robe in a much more appealing shape, he thought.

“Hmmm interesting,” she said while rubbing her chin. She switched her attention between the newspaper clipping and Mark a few times as she mumbled to herself. When she was done, she handed the clipping back to Mark. “I can give you five days.” 

“Really?” Mark said with excitement.

“Really!” Flo said with the same amount of excitement.

“That’ll give me plenty of time!” He said with continued excitement.

“Not really,” said Flo with matching excitement.

Mark’s excitement turned to concern. “What do you mean?”

Flo’s excitement remained. “I’m giving you just enough time for you to make that change.”

“But you don’t even know what I’m trying to change.”

“Of course do. I was there when you did it.”

“What?”

“Well ‘will do’ since your current self hasn’t done it yet.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t really need to anyways. It’s a time dealer thing.” Flo gestured at the hourglass with a nod. “Shall we?” Mark dropped the subject and followed her to the pedestal that displayed the hourglass. “Alright, so all you need to do is flip that hourglass over and you’ll be sent back.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. Easy peasy,” she said out loud. She whispered something else under her breath with a giggle. Mark was pretty sure she said “lemon squeezy.”

His hands stopped before grabbing onto the hourglass. “What about my payment,” asked Mark.

“Already taken care of,” she said with a smile. “Or I guess in your case, ‘will be’.”

Mark looked back at his hands to find them shaking. This is what you wanted, Mark assured himself, you have to do this. He grabbed hold of the hourglass, took a deep breath, and flipped it over.