Series

Series
By Chris

When I was about 6 years old my dad gave me my first watch, a broken silver casio watch. The watch had been used by my father throughout his teenage years given to him by his father. The day he gave me the watch, he told me a story as well. A story of how the watch helped him pull through the hardest times of his life but I can not remember as I did not listen. I was a kid with a shiny new watch.

I was obsessed with the shiny new watch. I would wear it anytime of the day no matter the circumstance. During bathtime, bedtime, naptime, breakfast, lunch and dinner. The watch made me feel special and I would show it off to everyone. One day, a kid at the elementary school told everyone that my watch looks stupid and that I am stupid. But I did not care. I was a kid with a shiny new watch.

One day I was playing with my best friend Mark. We were playing beyblades on the top of a water container. I could see Mark getting bored. He never liked beyblades but we played it all the time because we had nothing else to do.

As we got to the 4th round, he said, “ Hey you wanna play for keeps?”
I replied, “ The beyblades?”
“No, I want your watch. You can have my gun if you win” He responded.
I really liked his gun, a brand new nerf revolver paired with an ammo belt that straps around your waist.
“Sure!” I exclaimed.

We carefully loaded our beyblades onto the ripper and pulled it as hard as we can on the count of 3. Tension was at its highest and our eyes were glued to the beyblades. As the spinning of our two beyblades slowly started to come to a stop, the tip of Mark’s beyblade hit mine and bounced it off the top of the water container. My beyblade hit the ground making a sharp thud sound.

“YES!” he shouted “ Hand me the watch! Loser!”.

I handed him the watch. As he cheered and strapped my shiny watch onto his wrist, a part of me died. I was no longer the kid with a shiny new watch.

I like things that are cliche. The smell of petroleum, the cooler side of the pillow and the sound of rain trickling on the roof as I slowly drift away to dreamland. I also like weird things. The feeling of ice pressed up against rashy skin, the softness of leaves and hairless animals. But perhaps the weirdest thing I like is my right hand which I prefer over my left. I like the shape of my right fingers and the smallest mole on the middle one. I like the way the lines on my right hand run and connect with each other. I see it as a mini map of me. I also like things that are visually pleasing. Sunflower fields stretching miles and miles filling up the horizon, cotton candy clouds, calm lakes and pretty girls. I like a family that loves and supports each other. I like friendly banter and idiotic humor. I like unexpected displays of kindness from a stranger to a stranger. I like things that are fundamentally good.