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by Mike E. Swope
Science Fiction, 25 pages.
Originally Published in Writers of the Future, 1992
(1) Rate this Story “What’s this?” I remember asking mother when I was four, interrupting my play and pointing to the thing in my chest.
“That’s your Timepiece, dear,” I remember her reply.
“Does everyone have one?” My finger pressed against the round, clear glass that’s like the hollow of a test tube.
“Yes, dear. Everybody’s got one just like it.”
“How come yours is different?”
“It’s not, dear. It’s just like yours. See?” She unbuttoned and opened her blouse about six inches to expose her Timepiece like a third breast. I’d seen hers before when she took me into the bath with her, but it wasn’t like mine.
“No, it’s not, Mom. These lines are different on yours. They’re in a different place.” I pointed to the hands on my Timepiece. I didn’t know to call them hands, then, like on a clock.
“Oh.” She got real quiet, then, after that, and buttoned her blouse back up. “That’s an answer for another time,” she said. “No more questions, okay? Mommy’s tired of questions. Let’s just play. What do you want to play? Want to play Tow Truck? No? How about Horsie. Let’s play Horsie.”
So I climbed on her back and we played Horsie. I didn’t ask any more questions then, and she was a little sad about something. If I’d have understood, I’d have kissed her before climbing onto her back.
* * *
The next time I said anything about the Timepieces I was five.
“Mom, my numbers are the same as yours,” I said as I came in from school.
“What, dear?”
“My numbers are the same as yours. See?” I’d pulled up my shirt and was pointing at the five. “That’s a five, just like yours.”
She stared at me for a minute with this look on her face, but she wasn’t mad. When she didn’t say anything, I let my shirt fall back down.
“What’s wrong, Mom? Didn’t I learn good?”
She kneeled down until she was my height and said, “Oh, yes, dear, you’ve learned good. And Mommy’s proud of you.” Then she hugged me. “I’m so proud of you. You learn so well. Mommy loves you very much.”
I hugged her back. “I love you, too, Mom.”
She relaxed and pulled away from me. “Now go on upstairs and put on your play clothes. As soon as I get through with supper, we’ll go work in the garden before the sun goes down, ok?”
“Ok, Mom. I’ll be back in a minute.” And I went upstairs and changed, and later we worked in the garden.
I can see now, looking back, how that last year had worn on mother. Her hair hadn’t yet begun to turn grey, but it was like she knew so much more than she wanted either of us to know.
* * *
I learned more about the Timepieces during the next six years. I learned on my own what all the numbers were and that the hands moved in the same direction as the hands on a clock, but that they counted from 31 to 0. I couldn’t ask mother about the Timepieces because she always got that look on her face that grew sadder each time I asked, so I waited for the sixth grade sex education course to learn anything more. I’d noticed, too, that my Timepiece now read 19, and hers 4.
“We’ll start with something all of us already know something about,” said Mr. View after the girls had been taken to another room, “our own bodies. We’re all boys, or males. Who can tell me what that means?”
No one raised his hand, although all of us knew the answer Mr. View wanted.
“It means, boys,” Mr. View explained, “that all of us have a penis.”
We giggled at this, but he went on, telling us about the male body parts, how they worked, and their purpose. None of this was new to us, though, because Bobby Jones’ dad subscribed to Playboy, Penthouse, and Hustler.
“If there are no questions,” Mr. View ended his first lecture, “we’ll discuss the female body tomorrow.”
I almost raised my hand at the last moment to ask about the Timepieces, but I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of the other boys. I thought they already knew and that Mr. View would explain the Timepieces sometime during the next two days.
On the second day of the course, Mr. View gave a lecture similar to the previous one, this one on the female body, but he didn’t discuss the Timepieces in this lecture, either.
“You’re awful anxious today,” mother said when I came home from school after the second day of the course. “And you were anxious yesterday, too. Anything you want to talk about?”
She thought I wanted to ask about sex because a notice had been sent home about the course, but I couldn’t tell her the truth about what was making me nervous. I remembered the sad looks that crossed her face whenever I’d asked about the Timepieces before. “No, Mom, there’s nothing I want to talk about.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Can I go out and play now?”
“Change into your old clothes first,” she said, “and don’t forget to put your good clothes in the basket.”
So I sl -- [End of Preview.]