Clock Daddy

A true story about the maintenance of time and memory

In honor of today’s time change, which I find generally dreadful that we change time at all, I want to offer you a short piece of what I call autofiction, AKA based on a true story. A short memoir if you will, about the passing and maintenance of time and memory. I wrote this over a year ago for a magazine that went defunct, so it was never actually published. And at the time, I was like, I’ll share it right away on The Lagoon. Then a year passed. That’s how life is.

After you read this story, I’m always happy to hear your feedback. What did you like? What would you change? Did I make any mistakes? Let me know by email or in the comment section.

Clock Daddy

The demanding clock

Only two sips into my morning coffee, I catch The Clock Man’s rusty white pickup truck peaking its head around the curved crest of our long, winding driveway. Do I have time to run downstairs and change? Probably not. Instead, I open the back deck screen door, just enough to feel the unusual fall heat through my thin satin pajama pants, and I greet him. He’s early, though it seems to me like a clock man should strive to be right on time…

“Morning,” he says, wiping a drip of sweat from his freckled brow. “It’s boiling for November.”