Fix it. Seemed a simple enough plan for anyone who understood what all those intricate gears did. The insides of watches, as I know them are tiny little delicate things with gears that go this way for a reason so that other gears can go the other way.
And knowing that, I knew that they all worked together to make the second hand tick. And then the second hand caused the minute hand to tick. Onward to the hour hand. And I was guessing that the hour hand on this particular watch, in turn, would cause cats to fall, mailmen to function and my Dad to bang his head with a wrench.
I looked at the watch for a very long time. How long I looked at is a very vague question. Without the movements of the Universe around me, time did indeed become a relative thing. But I sat there, in the basement. I'd always become deep chilled watching those movies where someone wakes up to the realization that they were the only one left to save the planet from zombies and that's who I felt like.
I considered having a cigarette but it seemed disrepectful to do,now that I had caught my parents in some kind of time warp. Perhaps I should eat something, I considered. But without running water, how would I survive?
As an experiment I put my hand on the frozen stream of water. With a loud pop, the water frothed forward, a clear cold stream. What kind of mechanics were under play? Was it that I had touched the water? What if I were to touch Dad? Did I want to waken Dad or would be better to solve this on my own?
The fact was, it was his father's watch I had broken.