He had always had a negligible relationship with time. Whether it was the malingering before school early in his life or whether it was the difficulty wrangling the space between one thing and another later in life, he had always found himself either uncomfortably early or uncomfortably late. Nothing he tried would fix it. It was as though he had, somewhere along the line, broken time's heart, and now time edged away from him every time he came into contact with it, preferring instead to avert itself, take subtle detours. The story of how this came to happen is presented below, as anecdotal evidence.
1.
Half-past-one in the afternoon, October 11th. Fifth grade recess overlapping by chance with sixth, seventh, and eighth-grade recess. A dangerous mixture, but one which the administration allowed due to some sort of catastrophe in the kitchen and, as a result, the compression of what should have been two waves of outdoor recreation into one. The activities were over-staffed as the students ran around in the sunlight, at their various games. There's an impromptu kickball game, watched over by the militant gaze of Mr. Hardwell and the stentorian vocals of Ms. (not Mrs.) Kravitz. There's the game of tag (not to take place on woodchips, and Mrs. Rathburn's intervention when it did); the various playground chatter, girls grouped on the grass in circles talking about horses and the Babysitter's Club books; the loners; the dirtbike kids; and, finally; the game of spies-in-the-bush.
2.
At approximately 1:45 P.M., the administration was largely satisfied with its policing. Three of the ten supervising teachers were allowed to return inside, to their lounge and their lunches, and the game of spies-in-the-bush intensified. Delineated below, for the purposes of dramatis personae, are those involved.
A. Nikos Kazanstakis, leader of the Rogue Snakes, age 10. Denim jacket embroided with Harley-Davidson patch. Terminal sneer on his littleboy's face.
B. Craig Wilcox, second-in-comannd of the Rogue Snakes, age 11, held back one year. Plans to oust Nikos not-quite-formulated.
C. Bruno and Toby Farragut, twins - though not identical, and perhaps not even fraternal. They stuck to their story despite the fact that almost no one believed them. Age 10.
D. Simon Eyvind, a freakishly large 11 year old, similarly held back. Of Norse descent. Considered "the muscle" of the Rogue Snakes.
The manifesto of the Rogue Eagles, crudely illustrated by Nikos' own hand, lived in the hollow of a tree just beyond the limits of the playground. The tree stood at an awkward angle, having shoved itself right up against a large, flat rock made up of schist, granite and mica. The namesake of the gang had been declared the day that Nikos stumbled upon a copperhead, Agkistrodon contortrix, coiling in the cool shade of the rock. Nikos had not displayed any outward show of fear, but stood there, staring at the viper, unblinking, untwitching. Just in time, a teacher had investigated, and shrieked aloud at the sight. They had since been disallowed to congregate at their rock, but none of them had ever shown much regard for that particular edict. They had been in existence for two school years now, since the third grade.
There is also the rival gang, who exist nebulously around one young man whose parents enjoyed the largest house, up on the hill. His name was Kevin Bailey, age 10. His infamy was based around one mythological incident; it was said that he had mercilessly abandoned Dennis LaChance on the roof of the school and left him there for three whole days. Those three days, a record rainfall was set, and, once Dennis had been found by his fearful, quivering parents, the local sheriff, and the super-intendent of schools, he could not speak without his teeth chattering. It was rumored that Kevin had no reason for the cruelty. When asked, Harold Vernor (one of Kevin's "lieutenants") had shrugged and simply said, "He didn't like him."
There is also Dave Granger, and it is he whom this anecdote concerns.
2.5
Dave Granger always carried around a small, gold-plated pocket-watch that he had found in the basement of his house, in his father's old workbench, covered in sawdust within one of the drawers. When he found it, the gears were stopped and the device was silent. He had held it up to an ear, rattled it once, experimentally. He flicked it, once, with the index finger of his right hand, on its back. Sawdust swirled in minute, hesitant curls through the musty air of the basement, and the watch startled to life, the second hand resuming its staccato progress ever around the circle of hours. A wet paper towel or two later, and the glass face of it was clean, though scratched more than a few times. It possessed no chain, though the knob at the top was slightly sticky, and refused to wind. Incredibly, it still told time perfectly. On more than one occasion, Dave had intentions to open it and commit surgery on its insides, though he could never seem to pry the back off, even with a screwdriver and the claw-end of a small hammer.
His father had been gone from the house for years, departed in his own swirl of sawdust, like a magician's vanish gone wrong and with no audience to witness it. Echoes of him remained - his towering bookshelf, crammed with paperbacks of Alan Dean Foster and Piers Anthony, in contrast to his mother's neat rows of Danielle Steele and Phyllis E. Woodiwiss, bookended by photographs of lighthouses at sunset and leaves with their fall vestments on. Dave didn't know his father's face or voice, but had seen pictures. He had his hair. Once or twice, he found a piece of paper written by his father - a legal document here, signed in a completely illegible scribble. Technically, Dave Granger was David Granger Jr., though the Jr. was more or less negligible at this point.
His mother refused to speak about it. She walled herself off from the world, coming home from work with tired smiles and brief pats on the head, absented stirrings of the spaghetti sauce while the news blared behind her on the small kitchen TV. Dave entertained weird notions that his father's soul was in the pocket-watch, though never really believed it. He was no stranger to oddities and arcana - mornings, he lay awake, staring at the red LED of his clock, slamming his eyes shut and attempting to force time forward by the force of his will alone. This never happened, but it never kept him from trying.
3.
1:50 P.M., and Dave Granger, who had just finished reading My Brother Sam is Dead, decided to become a profiteer. This is where the trouble starts. He had long since known about the existence of the Rogue Snakes, and rode to school on the same bus as Nikos. They had never spoken to one another, though they both preferred to sit at the back of the bus and stare out the windows at the cars which trailed behind.
There is one encounter, during which Dave Granger established his own slight infamy. One Sean Walker, a seventh-grader, who boards the bus further down the route than Dave, decided to begin a turf-war with Dave over the back seat. It was a short-lived war of subtle intimidation. Sean sat in the seat in front of Dave, turning around to declare his intent one morning. Nikos had watched, but did not intervene. Sean put down the gauntlet, threatening to make Dave's life hell if he didn't get his "four-eyed, nerdy ass" out of that seat from then on. Dave had blinked once, pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, and remained silent.
The next morning, Sean Walker boarded the bus, and immediately swept his gaze to the back. There was Dave, sitting in his regular seat, backpack open next to him. Sean sat in the seat in front of him, and, when the bus pulled up in front of the school, began his second act of war. As the rest of the kids stood up and began clamoring, obscuring the driver's rearview gaze, Sean stood up, fist at the ready, warning between his teeth - and suddenly found his gaze blackened and his head slamming to one side.
As soon as he had seen Sean's fist curling, Dave had pulled the red-spined American Heritage Dictionary from out of his backpack and swung it through the air, savagely connecting with the side of the bully's face.
Everyone's got a rumor connected to them. Dave's lingered in the hallways of the school for a good week before it was usurped by Fred Kessler's urinary incontinence in the cafeteria. It wasn't forgotten. Nikos had watched Dave swing the dictionary and approved of the violence, though he didn't like the kid that much - didn't trust him; never trusted a loner like that - though he did have respect for him. Nikos didn't need anyone else in his "gang," however.
4.
11:50 A.M., and Dave Granger was in possession of a secret. He spoke rarely, but he had a gift for listening. Class bored him, and his eyes roved around the room, around his fellow students. He always sat at the back of the class for this very reason, sat alone, in corners, in the lunchroom, usually reading. Once in awhile, someone would approach him, but he would only ever do the same thing he ever did - blink at them, somewhat owlishly, and nod, before returning to his book. The incident on the bus was the only thing anyone really knew, concretely, about Dave Granger. He did well at school, though never applied himself, and was the subject of much frustration between guidance counsellor and teacher alike. This day, being the last one to leave the room, Dave happened to notice a piece of folded-up notebook paper dangling out of Harold Vernor's desk. As he walked by, the note fell to the carpet. Somewhat absently, he picked it up, and without thinking, opened it and read the line therein:
TODAY AFTER RECESS WE GET THEM
Dave Granger was in a unique position to understand the contents of this note. He had known for awhile, that Kevin Bailey had decided to take down the Rogue Snakes. Kevin despised Nikos and every member of his "gang." He had called them dirty fuckers, having only just learned the word, and declaring that they should be "put down." Dave had overhead this conversation because he was in a habit of finding lonely, dim places to read his book where he wouldn't be bothered. This day, it was just behind the equipment shack beyond the baseball field. Dave had broken in (the lock was rusty and wouldn't snap to) a few days prior and had successfully established himself in what he liked to call the Lookout.
In a similar fashion, the Rogue Snakes had found a reason to exist beyond holding fake 'meetings' and discussing inanities. Dennis "LaChatter" LaChance had been inducted into their gang because his dad worked at the race-car track a town over and had promised them all tickets to the race the following week. His price? Revenge. Dave knew this because Dennis had told him in the cafeteria just two days prior. Dennis had to tell someone, and he didn't know anyone, so he sat down next to Dave and had the story out after a brief interval of awkward hellos and eye-twitching. In a way, Dave was curious about Dennis and felt pity for him, though in no way felt invested in the situation. He had looked up, blinked, and ... just once, nodded, as if to say he understood. The nod was all that Dennis had needed for verification, and had left Dave alone, confident that he wouldn't say anything to anyone.
5.
2:01 P.M. The recess bell has shrilled over the playground, and swarms of kids are migrating to the doors of the school. Teachers are busy herding them, making sure no one is left behind, standing sentinel by the building, scanning, squinting to see who is lagging at the edges. Mrs. Rathburn is pre-occupied with her impending divorce from her adulterous husband, and old Mr. Rubenstein can't see much beyond the tips of his fingers. The rest of the supervisors have been released to their classrooms.
The doors shut behind them as they usher the last of the students inside.
6.
1:55 P.M. Dave puts down his book in the Lookout and stares at the inside of the shack door. The woodgrain seems to be moving, though it isn't. He's just tired. Last night, his mother came home and forwent even her usual pat on his head, went right into her bedroom and locked the door behind her. All night he could hear her sobbing, and he still doesn't know why.
All at once, he stands up, exits the Lookout, and crosses the playground. He is not determined, he is not sure of purpose, he simply has committed to action. He knows the place he is walking, and it is right into the snakepit.
Nikos is holding court, though the business portion of their meeting has concluded. He doesn't say anything as Dave walks up, though Simon Eyvind steps in Dave's way and inquires as to his business with the group.
"I have information," Dave says, proferring a piece of notebook paper.
7.
5:15 P.M, and Dave's mother is just getting home from another day at work. There is a message on the answering machine, evidenced by the flicker of the red LED light on the console.
It is Dave's father, Dave Granger Sr. She does not listen to it beyond the words "Lee, it's Dave ..." preferring instead to wildly jab at the DELETE button with her index finger, over and over and over and over again, tears springing to her eyes.
Dave walks in just as she is closing the bedroom door. The evening whorls in like a flying saucer, darkening all of the town with its shadow. He stands in the front door's rigid embrace, staring at the clock on the opposite wall.
The phone will ring a great deal that night, and there will even be repeated knocks on the front door of the Granger house. It will be revealed that Nikos threw a snake - Agkistrodon contortrix - at Kevin Bailey, and that the two groups converged on one another like weather fronts in the aftermath. It will also be told that Kevin Bailey has been envenomed by the snake from a particularly nasty bite on his right hand. Even though Agkistrodon contortrix's venom isn't particularly fatal, Kevin - it turns out - is allergic to most reptile venom, and has gone into tachycardia on the playground. He is rushed to the hospital, where he remains for most of the night in critical condition before being downgraded to stable around six in the morning.
Dave Granger will not blame himself. He stood back from it all and watched the physical portion of the fight - the actual scuffle - happening between Kevin's gang and the other members of the Rogue Snakes. Nikos and Craig had held back until Nikos entered into the fracas with the snake in hand. Dave is possessed of a secret, wild elation. He sleeps until midnight, where he wakes in a sudden froth from a red-hued dream of a man with snakejaws. He gets out of bed and goes to the kitchen, crouches by the cabinet under the junk drawer and withdraws an old, dust-covered bottle of Popov vodka. Without hesitating, Dave tips the bottle back and takes his first swallow of alcohol. He promptly vomits it back up, retching, eyes filled with the bitterwater of tears. His mother still does not wake up, even over the retching. Dave is forced to clean up his sick on his own, alone on the linoleum with not even the cold moon to illuminate his progress.
8.
1:34 P.M., October 18th. It's a Tuesday. Kevin Bailey has been out of the hospital for a few days now, and this is his second day back in the classroom. As a result of the treatment with the antivenom CroFab, his skin is mottled with raised red rashes and he is cursed with an uncontrollable, tic-like itching motion. He has also acquired a nickname: Itchy. His fury is deep, and comes from a sinkhole that has collapsed somewhere inside of himself. His prior position, somewhat invulnerable, is completely decimated.
Kevin Bailey has been approached by Craig Wilcox, Nikos' second-in-command. Craig's mother is friends with the Baileys, though this is a somewhat new development. The Wilcox family has recently come into a bit of luck - they've won a substantially more than modest sum of money via the state lottery. Mr. and Mrs. Wilcox immediately summon the aid of Mrs. Evoria Bailey, Kevin's mother, also a real estate agent. They want to move higher up on the hill. They are invited to dinner, and this is how Craig comes to know Kevin. Their parents want them to be friends - why wouldn't they be? - and Mr. and Mrs. Bailey are concerned about the scuffle. Nikos has been suspended, and Craig sees this as a perfect time to begin his takeover.
This is how Kevin Bailey comes to know about Dave Granger. A certain piece of paper has exchanged hands for the second - no, third - time in a week. A certain piece of paper with one line on it. Kevin Bailey takes the note in his hand and folds it cleanly, obsessively, twice - four times - eight times - sixteen times, until the paper is a lump of pulp that won't bend further. Kevin Bailey scratches at the nape of his neck and Craig Wilcox wins an ally.
9.
1:45 P.M., and it's exactly one week after Kevin's been bit. His rashes are beginning to fade, though he still itches like a madman, uncontrollably. His fury is the path of an oncoming storm. Like leaves on a tree, the whole population of the school turns whitebellied and scatters. No one goes near the edge of the playground - not that they did anyway. Dave Granger's in the Lookout, reading, alone, but he can't keep his mind on the page. He reads the same sentence, over and over again, trying to latch his mind onto it. He tries to skip a page, but it doesn't work. The sentence is "They huddled in the dark, waiting for the threat outside to subside."
Abruptly, the door to the shack is thrown open and it becomes clear to Dave Granger why the day hasn't felt right. Everyone's eyes have slid off of him - and moreso than the usual, where no one used to look at him at all, even recognize his presence - today, today ... it's been different. They have noticed him. That's what he missed. They all - all of them - noticed him. But now it's too late. The door to the Lookout slams shut behind Kevin Bailey.
10.
6:30 P.M., and Dave Granger's mother still hasn't come home. Dave sits at the kitchen table, his sneakers muddy, his face a bas-relief map of bruises and blood seeping out of more than a few abrasions. He breathes heavily. On the table in front of him is his pocket-watch, mangled and in shards, the springs bleeding out of the back of it like miniature metal snakes. His eyes keep twitching, relentlessly, to the cabinet under the junk drawer, and then to the clock on the wall. For an unspecified reason, the pocket-watch has not ceased to tick, even though it has been eviscerated and smashed beneath Kevin Bailey's heel. Dave Granger's throat is also on fire, most likely from the gears and cogs that no longer reside in the pocket-watch but now sink in a sea of gastric acid within his stomach.
All at once, Dave gets up and limps over to the clock on the wall. He stands beneath it, staring up at the second hand as its zombielike progress continues, inexorably up the arc past the 9, scales to the 12, and begins its descent down (somehow seeming faster) toward the bottom of the circle. As it passes the 1, Dave Granger steps away, dragging a kitchen chair to the base of the wall. As the second hand hits the 4, he is extending his shaking hands to the sides of the clock on the wall. As the second hand hits the 6, Dave Granger's lifted the clock off of its nail and holds it above his hand. He does not know what number the second hand is on when it meets the linoleum in a satisfying, gibbering crash of glass and plastic. He stands there, staring at his ruin, when he notices the blinking number 1 on the answering machine across the room. For a moment, the ticking has stopped and the only sound he can hear is the schuss of his breath, rasping in and out past his blood-crusted lips. As he climbs down off of the chair, the sound resumes and Dave Granger winces involuntarily, though whether it is from his dismount or from the sound, he cannot tell.
FIFTEEN YEARS LATER
Dave Granger lights a cigarette and leans against the building. His head is muddy with beer and his legs are shaky. He is trying to remember the last time he ate anything substantial, though his mind keeps straying to a conversation he's had days earlier with his closest ally Tom. Dave's hair has grown out and his beard has grown in, though it is patchy and uneven. Some days he hates himself, though those days are full of quiet loathing, and Dave thinks of it as the muttering of a demon that lives somewhere in the Byzantine coils of his insides. Dave was a theology major for awhile, but that soon lost its lustre due to a professor more keen on inculcation rather than education. He tried English, but grammar bored him. He tried theater, but the incessant narcissism of every other student-major made him physically ill. For years, he frittered away time to small splinters, choosing to develop a friendship with a commuter student who grew marijuana up north. Dave lived on campus in the building where all the other undeclared students lived. He had been shunted in with a cocky freshman out of Duxbury, Mass. - a hockey player who had been granted scholarship and who would, nightly, have rendezvous with a girl named Michelle, oblivious to Dave's presence. He reminded Dave of someone he'd known a long time ago - but then, he found that most people did.
His friend the grower went by the unfunny (and perhaps unwise) nickname of Mr. Green, though Dave called him Tom. They would lay back in Tom's 1986 Buick Century station wagon and smoke endless amounts of dope, until, at times, they would fall asleep next to one another. Somehow they were never caught by campus police. Tom always parked his car next to the water tower, right in the thick of everything, unconcerned by passersby. In fact, he even claimed once, it helped his business. People knew where to find him. No one cared. Dave felt a peculiar sense of belonging, and even thrilled mildly at the risk. He experienced brief tingles in his fingertips as he sat in the car. Joe did most of the talking, and Dave Granger did most of the listening, which was about par for the course. Tom often mused on cosmic conversation, preferring to fill the void of silence with (sometimes completely erroneous) information gleaned from various websites on the Internet.
"Did you know," Tom had said lazily, propelling a caterpillar of smoke out of his mouth, "the Greeks divided time in two parts?" Dave didn't reply. He knew there was more. There's always more. "Yeah ... Chronos, and Kairos. Chronos is like, you know. The numbers on a clock, but like .. Kairos? Kairos is divine time. Kairos is like ... strike while the anvil's hot, you know?" Tom leaned back and closed his eyes, proferring the joint across the seats to Dave. "I wish I had a clock that told Kairos time, man. That'd be awesome."
Dave nodded and blinked, coughing out the smoke. "What then is time? If no one asks me, I know: if I wish to explain it to one that asketh, I know not." He finished the quote and passed the joint back. He had found that he was always the fastest one to take a hit - most people took their time, preferring to orate, or lapse into the television screen, joint burning down in their fingertips, while Dave Granger took it, smoked it, and passed it all in less than five seconds.
"Who's that?" Tom was used to Dave's quotes, but it was rare that he would be familiar with any of them.
Dave turned to the passenger side window. The sun was setting over the hills, as red as tomato soup, and the sky around it a virulent orange. "St. Augustine."
Tom nods, languidly, and exhales.
"Kairos time," Dave Granger repeats, a hint of color in his usual monochrome tone. "Huh."
The cigarette's gone out, and Dave's mouth is dry. He can tell by the way his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth - only slightly - and how the insides of his cheeks stick to the sides of his molars when he opens his jaws to yawn. This, of course, is due to dehydration, but Dave mistakes it for the need to return to his beer. He flicks his cigarette - Camel light - into the street, and returns inside.
The bar is familiar to him, a bit of a dive, the only place he feels entirely comfortable in the world. For months now, he's lived alone, and it's been like a bit of paradise, but even Adam got lonely and prayed for companionship. This is something he likes to say to excuse his frequent visitation to others ... and probably also by way of excusing his alcoholism to himself. It is also entirely possible that Dave Granger is not an alcoholic. The staff at the bar is familiar to him as well, though he keeps largely to himself and enjoys roughly the same position there as he did in middle school - at the edges of things, usually with his face in a book, though at times the alcohol would cause breaches in the social wall he had erected for himself.
