Tony's Mickey Mouse Watch

Some people aren’t meant to be grownups

Photo by Bill Adler

“We don’t have any more space for your artifacts.” Marie shuffled in her slippers to the bookcase on the far side of the living room. “Baseball mitt. Stuffed panda. Out-of-date globe with the wrong countries. Lionel train engine. Winnie the Pooh drinking glass.” She picked up each object as she named it. “Lego dragon.”

“Don’t touch the dragon!” Tony yelped. It took Tony over a week to assemble his first Lego dragon when he was eight, and then another week to construct this one as an adult. “It’s fragile.”  

“It’s not as fragile as you.” Marie rolled her eyes.

Tony skipped to the bookcase. Marie sidestepped out of his way, sallied to the bar, and mixed a martini. 

He inspected each of the toys she had touched and readjusted their position so they were precisely where they had been. He blew soft breaths to remove any dust. 

“And that.” Marie pointed to the shelf below. “We’re probably the only adults in America with a glass piggy bank filled with pennies, nickels, and dimes. Are there even any quarters in there?” She harrumphed. “Why didn’t you break it and use the loot to buy candy, baseball cards, or something useful while still a boy?” She raised her hand like a cop ordering a car to halt. "Nevermind. I know the answer. It's because you're a prisoner of your childhood."

“I did break it. This one is like the piggy bank I had as a kid. I cracked mine open when I was nine and used the money to buy a mitt and comics.”

“This baseball glove is from your childhood?”

“No. This one is a similar Babe Ruth mitt, but the original is long gone.” Tony sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

Marie rested on the couch and sipped her martini. “You see, babe, that’s the thing. These childhood artifacts aren’t even the ones you grew up with. They’re replacements.” Marie shifted her eyes to the left. "That book’s a fake, too, right?”

“Peanuts Treasury! I adored Peanuts, especially Snoopy. I must have read that book a hundred times, probably more.” Tony’s green eyes lit like undersea coral touched by a sunbeam. 

“And?”

“It’s not the actual one I owned as a kid.” Tony lowered his voice. “I wish it were, though.”

“That Superman comic. How much was the original?”

“Fifteen cents.”

“And you spent what on eBay to acquire it again?” When Tony didn’t respond, Marie continued, “None of these are genuine. Our living room is awash with fakes. We're living in a museum gift shop that sells posters of famous art.” Marie downed the remainder of her drink. She tilted her head and dropped the olive into her mouth. “Can we please get rid of these things? Fill the space with some objets d’art that are, you know, normal?”

“Our friends say my childhood mementos are cute.”

“Our friends are patronizing you.” Marie studied her empty glass and wrinkled her brow. “There was something you wanted to tell me?” She glared at the bulge in Tony’s jacket pocket. “I hope you’re not going to say you bought another artifact.”

“I did. It’s small and won’t take up any space. But I need to tell you something first.”

“Let me guess. You quit your job to join the circus because you loved the circus as a child.”

“You’re half right.” Tony sat on the sofa next to Marie. “I gave notice today. I’m quitting.”

She took Tony’s hand in hers. “I’m sorry I criticized your childhood memories. Just because you're angry with me is no reason to joke like that.”

“I’m serious. I already quit. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I’m just not cut out for finance. It’s too much stress, responsibility, and anxiety.”

“Very funny. Hahaha.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

Marie brought her hand to her throat and fidgeted with her pearl necklace. “I don’t believe you.”

Tony rested his hand on her leg. “Why would I lie about a thing like that?” 

“To punish me for criticizing your romance with your childhood.” Marie trembled, and her lips turned blue. Her face looked like Edvard Munch’s The Scream. 

“In two weeks I start a new job.”

“What job?” Marie’s chest heaved as she hyperventilated. 

“An ice cream parlor. The Magnificent Scoop on Wolf Street.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” Marie asked. 

"I don't do well with stress."

“How are we going to afford anything if you work at a freaking ice cream parlor?” 

“I’m going to be the general manager. I’ll make an adequate living.”

Marie smacked her forehead. “Adequate?” She shook her head with so much force that one of her earrings unmoored and flew across the living room. “Are you deranged?”

“What I am is happier now that I’ve made the decision. We’ll be fine, sweetie. I promise.”

“Don’t ‘sweetie’ me.” Marie covered her face with her hands. “We’re ruined.” 

Tony wrapped his arm around Marie’s shoulders and patted her back. She folded into him and sobbed. 

When she was out of tears, Tony said, “I used to go to The Magnificent Scoop almost every day when I was a kid. I have fond memories of that place. I should have been working there from the beginning, but it’s never too late to follow your heart.” Tony’s smile was the opposite of Marie’s scowl. “Plus, I’ll be home earlier.”

“More time for you to search online for more useless artifacts from your childhood. Great, just great.”

“And you'll love what I got today.” Tony retrieved a watch from his pocket. “I found it at a vintage shop a couple of blocks from The Magnificent Scoop.” 

“This watch is super special, Marie. This isn’t just similar to the watch I had when I was small—it’s the exact same watch. My parents gave it to me for my eighth birthday. This exact watch.” Tony ran his fingertips across the watch’s crystal and then flipped it over. “I’m certain because it has the same serial number on the back, 8789. Can you believe it? The same watch! I haven’t put it on yet. I was waiting to get home so we could share the moment.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Tony strapped the watch to his wrist. Despite its age, the watch’s leather band retained its suppleness, the dial and hands still vibrant red, yellow, and blue. His eyes lost focus in the enthrall of Mickey’s perpetual cheer. 

Tony wound the watch.

A high-pitched ringing, like wind chimes in a sudden gust and the blinding effervescence of a hundred sparklers filled the living room. 

Marie, who had been leaning against Tony, slipped off the couch, and tumbled onto the floor.

She looked up. Where Tony had been sitting was an eight-year-old boy with blond hair and bright green eyes, beaming at his watch. 

---

If you enjoyed Tony’s Mickey Mouse Watch, I think you’ll also like my story, A Second Chance.