It wasn't long ago that Findley Swain learned how to read a clock. Her mother, Miss Maggie to the people whose houses she cleaned, had taught her one cold January night when she was sick with a fever. She remembered that the long hand was the minutes and the short hand was the hours. She liked the idea of a clock. That it would always tell you what was supposed to be going on in the world at any time of the day. For instance, if both hands pointed straight up, it was time for lunch or if both hands pointed straight down it was time for dinner.
Fin loved her new talent and began to search for clocks around town. She found one above the sliding doors at the grocery store and above the stove in her own apartment and to her surprise there was one in EVERY SINGLE classroom at her elementary school.
Because of the new wristwatch her mother gave her for her birthday, Fin knew it was exactly 4:13 in the afternoon when she saw Thomas Chickering lying on his stomach on the bank of the Harpeth with his head underwater.
She ran and dragged him out by grabbing hold of the straps of his Crocs and pulling as hard as she could. She was small for an eight-year old, but managed to pull the curly-headed boy a good three feet.
"What do you think you're doing?" Thomas asked with a face dripping with water.
"Saving your life." Fin said.
"Well don't." Thomas said, without looking at Fin.
"You don't have to be so mean. Don't you know you're not supposed to be playing in water without a grownup?"
Thomas did not answer. He just got up and started walking back toward the playground behind the school. Fin was about to turn back and follow the path next to the river that led her home, but Thomas had turned around again.
"Did you hear it?" He asked.
"Hear what?" Fin said, glad he was talking to her again. She didn't have many friends because her mom cleaned most of the other kids' houses.
"The, uh, well...the fish."
Fin paused to think about it. "I don't know. What does a fish sound like?"
"I don't know what most fish sound like, but this one definitely talked." Neither Fin nor Thomas thought this was strange.
"What did it say?"
"I think it's a he and he said: 'sink or swim'."
"What the heck does that mean?"
"I dunno."
Fin and Thomas stood there for a long time without talking and thinking of all the possible answers to this mystery, but both were too shy to share their guesses.
Finally, Fin cleared her throat and said, "It's 4:47 and I have to be home by 5 or my mom starts to worry."
"Okay." Thomas said, but still neither one moved.
"I think we should meet back here tomorrow at the exact same time to see if we can hear it...him...again." Fin said, hoping Thomas would agree so she could talk to him again. She didn't really care so much about the fish.
"How am I supposed to know what time it is so I know what time to meet you?" Thomas said.
After a very very very very long pause, Fin undid the Velcro strap of her new watch and handed it to Thomas. "Here, we can trade off."
And with that they made a plan to find the fish the very next day so they could have a good long chat with him.
As Fin walked home, she thought a little about solving the mystery of "sink or swim", but mostly she thought about her new friend and about how giving time away was really the best way to spend it.
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(coming tomorrow) Part Two: "Gone Fishing"
Why a bedtime blog...
I used to make up stories all the time when I was young. Once during a bike ride on an island off the coast of Florida I wove such a good yarn involving swamplands, lost children, obese alligators, and vivid newspaper headlines that I induced panic in my tandem bike companion. I had to apologize for that one. It's hard to peddle a tandem by yourself.
Sometime around the teenage years I stopped making up my little stories. I got busy I suppose. It's a sad day when you don't have time for a daily dose of good ole imagination. The point is we need stories to thrive. Even more so when we are young. So this blog is for all the parents out there who are tired of the books piled on the rug at the foot of the bed and need a new tale to tell to the yawning (if you're lucky) or stomping (if you're not) wee ones traveling towards dreamland.
Enjoy and, of course, sweet dreams.
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THE ADVENTURES OF FINDLEY SWAIN
Sometime around the teenage years I stopped making up my little stories. I got busy I suppose. It's a sad day when you don't have time for a daily dose of good ole imagination. The point is we need stories to thrive. Even more so when we are young. So this blog is for all the parents out there who are tired of the books piled on the rug at the foot of the bed and need a new tale to tell to the yawning (if you're lucky) or stomping (if you're not) wee ones traveling towards dreamland.
Enjoy and, of course, sweet dreams.
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THE ADVENTURES OF FINDLEY SWAIN
2 comments:
This is precious!!
Amazing!
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