It was then that I had the urge to pick up the pocket-watch. It looked incredibly lonely just laying there, disregarded and forgotten. Everyone already had their own watches, or even cell phones with the time on them, and while they were always checking the time on these fancy new devices, this watch simply sat here, alone and unwanted, with no one to check on it constantly. I put it to my ear and heard a ticking noise--it was still working.
It wasn't a particularly fancy watch, but it was a watch nonetheless, and as long it was still ticking, it was a good one too, faithfully ticking the time away for anyone who cared to notice, and even for those who didn't. I felt obligated to make it feel more useful, so I put it in my pocket and decided to take it home with me.
I didn't own a watch. I never really liked the way they chafed and pinched my wrists. But this watch was for pockets, so I didn't really have an excuse anymore. And I didn't have a choice but to pick it up regardless of my distaste for watches. It had just looked so forlorn just sitting on that bench, unwanted and unchecked. So, watch in pocket, I proceeded to get onto the train.
Later, when I was at home, I attempted to set it on my bedside table--but my wife interrogated me about it, demanding to know why I would hang on to such a dirty old thing I found in the subway station.
"Why?" she asked. "What do you want with some old dirty watch? You're a cell phone salesman, Harry, and you found this thing in the subway! Whoever lost it must not have really wanted it, and you'll never need it because you have a phone with the time on. Do you even know where that thing's been?"
I calmly explained to her that I knew exactly where it had been. She scowled and went to bed. I pleaded with her to calm down. She didn't.
"Sell it," she suggested. "Pawn it. We could use the extra cash." But I would have none of it. I insisted that I be a friend to this lonely, discarded pocketwatch and check it twelve times a minute.
She waved me away with one hand, and resumed trying to ignore me so she could sleep.
I went to the kitchen and sat down at the table. I attempted to open the watch, but it was stuck. I pulled a small screwdriver out of a nearby drawer.
Carefully, I managed to jimmy it open with the screwdriver.
Inside was an old, browning picture of a young soldier and his family. I smiled--the original owner probably treasured it and protected it with his life. But perhaps his old age had gotten the better of him. So now it was my duty to treasure it.
I felt the back of the watch, expecting smooth silver but noticing a worn inscription instead. I turned it over and polished it with my sleeve.
On the back of the watch were nine words engraved into the silver:
"WITH MY EYES CAST HEAVENWARD, I AM NEVER ALONE."
