Lost in Time

A gift from my boyfriend, my timepiece does so much more than tell time.

by Wendy Price • More.com Member { View Profile }

            The warmth of the sun and the whimsical breeze matches so perfectly this lazy afternoon.  My senses become acutely aware as my body drinks in the array of fragrances the sensitive touch and release of all tension and worries.  What a wonderful gift to be treated to a massage and lunch, forgetting all about time.  

            What time is it any way?  I reach for my watch in that automatic way; without thought. Half the time not really focusing on the curve of the silver chain, the inch or so that dangles loosely, always cool to my touch as it grazes across my wrist.  My heart drops as my hand anxiously moves up and down my wrist. Oh no, where is it?  My watch, it’s not there! I panic. My mind races, where did I leave it? I am so connected and attached to this watch. Then the image comes to me. Yes, that’s right, I slipped it into the pocket of the robe I was wearing for my massage. You know the soft, plush cotton white ones. The kind that are always way too large on you but yet still envelopes you in this cushion of comfort where you never want to leave. My companion looks at me and senses my distress. I excuse myself as I race against time. In disbelief and finding this whole scenario just a bit comical, I mean look, come on, one minute I’m relaxing without any thought to the next appointment or obligation. The next minute I’m racing, and rushed, my heart pounding. Time is of the essence. I have to get there. I have to get there before I lose my precious watch. Catching my breath, I reach the front desk at the hotel spa.

      “I left my watch here earlier in one of your robes,” I exclaim.  My voice is quivering.  I’m gasping for air and can feel the anxiety creeping in. 

     “We just sent all our robes to the hotel laundry”. 

     “What? Oh no, please, please tell me where that is. I need to get that watch.”  I feel ready to cry and, at the same time, find myself laughing out loud at the irony of it all. Time is such a precious gift in and of itself and here I am once again racing against time, running down flights of stairs for the very thing that keeps me reminded of the next appointment or obligation.  I continue on, two more floors to go. The whole time wondering what are the chances of me reaching the hotel laundry before my beautiful silver watch is lost tumbling around and around in an industrial size washer where it will surely be destroyed?  For my watch is not water proof.

     Out of breath and in major panic mode, I finally reach the hotel basement. Although in a frenzy, I cannot help but take note of how this area of the hotel is noticeably different. The narrow hallways are dull in color. The loud echoes from various doors slamming, the carpets worn from the variety of carts wheeled and dragged consistently across them through out the days and nights.  Getting closer I hear the monstrous machines, loud, spinning, and water running.  Printed across the door is “Laundry Room, Employees Only”. Feeling bold along with a sense of hope, I bolt through the door startling the two Spanish ladies dressed in their pressed white uniforms. Piles of laundry bags are laid out before them. As I try to catch my breath, I explain my predicament. They immediately go to work dumping the first bag in front of them. All the while not understanding all the words I just spewed out before them. But they work fast nonetheless, should this crazed lady invading their domain decide to really blow a gasket.

     The first mountain of white cushiony robes spills out before me. The three of us spring into action snatching up a robe and rummaging through the pockets.  Not long into our search, the nice lady to my left has come upon my watch. 

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