Short Story: “The Boy Who Found Time” Part 2

Here is the second and last part of my short story, “The Boy Who Found Time.” If you haven’t read Part 1, you can do so here. I hope you enjoy reading it! I also love hearing from you, so feel free to leave feedback and tell me what you think.

Soon, there would be no hand to hold or gentle arms to fall into. His mother wouldn’t be there to tuck him into bed at night and kiss his head in the morning. She couldn’t help him read or teach him how to ride a bike. She wouldn’t be there to hang his drawings on the refrigerator or cheer for him when he learned a new trick. Her smile and laughter wouldn’t linger in the house. This was what death meant. It was a forever vacancy; his mother wouldn’t be here.  

“W-Why?” Timothy sobbed.  

He was beginning to run out of tears, and his mother’s crying was also slowing down. Still, she didn’t give him an answer. Maybe it was because the answer was too hard to understand, or perhaps she didn’t know it herself. 

His mother loosened her hold around Timothy, and as she did so, the room got larger. Timothy started breathing hard and helplessly looked around, his eyes still stinging. The bedroom walls looked too sterilized, the floor felt too uneven, the curtains appeared too dark, and the red on his grandmother’s cardigan was too saturated.  

Before he realized what he was doing, Timothy pulled from his mother’s arms and raced from the bedroom. He ran down the hallway without knowing where he was going and turned into the living room.  

He stopped. The world seemed too overwhelming in this room, too, and he looked around. Then, seeing the old grandfather clock, he walked over to it and opened the curio cabinet. His mother’s and grandmother’s footsteps were approaching, but Timothy climbed into the cabinet anyway.  

Pressing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs, he leaned against the back of the cabinet and closed his eyes. The footsteps grew closer, and each step Timothy heard made him press harder against the back of the cabinet.  

When he saw his grandmother’s legs, Timothy scooted his body as far back as it could go in that tiny space. Then he heard a loud clicking noise and fell backwards. 

Blue light flashed before his eyes, and crisp air hit his face. Timothy fell faster, his arms and legs flailing in the wind. He opened his mouth to cry for help, but the small whimper he managed to let out was lost in the wind. He kept falling and falling. Whenever he thought he would reach the ground, a gale would carry him across the sky and prevent him from landing. His vision began blurring, and everything went dark.  

* * * *  

Gentle wind tickled Timothy’s nose and pulled him out of unconsciousness. He wasn’t falling anymore. Instead, he lay on his back on something soft. He kept his eyes closed and wondered if he was in his bed. Maybe it had all been a bad dream, and he could go climb into his mother’s bed for comfort. She could tell him everything was okay and not to worry because she would never leave him. The thought filled his heart with joy, and Timothy opened his eyes and sat up.  

The first thing he saw, however, wasn’t his blue wall and cluttered nightstand. Instead, the entire world spun before him. All he could see was vivid green and blue. When everything stopped spinning and came into focus, he realized that he was in the middle of an open field. Green grass stretched for miles before him, and the sky above him was bright and cloudless. 

Looking down, Timothy realized that the soft substance he lay on was also grass. He weaved his hands through it, appreciating that it wasn’t prickly like usual. It also smelled more like water lilies than regular grass. For a moment, Timothy forgot everything and felt no need to get back home or figure out where he was. But when that feeling wore off, Timothy felt more worried than before.  

He looked around, but there was nothing to see but the field. No cars. No road. No people. He was in an ocean of grass. 

“Mommy!” Timothy called out in a surge of panic, but not even the wind answered him. 

 He called out again, but there was still no answer. He got to his feet and called for a third time without success. Then he fell back to his knees and began to cry. His tears spilled onto his lap and then onto the grass. The soft blades began sparkling from the salty water droplets.  

“Who is this watering my fields for me?” a voice spoke and broke the silence.  

It came out of nowhere, and it was angelic and sparkling. Timothy was immediately comforted by it because it reminded him of his mother. He looked up, wiping his eyes with his fists.  

“Oh my! How have you stumbled here, little one?” the voice rang out. 

Timothy just stared at the voice’s owner. Standing before him was a woman, or perhaps she was a fairy or an angel.  

Pink and white flowers were dispersed all over her long, flowy hair. Timothy couldn’t decide on the color of her hair because it seemed to change every time she shifted her head. One second, it was blonde. Then it turned pale pink and then white.  

The woman’s eyes were bright green, and her skin sparkled. Her dress was made of light blue flower petals and flowed down to her bare feet. There was something simple and earthly about this woman, yet she looked majestic.  

A gentle expression rested on her face, and when Timothy peered into her eyes, a reassuring feeling came over him: everything would be okay.  

“I-I can’t find my mom. Can you help me?” Timothy sniffed. 

Bending down, the woman lifted his chin with her soft hand. “How did that happen? Did you lose her?” she inquired with concern.  

“No, I’m lost,” Timothy answered feebly.  

“Oh, my dear! Where have you come from?” 

“The clock in my grandmother’s living room.” 

The woman’s eyebrows furrowed. “Oh?”  

“Can you help me?” Timothy pleaded, staring into the woman’s glowing face.  

“I can certainly try,” the women nodded,” but you’ll have to tell me exactly how you got here.” 

“I was at Grandma’s house with my mom, and I ran into her living room. Then I climbed into her clock to hide, and I leaned back and fell out. Now I don’t know where I am, and I’m lost.” Fresh tears filled Timothy’s eyes as he spoke.  

“You’re not from here at all then. You’re a human, aren’t you?”  

Timothy frowned and nodded his head. “Are you a fairy?” he asked.  

“Fairy?” now the woman looked confused. “Why, no. Well, I don’t think so. What is a fairy? I’m Mother Nature.”  

Timothy thought for a moment before answering. Then he tilted his head and said, “My mommy knows about you. She says you’re the reason why it gets cold part of the year and hot the other part. Is that true? Do you really control the weather?”  

“Well, yes, I suppose you could say that. I make flowers grow at the beginning of the year and paint the leaves red and orange toward the end. I make it snow, and sometimes I make it rain. My children help me with this, of course.” 

“You have kids?”  

“Yes, four of them,” the woman smiled, “Summer, Winter, Spring, and Fall. I love them each very much.” 

Timothy looked at the ground, thinking about his mother.  

Mother Nature must have noticed his melancholy expression because she said, “Let’s get you back home to your mother. I’m sure she misses you.” 

She extended her hand towards Timothy, and he took hold of it. Her touch was gentle yet firm. Timothy stood, and Mother Nature led him several feet further. Then she stopped.  

“Now, I think the best way to get you back home would be to take you to mine,” Mother Nature said, looking down at him. 

“But why?” Timothy questioned. 

“Well, I don’t know the way to your home, but I do know the way to mine. Once we get there, we can ask my husband to help you get back home. I think he’ll have a better idea of how to help than I will. You did say you fell out of a clock, didn’t you?” 

“Yes, but–” 

“Well, then, my husband will certainly know how to get you back,” Mother Nature interrupted. Then, straightening her dress and tightening her grip on Timothy’s hand, she said, “Now, you must hold onto me tightly so that I can transport you to my world. If I let go of you, who knows where you’d end up.”  

Frightened at the idea of being lost and alone again, Timothy tightened his grip on Mother Nature’s hand.  

“But isn’t this your world?” he asked. 

Mother Nature let out a radiating laugh. “No, my child. This is simply the bridge between your world and mine. This is where I change the seasons and plant the flowers. Whatever I plant here goes up to Earth. Watch.” 

Letting go of Timothy’s hand, she extended her arms forward and swirled them above the ground. Suddenly, a lovely, yellow dandelion appeared. Timothy smiled at seeing the beautiful flower, but just a few moments later, it slipped through the earth and was gone.  

“Where’d it go?” Timothy asked. 

“To your world,” Mother Nature explained and took hold of Timothy’s hand again. “Now, shall we go to mine?”  

Timothy nodded and gripped Mother Nature’s hand as hard as he could. There was a gust of wind that stung Timothy’s eyes and forced him to squeeze them shut. Then, he felt his feet leave the ground as something spun him around. His right hand was getting sweaty, so he held onto Mother Nature’s with both hands to keep from falling.  

The spinning lasted two minutes, and then all Timothy felt was calm as if he was floating on a pillow. He opened his eyes to see the vast blue sky ahead of him and fields of green grass thousands of feet below him. His breath was knocked out of him, but he wasn’t afraid. He looked all around with speechless wonder. The brisk wind was drying his tears. 

Timothy looked at Mother Nature to see her eyes fixed forward, her head held high with dignity and strength. For the first time since he fell out of that clock, Timothy felt truly safe, led by the hand of Mother Nature herself.  

Timothy couldn’t tell how long they had been flying, but soon, his feet touched the solid ground. 

Timothy let out a slow, long breath. Before him stood rows of houses made from tree branches with flowers sticking out of their roofs. He stood on a brown dirt road that stretched on for miles. Several people were out of their homes, speaking to each other in friendly tones. They had bright, sparkly skin and clothes made from flower petals, just like Mother Nature.  

“Welcome to my world,” Mother Nature said with a smile.  

Then, she led him down the winding road. They walked for quite some time, and occasionally, one of the people standing outside would give them a friendly smile. Timothy kept scanning every inch of the beautiful place, feeling more cheerful with each step he took.  

Behind the houses were more green fields, but a couple of miles away, there seemed to be a cluster of more houses shaped differently than the ones lined against the dirt road.  

“Who lives in those houses?” Timothy asked, pointing towards them. 

“Oh, that’s where the Dream Keepers live,” Mother Nature explained, and then she pointed in the opposite direction, “and just beyond that hill is where the Imagination Generators live. But you don’t need to focus on them right now. You’ll have plenty of time to worry about them as you grow up.”  

Timothy was satisfied with the answer because Mother Nature’s voice was truthful and sincere. 

After a while, the houses along the path grew fewer until there were none at all. Then Timothy saw it; several feet away, at the very end of the path, was a final house. Unlike the other houses, this house was large with two stories. Hundreds of flowers covered the entire house, and vivid green vines grew up on the front porch, beckoning people to enter.  

“This is my home,” Mother Nature told Timothy, who stared at it wide-eyed. 

When they reached the house, they entered through a curtain of flowers. The fragrance of these flowers lingered throughout it. 

“I’ll go get my husband. Do touch anything,” Mother Nature said in her melodious voice. Then she glided into the hallway.  

Timothy stood there, puzzled by Mother Nature’s remark. He decided that she probably meant “don’t” instead of “do,” so he stayed in one place without touching anything. 

He looked up and down the room, growing accustomed to it. Unlike the houses he was used to, this one was filled with bright lights as if there was no roof. However, when he looked at the ceiling, there was a wooden roof above him.  

Several wooden chairs were arranged in a tidy circle a couple of steps away from him, and behind those chairs was the hallway that Mother Nature had disappeared into.  

The house was quiet and peaceful, and although Timothy was all alone, he was not afraid.  

He had been waiting there for several minutes when a voice ruptured the silent air. “Why have you not explored the house? Didn’t my wife tell you to touch anything you wanted?”  

Standing in the hallway was a tall man with a long white beard and piercing violet eyes. There was something firm and comforting about him, yet he also seemed strange. One second, he looked like a very old man, slightly fragile but wise, and in the next second, he looked young and dashing, healthy and hopeful.  

Timothy nodded in response to the man’s question but was too distracted by the stranger’s appearance to answer him any further.  

The man gave a gentle smile. “You must be Timothy,” he said. 

Timothy gave another nod.  

“You are far from home, my son,” the man said and stepped forward so that he was standing right in front of Timothy. 

“Yes, sir,” Timothy answered. 

The man put his hand on Timothy’s shoulder, and Timothy was comforted.  

“I think it’s time we get you back,” the man said, his eyes transfixed on Timothy’s face.  

“Who are you?” 

“I’m Father Time, and it appears that you have fallen through one of my clocks.” 

“I didn’t mean to,” Timothy interjected, looking wide-eyed into the man’s gaze. “I was hiding, you see.” 

“Aw, yes. Hiding. We all do it sometimes. The trick is being found.” 

Timothy didn’t understand what the man meant by this, but he didn’t bother to ask. He had far more important things on his mind. 

“Can you help me get back to my mom?” 

Father Time gave a deliberate nod. “Yes.” 

Timothy exhaled. “Thank you!” he said with relief. 

“It’s an honor, of course,” Father Time replied. Then he waved his hand forward, beckoning Timothy to follow him into the hallway.  

The hallway was long and had many rooms. Just when he thought it would end, there came another turn. Soon, Father Time opened a door to one of the rooms and stepped inside. Timothy followed close behind.  

To his surprise, the room was empty except for an elevated wheel that stood at the center of the floor. There was also a closed door at the corner of the room that Timothy assumed was a closet.  

“Is this where you control time?” Timothy asked. When he spoke, his voice was strong and deep. 

It startled him, and he looked down, realizing that he was also taller. He had the body of a young adult rather than a little boy.  

“Yes, and that is why your age might fluctuate here,” Father Time explained. 

“Do you have the power to do anything you want with time?” Timothy asked, still getting used to his adult body and mind.  

“Yes and no. I do, but I don’t. You see, I can bend time the way I want to, but I have an obligation to my wife.” 

“Mother Nature?” Timothy questioned. 

“That’s right. I work within her limitations, just as she does with mine. We are in unison, and that is what makes the flowers bloom and the birds hatch.” 

“But,” Timothy’s voice was getting more childish now, “It also makes the flowers wilt, and the birds die, doesn’t it?” 

Father Time gave a simple nod. “But just because your world is not endless, doesn’t mean there is no meaning in it.” 

“Is your world endless?” Again, Timothy’s voice changed, and he sounded like a man instead of a little boy. 

Father Time gave another nod. 

“Then, if you can control time, why can’t you just make my world endless?” Timothy felt strong in his adult body and clenched his fists. 

“It used be, but people made mistakes. Now, your world is just a piece of what it was meant to be, and I do not have the power to fix that.” Father Time’s voice remained steady and calm. 

Timothy’s breath was getting heavier. “But can’t you at least bend the rules a little?” 

“No.” 

“Not even the tiniest bit? You have all this power, and you’re using it to let flowers wither away!” Timothy’s voice grew louder with each word he spoke. 

“Tell me. What would you have me do with the time that I hold?” Father Time’s question silenced Timothy’s raging thoughts. 

Both men stared at each other for several minutes without saying a word.  

Finally, Timothy lowered his head and spoke quietly, “Give it to me. Just a few more moments. An extra year maybe…with her.” 

Then he was silent again, and he felt his voice loosen. He knew that if he spoke again, his childish voice would pass his lips.  

“My son,” Father Time bent his head and shook it wearily, “if I gave you more time, it wouldn’t be enough.”  

“Now’s not enough.” 

“It never is. The time we have with the ones we love is worth more than we know.” 

Something choked Timothy’s throat, and his eyes started to burn. 

“I’m sorry, my child. I wish that I could help you. I know the pain you are facing is great. Your mother is a very good woman.” 

“No, you’re not!” Timothy’s voice fluctuated again, and it rattled the entire room. “You’re not sorry! You don’t know anything! You have forever with the ones you love. With your wife and your kids. You know nothing!” His voice cracked. 

Father Time let out a sorrowful breath. “Maybe so. But just because I don’t understand doesn’t mean I don’t care.”  

Timothy didn’t answer. He crossed his arms and felt his six-year-old body. He didn’t want to look at Father Time anymore. Fire was raging inside of him, and he wanted to burn everything that stood in his path. 

“My son,” Father Time’s voice pleaded, “let me take you home. Let me take you back to your mother so that you can enjoy the moments you do have with her.”  

Timothy stole a glance at Father Time and noticed something shiny slide from his eye and onto his cheek. 

“No, I won’t go, not until you give me more time!” 

Father Time let out another weary sigh.  

“Why can’t you?” Timothy faced him, “Why can’t you? You have so much of it! Why can’t you give me just a little more? Please! Please, give me some more time with my mom!” Timothy punched the wall with his fist, and it made a dent in the wood. He wasn’t a little boy anymore.  

“My child, it doesn’t work that way.” 

“Then make it work that way! Change it! Reverse it! Fix it.” 

“We can’t fix everything. Some things can’t be stopped. That’s the thing about life, Timothy. It goes on with or without us. You’ll always be chasing after time until you realize that it is not your enemy.”  

Timothy unclenched his fists and started pacing around the room, breathing hard. 

“It’s a gift,” Father Time said simply. “We can’t choose how much of it we have. We can only appreciate and accept what has already been given to us.”  

The door in the back of the room opened, and a white light shone from inside it. Timothy stopped pacing and stared at it.  

Father Time walked over to it and beckoned Timothy to do the same. Timothy followed, and they stepped into the room.  

He let out a long breath and looked at a long row of picture frames. The photos in each frame were moving, and each one was a picture from Timothy’s past. Timothy looked at one and saw himself kicking a soccer ball to his smiling mother. The picture beside it showed his mother handing him a birthday gift. Another picture showed his mother lying in a hospital bed and reading to him.  

Speechless, Timothy walked forward, looking at all of the memories. There was his mother smiling and eating ice cream with him. There she was again with tears in her eyes, explaining to him why people cry. Timothy walked on.  

Sometimes, he would stop and watch a particular memory replay over and over again. Other times, he would move past it without paying much attention to it. He stopped and smiled when he saw him and his mother playing on the beach.  

His mother moved through the sand in her bare feet, clutching Timothy’s hand. Then, she bent down and picked up a seashell. She put it to Timothy’s ear, and Timothy’s face lit up.  

“The ocean!” Timothy’s voice echoed from the picture. 

“Sort of,” his mother’s voice rang out. “It just sounds like it. The real ocean is right before us, but this is like a memory. We can take it home, and then we can listen to it and remember our time here,” she explained.  

A tear slid from Timothy’s eyes as he watched the scene. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the conch shell, feeling its smooth surface. 

“You could stay here, Timothy,” Father Time said. “You could watch these memories forever, or you could go home.” 

Timothy looked up at Father Time. “It’s going to hurt saying goodbye.” 

Father Time nodded. “Yes, it is,” he agreed.  

Timothy looked at the seashell again and thought in silence. Father Time was offering him another choice. He didn’t have to go back to his mom just to say goodbye to her. He could soak up these joyful memories forever, but they were just memories: ghosts of a happiness Timothy felt in a different life.  

Timothy raised his head and looked Father Time in the eye. “My mom’s waiting for me,” he said.  

Father Time smiled softly. “Then let’s get you home.” 

As they walked back to the main room, Timothy could feel his body go back to his normal self. He put the conch shell into his pocket and took hold of Father Time’s strong hand.  

Father Time shut the door of the room with all of the memories when they entered the room with the wheel. Then he walked over to the wheel and stood in front of it.  

“Are you ready?” Father Time asked Timothy. 

Timothy nodded. “Oh, and sir?” 

“Yes?” 

“Thank you.” 

Father Time smiled, and another sparkly drop of water slid from his eyes. “You’re welcome, my son. Enjoy the rest of your grand adventure,” he replied and turned the wheel. 

The room around Timothy began to spin, and then the floor dropped from beneath him. The walls of the room disappeared entirely, and Timothy was lifted into the open sky. The last thing he saw before he left that strange world was Father Time turning the wheel and looking towards the future.  

* * * *  

Timothy landed with a thud inside the grandfather clock. Gasping for breath, he examined his hands and feet; they were still small, and he knew that if he spoke, he would recognize his voice. Relief flooding his body, he opened the curio cabinet and stumbled out. 

“Timothy!” a faint voice called out. It belonged to his mother. 

Timothy jumped to his feet and raced out of the living room, shouting, “I’m here, Mommy!”  

He darted into the hallway and looked into all of the bedrooms. No one was there.  

“Timothy!” his mother’s voice called out again. 

Then he realized where the voice was coming from and raced to the front door. He opened it and dashed outside into the sunshine. He ran down the road as fast as he could, calling for his mother. When he turned the corner, he saw her and ran into her safe embrace.  

“Timothy! Oh, baby,” his mother cried, squeezing him as tightly as she could. “Where were you? We were worried sick! You’ve been gone for hours.” She kissed his head and cheeks over and over again.  

“I’m sorry, Mommy! I’m sorry,” was all Timothy could say. He just held his mother tightly and cried with her. 

“It’s okay, baby. You’re safe now. You’re alright. I have you,” his mother murmured, and she lifted his face.  

She looked into his eyes with a tear-filled and loving smile.  

“I love you, Mommy,” Timothy said and wrapped his small arms around his mother’s neck.  

“I love you too, Sweetheart,” his mother sobbed. 

They sat outside for several moments, hugging each other. Timothy didn’t say anything more. He just listened to his mother’s soft breathing. It was steady like the ocean waves going back and forth across the coast.