The Watchmaker's Doctor ✔️

XV

2002, Sixteen Years Backwards

As soon as she stepped off the bus, Anaya huddled under her umbrella. The last showers before the summer. Her newest friends, Ichika, Dev, Kylie, and Sean sloshed along behind her. Anaya had learned their names over the past few months as they rode the bus and went to classes together. Sometimes, they even sat all together at lunch.

"Hey Ana, wait up! On rainy days, the Den serves happy hour until it lets up. We'll throw some darts and shoot some pool. Wanna join?" Ich was the most extroverted. She and Dev were an item, joined at the hip, it seemed.

Anaya checked her phone. Her mother wouldn't be back for a while, and she could send her dad a quick text. "Yeah, sure. Thanks!" There wasn't time to say more, since it was just a short walk across the road from the bus stop.

The Lion's Den was the closest pub to her house and the apartments the guys and girls shared. Despite its ferocious name, or perhaps because of it, it was the head of the pack of six bars in town. The sweet smell of cider and dank cigarette smoke wafted up her nostrils. Better than Lucy's sweaty armpits at Emberswick Bar & Grill.

Dev asked for a couple of beers and Anaya ordered a glass of cider. Kylie and Sean were racking up at the pool table. Anaya waited for her drink, leaning against the mahogany bar, fully expecting to feel her skin sticking to layers of spilt alcohol that had seeped into it over the years. She was surprised to connect with the cold wood instead. A faint scent of disinfectant still lingered in the air, and she grew hopeful that she might not have to scrape gum off her shoe, as she so often had.

The tables at the Den were packed with twenty-somethings. An older guy was doing the rounds, with his back straight and eyes watchful, making sure no trouble was brewing. I would too, if I owned a place so well kept.

Six pool tables stood in immaculate condition. Pinball, Ms. Pac-Man, Asteroids, and Guitar Hero called to her, shiny and inviting. There were wild cheers and hoots coming from over by the set of championship-worthy dart boards, drowning out the vintage croonings of Patsy Cline that someone had chosen on the jukebox. Clearly, it had not been updated to play mp3's yet, stuck in the past.

Sean broke but didn't sink any of the balls. While Kylie bent and poised for her shot, he leaned on his cue. "Beautiful, isn't she?"

Kylie glared a hole in him, then grinned at Anaya. "Besides the fact that he's trying his cheap tricks to distract me, he means the table."

"Made of solid chestnut and hardwood rails. I mean, just look at those chunky legs. And don't get me started on the diamond-honed slate, double-checked for flatness four times during machining and curing. Ana, meet Bridget, the love of my life."

Tap, tap, tap. Kylie sank three in the drop pockets while Sean made the introductions.

"Get ready, Ana. You're next." She winked.

"You guys continue. I'm gonna check out the tunes," Anaya said and went in search of the jukebox.

It was hard to miss. A placard above it read 'If you don't know these classics, consider this your education.' It wasn't the Seeburg Trashcan with its flashing red lights they had back home, but she found her dad's favorite. George Jones broke into 'Tennessee Whiskey.'

"Now there's a girl who knows her grooves."

Anaya stared up into eyes such an intense shade of green that she could only label them as malachite. A random fact from her medical training surfaced about the toxicity of dust from the mineral, and she took it as her brain warning to be careful with this guy. Or perhaps that was her mind being quick witted with excuses to stay away from men. All she had to do was touch her left arm to remember why.

"Matthew Williams. My friends call me Matt." It was the same guy from her study group who'd mentioned the pool.

"Anaya Jones," she blurted, still transfixed by those eyes, while her mind remained on her research and why that one fact about its dangerous fumes had flown into her head. "My friends are waiting for me." Then she turned and fled as casually as she could. I've got fifteen years to live. I'm not going to waste it on another dangerous relationship or cut it short from death by malachite.

Hi there!
Thank you for being here!
Are you liking this chapter so far? Did you see any missed opportunities you think I should work on?
Please don't forget to let me know what you think in a short comment below.
Thanks so much,
G.