A child stood in front of Michele; not a preteen, like she used to be, a literal six or seven year old lived in the mirror on the door. She had a gummy mouth and stringy hair, she looked at lot like Tommy save for a few years younger. When Michele lifted her arm, she mimes it to a perfect T. When she turned around, she followed in the exact same direction and way with her hands thrown up.
"Easy there hotshot," her dad said. He passed by the room with a special looking box hoisted up in his grip. "You turned six, not sixteen. Your boobies will come another day."
"John!" Mrs. Webster spat in exasperation. Her dangling earrings bounced with the sharp turn of the head. Michele has never seen her mom wear such busy jewelry in a long time. Nor has she seen her in off-the-shoulders dresses, and the brown tassels of her hair bind in a curly bun high on her scalp. Mr. Webster had his youthful good looks back as well, the gray Michele was used to seeing on her father's face was replaced with a vaster set of stubble.
Michele was directed to the party, for her sixth birthday. Littler copies of her friends collected at the floor. They all had different name and were twice as impolite. A girl named Jill tormented her by firing the various noise makers in her face. Michele did not want to get mad at a small child, despite being one as well.
"Where's Tommy?" She calls to her mother who was just about to walk into to the bathroom. Some of the children snickered to each other.
"You didn't invite any 'Tommy'," she quizzes.
"My brother, I mean!" Michele cursed herself for not accepting the fact of this anachronism.
Mrs. Webster had a disturbed look on her well fomented face. She doesn't say a word and closes herself into the bathroom. It's was at the side of the living room, as always. Everything else about the house looked so different. The office upstairs was an office and not Tommy's bedroom, nobody knew who Tommy was. Michele felt dizzy and needed to sleep, but her next sleep could be her last. She will wake up a ball of cells in her mother's body in less than two time skips. The den must have been naked; no desks, no coffee machine, no grandfather clock.
She gasps, the clock may have not been in the home but it was almost certainly still sitting at Antonella's Antique. Her mother didn't stop gawking at it since she was a toddler, she had been a child now. The sands of time must have been flipped the wrong side up. Michele guesses the cause of her rewinding life was the blame of that clock. This all began at its purchase, she knew she couldn't trust it. This time she needed to.
When Mrs. Webster leaves the bathroom, Michele latches to her leg begging. The mother's big nostrils flared, her daughter wanted to share the information that her nose becomes more refined in the future at some point. Michele doesn't because of the very obvious reason concerning that.
"I know what I want for my birthday, Ma. It's a-"
She interrupts, "stop calling me that, what happened to 'Mommy'?"
Michele's body was a liar, younger than her mind. She rolls her eyes. "Mommy, I want a present from the antique store."
"But we already got you a Care Bears doll like you asked, where did antiques come from?" Her mom said rather huffy.
"I changed my mind. I want that clock!"
Mrs. Hermana Webster covers her child's mouth. Heavens know if her husband heard anymore about the desirable antique clock she coveted, she would never hear the end of it. The family was strep for cash—and he thought it was hideous and gaudy. Michele begged some more, even saying that giving it a look will suffice. Her mother doesn't refuse exactly but was hesitant.
"After the party, baby," she whispers. Without anymore words she leaves to grab something in the closet behind her.
No, now! Michele cries in her head. She sits amongst the other children with her legs crossed like a pretzel. Her angry arms were folded over her bosom. Tommy's universal absence couldn't be enjoyed to the fullest because she had to spend time with equally terrible gadflies. Jill didn't stop pestering her will her noisemakers, the sliver of paper unraveled and licked her face. It reminded her of the cuckoo clock the whole time. The jerky blocks gyrated on their handles as all the others twisted them. It sounded like a party of geese under a running truck creating a series of honks scratching human ears. Michele knew she should have waited, but concluded she had to leave on her own. That way she can freely access the clock without being restricted in the arms of a parent. If done right, she would not have to suffer a punishment for retreating like that as an unsupervised child.
#
Michele escaped by pretending to get a cupcake from the counter in the kitchen. She climbed on top of it and rolled out the window, landing on the plush grass. The neighborhood was mostly identical to the one of the present. She had no problems navigating her way to Antonia's Antiques, albeit having to being elusive. An adult who sees a small child roaming the streets will feel the need to grab them. Whether they have the intention to locate their home, or worse. Michele will have to bake up a lie to convince the store clerk she was fine to be alone in a shop.
It was a short walk over there, but the door could not be reached. She easily could have hiked the kitchen counter but the big entrance button on the door hailed stories over her head, it seems. An adult halts behind the little girl in the way and Michele felt saved. He will ignore her, open the door for her and she can run in. She was picked up by him, to her fearful surprise. Like an eagle snatching prey, the adult takes her by the arms up into the air. Michele tried to claw his face off but her hands were wringing in his squeeze. A scream was freed from her little being, her mouth was instantly covered. The sensation reminded her of her mother, because it was her mother and not a man at all. Somehow this is worse than being abducted.
"Michele Jaclyn Webster- what is wrong with you?!" She sobs after going insane hunting down her daughter. Michele attempted to pry off her fingers but failed. She was slapped very softly but strong enough to assert her mom's rage. It was justified, but still an obstacle. Michele thinks, Please just this one time; It's an emergency! The tears leaked onto her juvenile jawline as does her mom's. They were crying for two complete different reasons. The storm of emotion between them clears up into a lugubrious silence.
With latent sincerity, Michele pleads once more, "I just wanted to walk to the store by myself like a big girl. I want to be a big girl. Let me go in."
Mrs. Webster corrodes her distraught. Her first instinct was to grab her child and take her home without visiting there again as a punishment. She was willing to change her mind, as Michele's innocent stride for independence touched her heart. Evidently, it was enough to allow her to go inside the store just one time, alone.
Michele thought it was the strangest thing that her strict mother let her do something like this. She waited outside, watching her through the window. Whenever she looked back, she would wave and smile. Michele combs Antonia's Antiques feeling more reserved than she was on her journey there. Part of the reason was the sheer size of it through the eyes of a six year old. Yet, every time her parents bring her here she is able to seek out the cuckoo clock with ease. All it took was finding the statuette black horse, walking ten steps to the left and stopping at the framed I Love Lucy picture, go behind it and walk straight ahead. The treasure lies in the back, in the section with the more expensive products. There was the second cashier sitting afar from the main one at the front. Michele didn't like him as much as he was much less pleasant.
"There are no toys sold here," he scoffs. Michele didn't care because she was just grateful he was not overtly reactive to a little girl alone in his shop. He didn't pay attention as she approached the clock, she gulped at its glory. The object responsible for her problems stood tall and laughed at her. The keys, arms and various parts concerning tracking the time were the only things separating it from its current self. The item was too complicated for either six year old or twelve year old girl. It would be easier to fit a camel through the eye of a needle than to get it to work.
Just when she had that doubt, Michele sees a control medium within one of the opening doors. The cuckoo bird pops from his, squawking a song. The long door under him on the body flips open revealing knobs and sprockets. While still complicated, Michele now had an idea to manipulate the clock and thus, time. She was tiny enough to fit most of her body through the opening and still capable of moving. Her fingers flicked and pulled, turned and adjusts. She unknowingly made a few mistakes but operated it to match the day and year of her twelfth birthday. Without double checking, she made a sprint. Her first step ended in a trip, she crashed onto her knees with the ill tied shoelaces scurried around each other. When Michele gets up she jogs slower to the door. Her mother stood lazy with her back against the glass, she had a clear view of her upper torso in that dress. She had a shock of alertness to the knock at the door. Mrs. Webster puts her hand over her heart and heaves a light sigh. She picks up Michele facing her way so she can put her head on the bare shoulder. She hugged her tighter so she can hide her wicked, smug smile.