Howard comes back to bed from the bathroom. The alarm clock reads 11:39. Couldn’t have been that long, he thinks. At least ten minutes are missing. He turns on the bedside lamp and sees them skittering on the floor. You know you can’t get away. He kneels and scoops them up in one sweep.

At the closet, he releases the bits of time into a mason jar, twists the lid back on, and shakes the container. The new minutes, along with the others, float up and glitter back down. He presses the jar to his cheek then puts it back with the dozens of others.

The next morning, he studies himself in the mirror—white hair, bags, wrinkles. He looks like a man of seventy.

*

“Happy birthday, Dad!” Lilly hands Howard a present as she enters the house. “The big seven o!”

The two sit in the recliners where Howard and his late wife passed so many hours, watching television, reading, and bickering. “Open it, Dad.”

Howard tears off the blue paper and a green bow. “Shoes?” Don’t need new shoes.

Lilly laughs. “I’m sure you think you don’t need new shoes, Dad, but you do. I want you to wear these instead of those old loafers. Try them on.”

What’s wrong with old loafers? Howard sighs, and shoves his foot partway into the right slipper. He tries to work the heel in with his finger, but can’t. “They don’t fit. Guess you have to take them back.”

“I’ll grab your shoehorn from the closet.”

Howard nods.

Lilly returns a moment later and helps her father into the shiny, black slippers. Howard feels her thumb press on the end of his big toe. Careful, that’s my bad toe. One of my bad toes. “Perfect,” she says. “Take a stroll and see how they feel, birthday boy.”

Stomach in, shoulders back. Don’t let her see you favor that knee. Howard walks to and fro.

“How do they feel?”

“Old ones are better.”

“They’ll be more comfortable when they loosen up. Or, like you always told me and Billy, when they learn your feet.”

Howard chuckles. “You used to complain about your feet being smaller than your brother’s.” I miss those times.

“Dad, I noticed you still have all those boxes of old photos in your closet.”

Images of first bicycles, little league, dance class, proms, weddings...swirl and sparkle in Howard’s mind.

“Maybe one of these days we can go through them, digitize a few, pitch some… so they don’t take up so much space.”

“We’ll see.”

After Lilly leaves, Howard goes to the closet. He picks up one of the mason jars and gives it a shake. Bits of time rise and sparkle. They seem to multiply before his eyes, then swirl to the bottom.