Death and Tea at Three

9 Harold and His First Date

Harold sat at the piano. The music had stopped, and yet, no one had noticed. He glanced across the lounge floor. Sitting in the ritzy, dimly lit booths, he saw couples, friends, and families laughing and talking. Harold's chest felt hollow. It was as if the hour of music he had played for them was nothing more than white noise.

Harold let out a sigh as he retrieved the glass container from on top of his piano. There, in his tip jar, was nothing more than a few coins. An amount Harold could have easily found on the subway floor.

Harold stood up casually, eyes glued to the floor in front of him. He felt embarrassed and ashamed, as if the gig was a failure. Though Harold knew it was foolish to think anyone would notice him leaving, the thought of anyone else becoming aware of his failure made it more bitter.

Harold began to slink away from the piano when he felt a presence standing in front of him. He reluctantly raised his eyes and they landed upon a beautiful face, all wide eyes with a crooked smile. Harold felt as if time had stopped. Or perhaps it was he who stopped, and everything else around them continued to move.

"Hi," the face spoke.

Harold gave himself a little shake to wake himself from the daydream going on inside his head. "Hello," he responded.

"Hey," the woman said with a chuckle. "I just wanted to say that I love the way you play. I think you're fantastic."

"Uh, thank you... I think you're fantastic too."

The woman chuckled awkwardly and looked down at the floor between them.

"I mean..." Harold cleared his throat, remembering that he had just met this woman. "I am sure you are a fantastic person. You seem like you would be."

The women's crooked grin turned into a wide smirk. "Are you sure? You don't even know me. I at least know you are a fantastic musician. For all you know, I might be terribly mean, or even just boring."

Harold froze for a moment, trying to piece words together into a coherent response. "Well, that could be true... but if you'd like, we can grab a drink and get to know each other. That way I can see if I was right."

The woman looked down and then quickly back at Harold. Her eyes glittered in the low light. "Okay. Let's see if you're right."

A smile stretched across Harold's face. All that was left in its place was hope. "Okay," he said. "Sorry, I didn't get your name?"

"That's because I didn't give it," The woman said slyly. She stretched out her hand and shook Harold's firmly, yet tenderly. "Julia. It's Julia."

***

Harold and Julia sat across from one another in a dark leather booth. They were quiet, but the raucous chatter of the lounge around them prevented the encounter from becoming utterly awkward. Harold snacked on the cashews that sat in the saucer between them. Harold had never been one to indulge in cashews but eating them gave him something to do as he desperately tried to think of something to say.

"You really love cashews," Julia said, gesturing toward the saucer.

Harold swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. "Mhmm... I do," he said. "Do you?"

"I do. Tell you what, maybe I'll bring you some next time," Julia said, with a shrug.

Next Time. Harold couldn't help but fixate on the words. To him, this date, if he could even call it that, was going horribly, but here this beautiful woman was insinuating there would be a next time.

"So, you like music?" Harold said, trying to seem confident.

"Yes. I do. I loved the way you played earlier. How long have you been playing?"

"Let's see, I'm twenty-three now, and I've been playing since I was sixteen... so it's been about seven years now."

"Really?" Julia asked, leaning in. "I honestly thought you were one of those child prodigies. That you'd been playing since you were out of the womb."

"No," Harold chuckled. "I couldn't. I've never even owned a piano, or any instrument, as a matter of fact. I couldn't afford it growing up. I used to sneak into the music room at my high school and practice or go to the local church and play on whatever piano they had stashed away."

"That's amazing. You taught yourself?"

"Yeah, I guess I did," Harold said, shrugging. "What about you, what do you do?"

"I'm actually a nurse. So, if you ever get sick, I got things covered," Julia responded with a smirk.

"Well, I'll be sure to call you if I ever have any medical emergency."

"Or you could call 911. Might be more efficient," Julia laughed.

Harold marvelled at the woman in front of him. "Hey, let's play a game," Harold said abruptly.

"Okay," Julia said, seemingly intrigued. "What did you have in mind?"

Harold pulled out a pen from his jacket pocket and grabbed a few napkins. "Music is important to me, and I thought we could write down the five most influential songs to each of us. And then, we can compare."

Julia tilted her head, her eyes looking toward the ceiling, as if trying to process the game. "Okay, I'm in."

"Great, but remember, it has to be songs that are important to you."

"Okay. Let me think," Julia said, as she tapped her fingers against the mahogany table.

Harold wrote furiously, scratching out numerous songs in the process. Though it was Harold's idea, he found it much harder than he'd anticipated.

After a few minutes, Harold looked up and noticed Julia sitting up straight, her napkin grasped in her hands.

"Are you ready?" she said smugly.

"Yes... you're done already?" Harold asked.

"Of course. I've just been waiting for you," Julia said, sticking out her tongue.

Harold smiled and rolled his eyes. "Okay, on the count of three we switch. Ready?"

Julia nodded and placed the napkin on the table, her list still covered by a hand.

"One. Two. Three." Harold slid his napkin across the table while simultaneously grabbing at Julia's.

Harold glanced at her napkin. Though only five songs were listed, he felt as if he had been given access to her deepest thoughts and feelings. He felt privileged, but also vulnerable at the thought of his own list in her hands

Julia looked up from the napkin. "I approve of this list," she said with a wink.

Harold glanced up and blushed before returning his attention to her list.

"Let's see... 'Here comes the Sun' by The Beatles, Stevie Wonder's 'Signed, Sealed, Delivered,' 'The Tracks of My Tears' by Smokey Robinson, and 'These Arms of Mine' by Otis Redding. Wait... that's only four." Harold looked up at Julia, who had placed Harold's napkin down in front of her. "Did you forget one?"

"No, I've only heard four songs that have genuinely influenced me in some way. I haven't heard the fifth yet."

"You know, you could just pick a song as a placeholder. It's okay for the list to change. I'm sure my list will change in five to ten years. Or I'll have to add to it and increase the game to ten influential songs."

"No, you said the rules were the five most important songs. I know there is an important song out there for me... I'm just waiting to hear it." Julia sat up straight, as if to emphasize her point.

Harold looked down at Julia's list, and stared at the empty space where the fifth song should be. He looked back up toward Julia. Her large eyes seemed to sparkle brighter than any of the lights in the lounge.

"Maybe..." he said, "I'll write you the song that fills that place."

Julia bit her lip. "I'll be waiting to hear it," she said as she stretched her hand across the table toward Harold.