Death and Tea at Three

12 Harold and Julia Against the World

He wasn't always so jaded. There was a time when Harold could tolerate people and could even tolerate children. Having children of his own, however, was never something he wanted. He wasn't against the idea, he just felt content without them. This feeling, however, was not the same for Julia.

All Julia ever wanted was children. And all Harold ever wanted was Julia. So, of course, for many years the two tried desperately to add to the home they had built. Their attempts to have children could best be summed up by The Rolling Stones - "You can't always get what you want." Harold and Julia were no exception.

It was the middle of February. The streets were still covered in snow, and the wind whistled bitterly in the city. It was thirty years to the day when Harold would officially become friends with Isobel. Harold and Julia had just arrived in the hospital. The two sat side-by-side in the waiting room, neither of them saying a word. Julia's hand was clasped tightly around Harold, who, for the life of him, could not look away from the vending machine. He stared at all the available snack choices. There were so many. He could have chips, cookie, a chocolate bar... But Harold didn't like chocolate. He needed something different. He just wasn't sure what it could be.

"Harold?" Julia whispered softly.

"Yes?"

"What if..." she said, her words trailing off.

The words broke Harold into a million tiny pieces, and Harold was never good at putting things back together. Julia was a beacon of hopeless optimism. To hear words of defeat at such a time scared him. If even the staunchest of optimists was giving up, what chance did the cynics have?

"Don't think about it. We don't know anything yet," he said, trying to believe his own words.

"Will you... will you still love me if we can't?" Julia asked, looking up at Harold.

Harold looked intently into her eyes; and without blinking, he memorized every vein and every colour variation circling her typically deep brown irises. Something was tragically different that day. They were wide-eyed and hopeless. As if every painful feeling welled up into a single tear.

"Julia... of course. It's you and me against the world. Whatever happens, there will always be you and me. We'll always be okay if we have each other."

Julia's eyes welled again, as she stretched her arms around Harold's neck and rested on his broad shoulders. Harold was not a particularly large man, but as Julia rested upon him, it made him feel both strong, but also scared. Julia usually kept things together so well, but here he was being asked to keep her together.

It wasn't long before the doctor came out and spoke with them. Harold couldn't remember the words, nor could he remember what the doctor looked like. All he could remember was the sinking feeling. It was like the feeling you get when you've forgotten something important, when you miss a step walking downstairs, but far worse. It was more like the feeling of change. Like the passing of a loved one.

Julia crashed to the floor and began to sob. It took every ounce of Harold's strength to break out of his daze and help her up. It may have been Julia's idea to have children, but the vision she painted had cemented in his mind. To be told that image would never materialize - it tore the very fabric of his identity.

The ride home was quiet. Neither Harold nor Julia looked at one another – their eyes were fixed firmly on the road ahead. Harold pulled into the driveway and parked the car but did not move. He watched as each snowflake floated onto his windshield, only to melt away. Julia's body was completely still, as if the weather itself had frozen her. Harold placed his hands upon her shoulder. His touch broke the spell, as she turned to him, with tears in her eyes, and embraced him.

Harold was not sure what to do. He was hurting, that much was true, but he knew it was different for Julia. It hurt a little bit more for her.

Julia pulled away slowly, her arms still lingering around Harold. She forced a smile, but it quickly broke to better match her heart.

The house was colder than usual. Harold always liked it warm and toasty, especially in the winter time. But no amount of heat would keep him and Julia warm tonight.

Harold's lavender chair brought him a sense of comfort. He took a seat and closed his eyes. He pleaded with his mind to let him dream. To let him experience a life different than the one he was living now. He imagined Julia sitting outside on a picnic basket. He never liked eating outside, nor did he like picnics, but the image of Julia in the sun, smiling and laughing, made the room a little warmer. In his mind, Julia wasn't alone. There was a boy with her, her son – their son. Harold let out a short, bitter laugh. It was so easy for him to imagine a better world, but no amount of dreaming would fix the world in front of him.

Harold looked up toward the kitchen to Julia, who was filling the kettle with water. Even in a time like this, she was always thinking about him. It would be easy for her to lay broken, to give up, but that wasn't Julia. It didn't take much for her to make him smile - Julia's tea could brighten most of his days. Harold simply wanted her to feel the way she made him feel.

He pulled himself out of the armchair and walked to his piano. It was more than just his livelihood - it was the colour to his banal life. As soon as he sat down and placed his hands on the keys, he turned to Julia, who was walking toward him, tea in hand. She smiled, and this time, it didn't break. If music was the colour of his life, she was his everything else. Harold began to play James Taylor's "Carolina in my Mind." He tried to sing along, but he was a mediocre singer at best. Julia didn't care. She sat on the bench to his left and held onto him like she had never held onto him before. Harold hoped she would never let him go.

And as he stared into her deep brown eyes, he saw an emptiness that scared him. As if she had awoken from a dream she could not quite remember. Harold wanted to make her remember.