Death and Tea at Three

20 Harold and Arianna

Harold felt adventurous. Adventurous by his standards, that is. He paced around the room, glancing every so often at his watch, just to see if time had indeed passed.

"Dammit," Harold mumbled to himself. "How the hell has it only been two minutes?" He tapped on his watch, as if testing if the thing was broken. But he knew all too well that it was working just fine. It was a little after noon, and Harold did not feel quite right.

He felt a stirring inside. At first, he thought that perhaps the feeling was indigestion, but it became increasingly clear that this was something much more.

He wanted to leave the apartment.

Of course, Harold had to leave his apartment on occasion, but it was only ever to buy groceries and amenities - things that left Harold with no other choice.

This feeling was different.

There was no need for Harold to leave. Every ounce of logic was telling him to stay indoors, make a cup of tea, and turn on the television. Logic, however, was only ever able to delay the inevitable.

Harold sat down in his lavender chair, took a deep breath, and stood up abruptly. He walked briskly toward the door, put on his black cardigan and Manchester United cap, and strode out the door. After locking the door behind him, he walked faster down the hall, not daring to look back at the dingy, beige door of his apartment. He knew that just one glance would be enough to change his mind.

When Harold arrived outside the building, he realized he did not have a plan. There was no particular destination for him to go. He was out in amongst the people with nothing to do, and all the time in the world. To some, this feeling might feel liberating. To Harold, this was nightmarish, to say the least.

There was a light breeze. Harold pulled on the fringes of his cardigan, squeezing the material tighter against his body. His jaw clenched as he scrambled to figure out what he could possibly do. He was out in the world. Cold, alone, and, more importantly, confused. Yet he was too restless to simply return home. To return having done nothing but step outside would seem unfulfilling, even for him.

So, Harold did what he normally did when he felt confused, restless, and unsure; Harold went in search of a cup of tea.

Harold walked toward the nearest major plaza until he came across a peculiar little coffee shop sandwiched between a Subway and a Japanese restaurant. The sign on top was black with white scripted writing that read Victoria's Café. Harold was not sure who Victoria was, nor had he ever been to one of her café's, but after having already been adventurous enough to leave his apartment and wander aimlessly, Harold thought there would be little harm in taking one more risk.

After ordering a cup of tea, Harold found a two-seated table in the corner, near the back of the café. He hated sitting too close to the window as he felt there was a lack of privacy from the purveying eyes of outside and sitting in the middle of the café felt too intrusive. After all, he himself did not want to bother anyone else who was trying to find some peace and quiet.

"Bitter," he mumbled, after taking a sip of his tea. Harold reached for the sugar and placed another cube into the cup. That was the problem Harold faced when drinking tea outside of his home; It never tasted quite like his, and it definitely never tasted anything like the way Julia made it.

As Harold continued to grumble over his bitter tea, he failed to notice the woman walking toward him.

"Harold," the woman said, as she bent her head to meet his eyes.

With a start, Harold bolted upright, and in the process, his teacup tilted, nearly spilling over the entire table. Thankfully, Harold recovered his focus, tilting it back upright before anything spilled out.