Death and Tea at Three

33 The Performance

Now, here, behind the stage of a reality show, stood a girl - a girl who hoped. Above opportunities, above stubbornness, Harold could not say no to hope.

"We don't even know the same songs. And it's not like you can just perform without having practiced the same song. I don't know how you expect us to do this."

"So, you're going to do it?" Isobel gleamed from ear to ear.

Harold nodded, but refused to look her in the eye, as he focused his attention on the sound technician who was within earshot.

"Well, that's a relief, because what I'm going to tell you next is probably not going to go down well," Isobel said, exhaling. Her body relaxed as she stretched out, placing an arm against Harold to hold herself up.

"Wait, what?"

"I thought we could play Julia's Song," Isobel muttered. Her smile remained, though it seemed more forced now.

Stone-faced, frozen, and hunched over, Harold could feel a profound emptiness emanating from his very depths. He was not one to believe in out-of-body experiences, but this was one of the closest moments Harold had had to one.

"No. No. No, no, no. NO!"

"But... you just said..." Isobel pleaded as she gripped on to Harold's forearm, as if by tugging on him, she would be able to physically bring him to her side.

"I know what I said, and I take it back. I didn't sign any contract. I'm not obligated to do anything. I won't... I can't play that song."

"You can't do that! You can't just say you're going to do something, and then just not do it. That's wrong. You're supposed to be a role model," Isobel said, her voice booming louder than Harold had ever heard it.

"Well, to be fair, I never actually said yes."

"This is why I hate adults. You say one thing and mean another. That's not right. You can't just promise something and then take it back. I need you... please. Don't let me down. Play the song... one more time."

Harold's eyes began to water, but he would be damned if he let himself cry. He stared up at the lights above him, then quickly realized it was a bad idea as his eyes welled even more. He looked back toward the floor in front of him. He counted the tiles over and over until he was ready to exhale.

"The only person that... needed to hear the song... died." It was the first-time Harold had ever admitted that fact aloud. To play the song in a world in which she did not exist felt like a betrayal to her – to their love.

Isobel moved to Harold and placed her delicate hands against his forearm. "Everyone should hear that song," she said, her large eyes peering upwards toward Harold.

His heart pounded, and his leg shook, but her voice washed over him slowly but surely until his anxious mind convinced his body that it would all be okay,

Harold did not utter a word. He simply looked down at the girl, whose hands still gripped on to him. He nodded exhaustingly, which only triggered an eager and upbeat Isobel.

She squealed incoherently and wrapped her arms around him. Harold tensed up, his arms placid at his side. He was unable to fully understand or appreciate the sentiment that Isobel clearly felt.

In a matter of moments, both Harold and Isobel walked on to the stage. Harold walked aimlessly around the large open area, his hands in his pockets. This was, of course, not his first time on a stage; however, it was his first time on television.

Unlike Harold, Isobel strode confidently toward the microphone at the foot of the stage. The microphone stood a good six inches higher than it needed to be. Isobel, who had never used a microphone in her life, struggled to lower it. A woman dressed in all black, wearing a large headset, walked over to help.

Isobel turned around, her eyes anxiously searching for Harold. She found him standing next to an all-black grand piano. He did not sit down, but instead stood hunched over, with his hands in his pockets, whistling. Isobel lifted a finger and silently shushed him, and then motioned for Harold to take a seat.

Harold sat at the piano and took in the keys in front of him. They felt foreign, and yet, familiar. He could remember the feeling of the first key. How that first key, in any song, was the most nerve-racking.

Harold looked up toward the front of the stage. He could barely see anything with the lights shining directly on him. He could hear people - an audience he supposed; but in the dark auditorium, with the lights shining above him, he felt alone. That is, he would have felt alone were it not for the girl at the front of the stage.

Though he could not see the audience, he could see Isobel from where he sat. She had only been in front of the microphone for a few seconds, but it felt much longer to Harold, and he could only imagine how long it must have felt for her.

Isobel turned around and nodded toward Harold, her curls bobbing. as she did. He wasn't sure if she was confident or just very good at feigning it, but whichever it was, he revered it.

Harold looked down at the keys one last time. In those few seconds, he thought about it all. He thought about Julia. He thought about the life they had, and the adventures they never took. He thought about the love they shared, and all the pain and heartache that followed. He thought about her song, and he thought about him playing her to sleep those years ago. He thought about the girl at the front of the stage, the one that badgered him into this moment. And as he sat at the piano, he thought about what these remaining years had left for him. Julia was gone, but he continued to live on. All this time, alone, miserable and in pain, he was always searching for a way to reconnect with her. He had thought the answer lay with death, but he knew now that was incorrect. For Harold now knew that even if he should pass, and cease to exist, in this moment, she would live.

Harold exhaled, closed his eyes, and played her into existence.