Thirty Minutes?

Harold waved goodbye to his daughter Jane and her two sons Eric and Daniel. The house was quiet. He was alone. For the first time in his adult life he was alone. He looked down at the breakfast Jane had prepared for him, wondered if she’d used the grease from the bacon to fry his eggs and felt sad because Jane had forgotten to cut the crust off of his toast.

He sat down on the porch swing and drifted back and forth. He wondered if his guests liked the deli platter his brother Frank had brought, if the service for Zelda was up to par and if Jane had remembered to put an extra roll of toilet paper in the guest bathroom. He lifted a spoonful of eggs into his mouth and spit them back onto the spoon. They were cold and mushy. He took a sip of coffee, shooed the fly from his platter of bacon, and watched as his cat Mittens emerged from the rose bushes with another dead mouse.

He couldn't’t eat. He picked up his tray, opened the door, left his meal on the kitchen counter and disappeared up stairs.

Harold stood in the middle of their bedroom with a blue and white stripped beach towel wrapped around his waist. He looked in the mirror, ran his fingers through his wet hair and sucked in his gut. This wasn’t the body of a thirty year old, he thought.Harold exhaled deeply, fell to his knees and started to sob into his hands.

Zelda’s coco clock struck twelve by the time he’d walked into the kitchen. He sat down at the table, opened up the news paper, and noticed there was a sale on fabric softener at the Grab ‘n Go.

Harold got up, walked over to the counter by the stove, grabbed his pack of cigarettes out from behind the cookie jar on the counter, pulled out a stick and lit up. She hated him smoking in the house.

“Stinks up the drapes.” She used to say.

Harold leaned up against the kitchen counter, looked at the portrait of himself Eric had drew tacked up on the fridge and took one long, deep puff. He exhaled, leaned over the sink, stubbed out his cigarette and walked over to the fridge. He opened up the door, pulled out the left over deli platter and a bottle of beer. He shoved a piece of ham into his mouth, walked back to the table and sat down. Mittens jumped up on the counter next to him and began eating the left over eggs and bacon on his breakfast plate. Harold sat down at the table, wrapped a piece of Havarti cheese into a slice of salami and cracked open his beer. The beer fizzed over and splattered across the front page of his morning news paper.

“SHIT.”

Mitten knocked his breakfast plate to the floor as she jumped off the counter. It shattered to bits and Harold jumped. He pushed back his chair to clean up the mess, and then, the door bell rang.

He kicked the cat, who was drinking from her water bowl, on his way down the stairs and opened up the door.

A young boy with a face full of zits stood before him with a bouquet of pink and purple Gerber daises.

“Aah,” He looked down at the card on the bouquet. “Ms….Mr. Jenkins?” He looked up at Harold with tiny squinted eyes.

“She’s dead.” Harold looked back at him.

“Ohh.” The boy pushed the flowers towards Harold and ran back across the lawn. He jumped into his white van that idled loudly in the driveway, rolled down the window and said, “I’m sorry dude.” He reversed his van back out onto the road and took off.

Harold watched as the boy disappeared out of sight. He quietly turned around, closed the big wooden door and read the card that was attached to the bouquet.

Zelda, it was so great to see you again.
With Love,
Georgie xo

Harold stood still, scratched his bald head and wondered, ‘Just who the hell was Georgie?’

Mittens appeared from the kitchen; stood on the landing, looked at Harold and meowed loudly.

Georgie? Georgie? Thought Harold. His mind ran. It ran hard and fast. To family reunions, old friends, next door neighbors, colleagues, cousins and old boyfriends. It ran so fast and so hard he felt as though it was about to explode. He imagined his brains popping out of his head, bits splattering across the wall while a storm cloud of pink matter rained down on the cat.

Harold scratched his head one last time, and let out a deep sigh of frustration. He took one last look at the flowers and then launched them against the wall at the top of the stairs. Glass exploded in every direction, and Mittens ran down the stairs and into the living room. Harold fell to his knees, buried his face into his hands and sobbed again. This time it was louder, louder than this morning and even louder than the time he found Zelda sitting in her rocking chair with a cup of tea in front of Regis and Kelly....dead.

The birds were chirping loudly outside, kids were laughing and the Harold awoke to the smell of his next door neighbor’s barbeque. He opened his eyes, his room was still dark and the alarm clock next to his bed flashed three thirty. Harold looked up at the ceiling and followed the path of an ant that crawled along the perimeter of the light fixture. The phone rang downstairs. Harold pulled the blankets up over his head and squeezed his eye lids together real tight.

Finally he sat up, and threw back his blankets the minute he heard the beep to the answering machine. He slipped his feet into his slippers, strained to hear the voice on the other end of the line, walked out of his room and into the bathroom at the end of the hall.

He passed Mittens on his way out. She was batting around another dead mouse. Harold walked past them, noticed the mouse had no tail and felt like he wanted to cry again.
Harold left the bathroom door open, lifted the toilet seat and relieved himself. He closed his eyes and imagined himself kissing Zelda, only he didn’t look like himself. He was a far more handsomer, brawnier, blond hair blue eyed, hunk of-. He stopped. Opened up his eyes and threw himself back into his pants. He flushed the toilet, ran his hands under the tap and left the bathroom.

Back in the hall, he noticed Mittens was gone and there was a trail of blood that streaked down the stairs. Harold made a mental note to clean that up after breakfast. He stepped over top of the mess on his way down the stairs and jumped over top of the flowers and glass that still laid broken and smashed on the landing.

Harold went into the kitchen and grabbed a bag of coffee out from the pantry. He took the old coffee filter out of the machine, christened it with two heaping tea spoons of French Roast and turned on the pot before he hit the button on the answering machine.

“Hi Dad, it’s me Janie. Yeah, ah Robert and I were talking, we would really like for you to come and stay the next while. I mean the boys will love it. Give us a call eh? Love you.”

Harold looked out onto the patio and suddenly remembered he hadn’t watered Zelda’s sunflower seed she’d planted before she died. He remembered laughing at her when she told him she was going to make it grow up to the roof.

“Hi Zelda, it’s me Georgie. Yeah, wow, hey look so happy we got to hook up. I mean time went so fast. Look, I’d really like to do it again and maybe this time you can bring Harold. Hey, I’m in town this weekend, give me a call, I’d really like to pop by.”

Harold’s eyes widened. What kind of a sick affair is this? Bringing your husband along on some smutty date just so you can watch him squirm while you passionately French kiss one another over a plate of spaghetti Bolognese and a glass of red wine! Harold spins around, stomps across the kitchen, grabs the answering machine and rips it out of the wall. He leans up against the door to the refrigerator, takes a deep breath, punches the wall and then the phone rings.

He takes a deep breath, kisses his fist and picks up the cordless.

“Yes.”

There’s a few moments of awkward silence.

“Dad? Dad, is everything alright?”

“Yeah.” Harold sighs, walks over to the sink and runs his fist underneath cold water. He pulls a dirty coffee cup out of the sink, slams it down onto the counter and pours himself a cup of coffee. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

“Okay, well you know- Eric, Eric get off of there. Sorry Dad, you know Rob and I were thinking why don’t you stay here for a wh-”

“Jane, I’m fine. I told you that when you and the kids left yesterday.” Harold takes three sugars cubes out of the sugar bowl from above the stove and drops them in his cup.

Jane sighs. “Yeah, I know that Dad but, just....come on, just for the weekend, I mean the kids would love it.”

Harold walks back towards the table and sits down. He leans back in his seat , closes his eyes and rubs his temples.

“Okay.” He takes a sip of coffee. “If it will put your mind at ease, I’ll stay.”

“Aaw, Dad I promise you’ll feel better, I promise.”

“Yes Dear, I’m sure I will.” Harold looks down at the floor. “Well, soup’s on better go and eat.” He notices Zelda’s tea cozy, the one in the shape of an elephant, on the counter next to the stove, and finds himself finally admitting how ugly the knitted piece of crap actually is.

“Okay Dad, I better go get the boys ready for soccer. Will call ya when I’m on my way?”

“Sure.”

“Bye Dad.”

“Bye dear.” Harold slams down the phone, grabs a piece of mail from the stack he’d been collecting, rips up his overdue hydro bill and yells, “FUCK.”

Harold falls back into his seat, buries his head in his hands, and for the first time in his life begins to feel disgusted with the thought of Zelda, the woman he’d given his heart and soul to, the woman he’d given up thirty nine years of his life to be with.

As Harold was packing his bags, he found himself wondering why he’d gotten married in the first place. Zelda was the only woman he’d ever been with, his high school sweetie, the mother of his children and one of his best friends; in fact, she was one of his only friends. Harold stopped what he was doing and looked up at studio photograph hanging over his bed of him and Zelda on their thirty fifth wedding anniversary. He glared at it, grabbed a stick of deodorant from his toiletry bag and chucked it at her face, it missed, hit the table lamp and Harold felt sick.
He walked over to his closet, pulled out a pair of pants, three pairs of socks, khaki shorts, a blue t-shirt, and the running shoes with the holes in them, she hated those. Harold walked back to his bed, threw in his belongings and stomped back over to the closet to look for his swimmers.

They weren’t where they normally were. Maybe she gave them to Georgie. Yeah, Georgie. Suddenly Harold couldn't’t get the image of the two of them frolicking hand in hand down some white sandy beach. Zelda in her navy blue one piece, the one she wore that summer when they made love all afternoon, and Georgie in some scandalous blue number.

“ARGH.” Harold ripped Zelda’s part of the closet apart. He tore her Sunday best off of their hangers, threw her high heels out the window, dumped her jewelry box all over the floor, chucked her hand bags into his room and then, he stopped. Harold stopped dead in his tracks and out of the corner of his eye noticed a letter addressed to Georgie sitting at his feet.

Harold took a deep breath, bent down and picked it up.

Dearest Georgie.
I am so happy we finally had the chance to meet.
Georgie, I hope you understand why I did what I did. Giving you away thirty years ago, was the hardest thing I ever had to do.. Harold and I, we were young, stupid, we weren’t ready to take care of a baby...

Harold’s eyes bulged. He held the letter closer.

What did we know about caring for a baby at sixteen? Anyway, I’m glad I did what I did. That was surely a rough patch in my relationship with your father, oh I mean Harold. I am happy to announce we are still together, and very much in love. Would you believe it too, you have a sister Georgie, and...you’re and uncle! Oh Georgie, I would love you to come meet the family. I hope you know this is a new beginning Georgie, and I’m looking forward to starting over with you by my side.
Harold dropped the letter, took a few steps backwards and then sat down on the floor.
“I’ve...I’ve got a son.”

Harold looked over at the mess he’d made of Zelda’s things. He picked up her peach and purple dress, the one with the polka dots and fine lines, and held it against his face…suddenly he missed her again. He could still smell her perfume, he could still feel her. He held it closer, kissed it and thought, if only I had known.

The phone rang. Harold got up and walked down stairs with the dress wrapped around his neck. He picked it up.
“Hello?” He cleared his throat, Mittens jumped up on the counter and rubbed up against him.

“Dad- Danny, quit it, no, give it back to your brother.”

Harold could hear his two grandsons bickering in the background and he suddenly wished he’d said no to a weekend with his daughter and her family.

“Sorry. Dad, we’re running late, there’s a traffic jam on I96, can you pop something in the microwave for dinner?”

“Yeah, I’ll put in a frozen dinner.”
“Okay great, well can you spare say, thirty minutes?”

“Take your time dear.”

“Bye Dad- Danny, what did i say?”

“Bye Dear.” Harold put down the phone, picked up Mittens and put her on the floor.
The door bell rang. Harold took Zelda’s dress off of his neck and walked down stairs to answer it. He opened the door and standing before him was a well dressed man with slightly graying hair, blue eyes, tweed jacket and a bouquet of pink and purple Gerber daises.
“Harold?”

Harold bit down on his lip, he felt like he was going to cry again. He pulled the man into his arms and hugged him tight.
“Son?”

“Yeah, I’m Georgie.” Georgie hugged him tight and no one said anything for a few moments.

Georgie pulled himself away, gave Harold the flowers and said.

“So,” he sucked back a few tear and handed him the flowers. “Zelda, Zelda told me a lot about me? You’re a wonderful man Harold.” He dabbed under his eyes.

Harold’s eyes swelled over with tears. He grabbed his son around his shoulders pulled him inside and said, “Hey, can you spare, say, thirty minutes?”