Death and Tea at Three

26 Harold and the Airport

It was early in the morning, and the sun was just breaking through the clouds. It shone through the windows, brightening even the darkest corners of Harold's apartment. Harold had been awake for the last hour. He paced around his apartment, and every few seconds, he checked his watch to see how much time had passed.

After looking at his watch for the umpteenth time, Harold glanced back toward the front door. Two bags lay on the floor. One was a small backpack, barely large enough to hold the bare essentials. The other was a medium-sized suitcase which contained nothing but clothes.

Harold looked at his watch. It was time. As he opened the door, it did not surprise him to see Isobel standing there, her hand raised, as if she were about to knock on the door. What did surprise Harold, however, was the number of bags laid before her.

Strapped with both a purse and a backpack, Isobel dragged a large suitcase behind her. In her other hand, she held what Harold could only assume was a camera bag. Despite the heavy load, a smile stretched across her face, as her eyes beamed with excitement. It was one thing to be prepared, but this was something entirely different.

"No. No. No. You are not bringing all those bags to the airport. Have you never packed for anything before?"

Isobel glanced down at her array of baggage, and then back toward the front door, taking in Harold's minimalistic approach.

"Have you?" she said, as she dragged her bags into Harold's apartment.

"Be careful with that. You're going to scratch my floor."

"I can't. It's too heavy," Isobel replied.

"That's why you don't pack this much. You should only pack what you can carry. And if you think I'm going to carry any of this for you- well, you're wrong."

"I need all of this," said Isobel, as she looked around at her mess, as if trying to decipher what exactly she had brought.

"Really? What's this?" Harold said, lifting the camera bag.

"My mom's camera," Isobel said, grabbing the bag away from him and inspecting it.

"What do you need a camera for?"

"To take pictures. Why else would I bring a camera?"

"What do you need pictures for? Taking them just slows you down and wastes time," said Harold, shaking his head.

"I want to capture my memories. I want something that I can look back on. So, when I'm as old as you, I can look back and say, 'Hey, I did that.' How else am I supposed to remember my trip?"

"It's called a brain. You use it to remember things. You should try it. Now let's go, we're going to be late."

"The flight doesn't leave for another five hours," Isobel said. Her words fell, however, on deaf ears, as Harold had already begun grabbing his bags and placing them in the hallway.

Standing in the dim hallway, Harold motioned for Isobel to follow suit. Isobel turned to grab her bags when she noticed something. Or rather, she noticed a lack of something. She scanned the room. Perhaps it was because it was early in the morning, or maybe it was because she was too excited to fly for the first time, but she couldn't quite figure out what was missing.

Isobel grabbed her remaining bag, a large purple suitcase that she herself could have fit inside and trudged out the door. As she watched Harold pull the door shut, she realized what was missing. She reached into her jacket pocket and grabbed her plane ticket. She looked down at the ticket, and then back at the apartment door. Her hands shook. It was then Isobel learned that happiness comes at a cost.