Isobel continued to sit upright in her seat, examining her travel companion. As soon as it became apparent that Harold was indeed sleeping, her posture relaxed, and she sunk into her seat. At last, she could finally let her guard down. The entire morning, she had felt as though she could not quite be herself. What she saw- or rather, what she didn't see- in Harold's apartment earlier that day had been on her mind, and all day she had worried that Harold might notice.
Isobel swung her dangling feet. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. As she flicked through her expansive library of music, a library that would even make someone as nostalgic as Harold proud, she felt empty. She felt nothing, no joy nor pain toward any of the songs. It was as if she had never even heard them before. The words on the screen and the music blaring through her headphones seemed like noise. She knew why. Given what she knew about this trip, and all that was sacrificed, the songs felt meaningless.
Burying her face in her hands, she let out an agitated grumble. Harold let out an unconscious grumble of his own. Isobel turned toward him. The old man was sprawled in his chair with the back of his neck resting on the top, like a baby resting on the chest of a parent.
What's the point, she thought, as she continued to stare. If she sang any of her songs, it would feel like a lie. She would live in guilt knowing her one moment of self-indulgence came with great sacrifice.
Isobel tapped her armrest, her fingers creating a rhythm she was sure Harold would enjoy. She could fix this, she thought, as she looked down at the floor in front of her. She stared at the cream-coloured ceramic tiles, as if the answer to her problem laid within their patterns.
Isobel snuck another glance toward Harold, with his mouth agape, but his eyes shut. She felt a sudden pang in her chest. And with that, she knew exactly what she needed to do. With two clicks of her phone, she erased all the songs in her library.
YOU ARE READING
Death and Tea at Three
General FictionSince Julia's passing, Harold had been feeling like he didn't have much to live for. He's a retired music teacher with no wife, no children, no purpose. He's not suicidal - in fact, as much as he is ready to die, the thought of taking his own life s...
