The Trail

Harry is a creature of habit. He gets up every morning at 6 a.m. without the aid of an alarm clock, even on his days off. He eats toast and strawberry jam for breakfast, and is ready to start the day by 7 a.m. It was probably this strict adherence to schedules that earned him a divorce. Yes, even his daughter, who had once worshiped him, drifted away out of frustration over his inflexibility. Harry knew his lack of imagination and spontaneity put people off, but routines and schedules were predictable, dependable and above all, safe. He wasn’t about to drift away from that security.

At lunch time, weather permitting, Harry left his cubicle in the accounting department to eat his brown bag lunch in the park across the street. He sat at the same bench every day to eat a ham and cheese sandwich—his routine never varied. The park was normally quiet during lunch time, which suited him just fine. Harry had grown accustomed to solitude.

It was during his lunch break one day early in December that his schedule was interrupted by, of all things, a brown paper grocery bag resting on his usual bench. There was no one in sight for Harry to ask if the bag belonged to them. It was just him, the bag, and whatever it contained. A colossal battle erupted in his mind between curiosity and indifference, with curiosity finally emerging as the victor.

Harry leaned over and peered in. Inside lay a small box wrapped in bright Christmas paper complete with a ribbon bow and a card that read, To Harry. The logical part of his brain thought this must be meant for some other Harry. The impulsive side, suddenly aroused from a long period of dormancy, just knew it was for him.

The skies grew dark as rain-clouds moved into the area. Harry gathered his reusable lunch sack and the bag containing the gift, and hustled back to his office. He placed the bag under his desk and allowed the day’s routine to once again rule supreme. At the end of his work day Harry was almost out the office door when he remembered the gift box. He returned to his desk, retrieved the bag, and headed for home.

It was after a frozen mystery meal was nuked and consumed, and Lester Holt had finished chronicling the latest government debacle and criminal faux pas, that Harry’s attention refocused on the bag. Once again, curiosity prevailed and he not only removed the present but opened it. Inside the small box was a cassette of George “Harmonica” Smith’s Greatest Hits. Harry hesitantly popped the cassette into an old seventies style player, and as the notes drifted through the air he was transported back to a time in his life when the Blues meant everything to him. The syncopated rhythms pulverized the walls Harry had put in place to protect his emotions. He remained immersed in the music well into the night.

Harry loved the Blues, especially when played on the harmonica. During his early teens he achieved a high level of proficiency on the mouth organ, but stopped playing after being ridiculed by his peers for not playing a real instrument. That’s when he decided to become ultraconservative and not stray from what was considered societal norms.

For the next couple of days, the December weather wasn’t conducive to taking lunch on the park bench. Harry appeared slightly out of step with his normal tried and true regimen. Who was it that understood him so well, they knew the simple act of giving him a cassette tape would disrupt his whole life? It wasn’t his ex-wife; he had stopped playing long before they met. Besides, she and their daughter now lived on the other coast.

The mystery took a more baffling turn after the weather cleared. The day was bright and sunny with a brisk chill in the air. Harry headed for his bench, sandwich bag in hand, when he spotted another grocery sack waiting there for him. This time he didn’t hesitate, with trembling hands he removed the gift-wrapped box, ripped off the paper, and removed the lid. Inside was a new Mugig Diatonic 10-note Blues Harmonica. He picked it up, looked around to make sure no one was listening, and began to wail. Thirty years of pent up emotions flowed through those ten holes and Harry played until his lungs heaved for more air. Finishing, he looked over his shoulder and saw a woman standing there. She was dressed in a long coat buttoned to the collar, a wool hat, and a scarf covering most of her face. At first Harry was startled by her stealthy appearance, then his countenance melted into a warm smile.

“Hello, Annie! I should have known it was you.”

“I’m surprised you remember me after all these years, Harry.”

“How could I forget my biggest and only fan.” He chuckled.

Annie was the one that Harry let get away. When he decided to give up music, he also left Annie behind. Having her reappear in his life brought everything full circle and he fully intended to make up for lost time. Harry had walked a long lonely trail that finally led him back to his true self. The mystery of the paper bag gifts and his empty life were solved.