The Trail

Harry is a creature of habit. He rises 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. It didn’t matter. Routines and schedules were predictable, dependable, and above all, safe. He wasn’t about to drift away from that security.

At lunchtime, weather permitting, Harry left his cubicle in the accounting department to eat his brown bag lunch in the park across the street. He sat on the same bench every day to eat a ham and cheese sandwich—his routine never varied. The park was normally quiet during lunchtime, 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, insisted it was for him.

Overhead, the skies grew dark as rain clouds moved into the area. Harry gathered his reusable lunch sack and the gift bag 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 workday, Harry was almost out the office door when he remembered the bag. He returned to his desk, retrieved the gift bag, and headed for home.

Later, after eating a frozen mystery meal and watching Lester Holt discuss the latest news, 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. The notes drifted through the air, transporting him back to a time 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. As a teen, 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 Harry became ultraconservative and never strayed from conventional 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 regiment. Who was it that understood him so well that 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 cloudless 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 wailed. 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, but 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 gave 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. All it took was a little help from two lost loves.