hurry harold

The man stopped short in front of the painting and gasped. He was late. Or rather, he was going to be late and it was Sunday Family Dinner and Mother was coming this time (not his mother but her Mother) and she doesn’t often come up anymore now that’s she’s getting in this old age and could you please, please, please be on time, or actually a little early because you know how she is about being punctual and I don’t want to have to deal with that, Harold. but Harold was not on time, he was late. Or rather he was going to be late.

He quickly walked across the room wondering how fast he could walk without it being suspicious and God, was that sweat on his lip already, he really needed to work out and he came to the steps he had walked up and walked down them saying s’cuse me, pardon me, I’m sorry and went down the long, long hallway and turned left and then promptly turned around because it wasn’t a left it was a right and then turned right because right was right and walked out of the door and into sunshine so bright he was worried for an instant that it would burn his bald head.

He walked quickly past the elegantly trimmed grass dotted with modern art pieces and he never really understood modern art, it was nice but he didn’t get it and he didn’t like that he didn’t get it or maybe he didn’t like the fact that there was a get to get to begin with. What ever happened to just drawing and painting things that were pretty, lakes and forests and such and suddenly he was in the cool dim of the parking garage and he craned his head this way and that looking for B6 B6 B6 but he was on the E side. So he half jogged around to the B side and found his car, the hunkofjunk and shoved his fat hand into his pocket and well maybe his hand wasn’t fat, maybe the pocket was just too small, but if the pocket was too small was that a sign of times changing or had he shrunk his pants again. He checked his other pocket and his other one and his other one and his shirt one and then realized several long seconds later that he had left his work bag with his keysphonewallet inside and that he would have to go back to the museum to get them.

So he left the parking garage, went past the grass, and back into the museum walking quicker than he did before. Yes, actually he was jogging now and as he jogged into the building he thought, well if nothing else this is exercise and he got to the coat check which he thought was a funny name because most people check bags there and not coats and he was dismayed to discover there was a line of three people already there. He looked at the people a bit too hard trying to figure out whether they were the type of people to understand My Mother is coming over for Sunday Family Dinner and I really can’t be late! and would let him skip in front of him or whether they were the type of people to tell him to fuckoff and then trip him when he’s not looking and while he was deciding this a fourth person got in line and that shocked something awake in Harold so he stopped looking at the people in line and got in line himself.

He was wearing a watch but didn’t look at it because the watch was old and didn’t tell time anymore and Harold hadn’t gone to the watch shop or was it a jeweler to get it fixed because he didn’t know how much it would cost to get fixed and if he went in there and asked then they would tell him and he would have an obligation to get it fixed or save to get it fixed if he couldn’t afford it and nobody needs a watch anymore to tell time. We all have phones, he only wore the watch because it was a nice watch and his grandfather gave it to him and even though his grandfather often called him a name his mother told him not to ever repeat he was his grandfather and that had to count for something and even if it didn’t, he was dead now and it was a nice watch and it looked good on his wrist, if a bit too small.

Then it was Harold’s turn up on the counter and the lady behind the counter looked really very tired but she said Ticket? In a loud, clear voice, a voice so strong it actually surprised him and when he tried to speak he stammered a little bit and his red face flushed redder so instead of trying again he just pointed to his bag like an asshole and when she looked at him and didn’t move to get it he dropped his hand which suddenly had felt very heavy and said The brown messenger bag is mine, but I’ve lost my ticket. It was a little bit strange when he said that because when he spoke the voice didn’t seem like his or even that it was coming from his body and if it was coming from his body why did he sound so fucking defeated?

The lady told him that he needed a ticket to get his bag and he patted all his pockets again though this time he knew that they were empty and that all this was a show for her to prove that he tried, and he looked at her with what he hoped were sad, sad eyes and she opened her mouth and his heart jumped with joy and then she said Sir please step aside and an art school kid in a condescending looking outfit got their bag which was hand-stitched and shaped like a chair.

Harold had an idea and he said Wait, my name is Harold. and he told the lady behind the counter his address and asked her to look at the ID in the front left pocket of his bag and he quietly hoped that no one else was listening to that exchange because that how identities get stolen and God knows he doesn’t need anything else on his credit report. The lady said Here’s your bag, Harold. and Harold said Thank you very much. even though it was weird to hear a woman who was not his wife or his mother or her Mother call him by his first name.

He quickly walked away from the counter and stopped just in front the museum doors and checked keysphonewallet just to be Sure and he looked at his phone but didn’t check the time because he was Sure he was late now and he didn’t want to speed on the road which he knew he would do if he was late even if it was illegal, and while he was checking keysphonewallet the man behind the ticket counter smiled at him and his front teeth were a little gapped in a really pretty sort of way and Harold smiled, really smiled back at him and the man asked What was your favorite piece? and Harold said I liked the maze one. and the man said Ah, Intimate Suffering. and Harold thought that saying ‘ah’ in front of whatever you’re about to say was really quite profound and he wanted the pretty gap-toothed man to like him for some reason and he really wanted to say something clever before he left but he didn’t have time to think or the moment would be lost so all he said was Ah, yes, isn’t it?

And he walked, very quickly, into the too bright sun.