Harold Re-Set

Harold had died in a freak accident.

The details were fuzzy, but Harold knew, intuitively, that his absentmindedness had caught up with him. Something about his laptop charger, and his habit of letting water pool on the bathroom floor after a shower. Harold hadn’t had much time to think about his death. Instead, he was being asked to think about his life.

Whom Harold was speaking to, he wasn’t entirely sure. Maybe they were aliens, or some sort of advanced robot. All Harold knew is that he didn’t enjoy looking at them. He became well acquainted with the room’s ceiling tiles, and wondered if there were contractors in the afterlife. This had to be the afterlife, Harold thought.

From what he was being told, Harold had to accept some hard truths very quickly: for one, he was dead. No problem, he sure felt dead. Next, the life he had lived was being closely observed by these creatures, though he shouldn’t worry about the particulars. That was fine too, Harold was not someone who did well with particulars. Finally, and this, the creatures stressed, was the important part - he was eligible for a “re-set.” At 32, Harold had died before reaching his full potential, and he was being offered a rare gift. Harold could choose the age from which to start again. It was like a video game checkpoint, the creatures explained.

This actually did help, Harold was an avid gamer, and as his eyes drifted back to the ceiling tiles, so did his thoughts drift to the high seas. Specifically, those of his favourite pirate adventure, Skull and Bone.

“Focus!” Said the creatures in unison. Harold wasn’t sure if they saw him tuning out, or if they could read his mind.

“Okay, sorry.” He thought, as a test.

“That’s okay.” Said the creatures.

Harold was asked to think of the moment to which he would return. The creatures asked him to pinpoint a central regret, one where he felt the course of his life turn for the worse. Harold stalled for a moment, which was pointless, because the creatures could read his mind. In reality, Harold knew his answer the moment they’d explained the re-do. Harold thought of a lifetime of missed opportunities. Things he knew that he wanted that he was too timid to ask for. And he knew the moment where it all started.

Before he said it, Harold had one practical question:

“Will I remember this conversation?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then how do I know I won’t do the exact same thing again?”

“Good question Harold.”  said the creatures.

“You are allowed to send one message to yourself. It will appear unconsciously in the Harold of the past. Conceive of it wisely. You have three minutes.”

Harold did his best.

On the night of October 31st, 2008, Harold was fifteen years old. That Halloween night, he was attending his very first high school party. Upon arrival, Harold quickly felt insecure about his costume. He was a character from an obscure cartoon that he'd recently purchased on DVD, and he stuck out like a sore thumb. Harold realized that people chose Halloween costumes that made them look cool or hot, and it was devastating to make this realization while already dressed as a cartoon dog.

Harold was at the party because his friend Kyle was hosting it. Or really, because Kyle’s mom was hosting it. She had promised Kyle she would stay on the third floor, and the basement was his domain. Because of this, a small bottle of Vodka was circulating. Kyle was a sociable host, and though they had known each other since they were seven, Harold couldn’t help but resent him. Kyle was fashionable, tall, and had a phone with a keyboard. Harold had a simple flip phone, and typing on it was really slow.

Harold sat on an oversized beanbag chair in the corner of the room. He perused the bookshelf of Kyle's parents, and absentmindedly bobbed his head to the sounds of Jason Derulo. As he started his third pass over the shelf - noticing that it was 80% Swedish mystery novels - Harold noticed something else. In his periphery, a girl was approaching.

The first thing Harold noticed about the girl was her costume; a pirate generic enough so as not to infringe on the copyright of any popular franchise. Second, Harold noticed that he didn’t recognize the girl from school. Third, he noticed that she was beautiful.

“Hi, I’m Kyle’s friend from camp, I don’t know anyone else here.”

Harold had an involuntary flashback. Kyle’s birthday, three years ago. Harold had spent most of it actively hiding at the ninth bowling lane. This was to be as far away as he could from the girl he had immediately fallen in love with; Kyle’s camp friend Stella. He kept this memory to himself.

“I don’t really know anyone either.” 

This was a lie, but how else to explain why he was in the corner, skimming the spines of Swedish mysteries? And on some level, it was true. 

Stella and Harold talked, and eventually settled on opposite ends of the beanbag chair. Harold used 100% of his focus to try and appear casual, a contradictory impulse so intense that his left eye started twitching. Otherwise, Harold thought he was coming across pretty well. Stella laughed when he tried to explain his dog costume, and every time she laughed, Harold relaxed a little bit more. Eventually, he tried making her laugh on purpose, with great success. The jokes were highly contextual, and made by a nervous 15 year old, so they're not worth repeating.

Elsewhere in the party, there was talk of an expedition to the park. One of the girls claimed to know how to make an apple bong, and the group agreed that they should explore this possibility. As the teens began to file out, Harold and Stella looked at each other. Kyle gave them a casual wave. There was a glint in his eye, one that excited Harold almost as much as it frightened him.

“That’s okay, you guys stay here. We’ll be right back.”

Kyle closed the basement door. Harold and Stella heard muffled giggles from the top of the stairs. Slowly, the chatter started to die out. They were alone.

“Um…okay?” Stella said, laughing nervously.

“You were telling me about camp!” Harold blurted out.

Stella resumed her camp story, and within Harold a tension grew. He felt it when her hand brushed his shoulder as she laughed. He felt it in the way that her eyes lingered on his, as if asking him a question. Harold may have been a dumb dork of below average intelligence- but he wasn’t stupid. The minutes ticked by. The group would be returning soon, even if Amy really could turn an apple into a bong.

Harold wanted to make a move - he really did - and he was 90% sure he should. But that 10% nagged at him. He wanted to ask just, to be sure. But try as he might, he couldn’t get the words out. All that came out were asinine anecdotes about his high sea adventures in Skull and Bone. He thought Stella might have played it because of the costume, but she hadn't. As Harold talked, he could see her boredom, and her disappointment.

Harold heard the front door open, and he was seized with fear. As footsteps approached the basement door, he felt his moment passing.

Then, something awakened in Harold. As if struck by a bolt of lightning from across space and time, an impulse overtook him. It was like he saw - for a split second - his life diverging into two paths.

“Would it be okay if I gave you a kiss?”

Stella laughed.

“Yeah, of course.”

Harold leaned in. As their lips met, it was all he had dreamed of. A shaft of light hit Harold and Stella. They looked up. It was Kyle, at the top of the stairs, laughing with pride and disbelief. Harold knew in that moment that everything would be different. It would all turn out different.

Shaking on his damp bathroom floor, Harold smiled, and closed his eyes.