The Party to Which Harold was Invited

 

It took Harold an hour-long drive each way to his secret practice room. Though he lived in a safe part of town, he deliberately drove to the nearly abandoned industrial district to practice his violin. He knew, deep down, that he was no good at all and had no talent but his love for music drove him to practice and create. 

Parking his car in an alley behind a dumpster, he triple checked his rear view mirror to ensure that no one had followed him or even saw him pull into this alley. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed his violin and climbed out of the car, slipping through a partially open door just ahead of him further down the alley. Sliding a metal bar through the handle to make sure that no one would sneak up on him, he stepped over piles of abandoned machinery and into the small janitor closet. It was the one room with a working light bulb. 

Setting up his music stand, he carefully tuned the violin and began to play. He could feel the tingles run up and down his spine as he glided through the piece by Vivaldi. This one was his favorite and nearly brought him to tears every time played it. It was the sudden feeling of the small hairs on the back of his neck that caused him to pause.”Someone is watching me,” he thought. Slowly turning around, he saw no one but then looking at the floor, he caught sight of a small rat, standing on its back legs, watching him, apparently transfixed by the music. 

The rat, upon seeing Harold’s attention, dropped to all fours and ran away. Starting the piece again, he got halfway through and could feel a set of eyes upon him. Continuing to play, he looked to the floor again and this time saw two small rats entranced by the music. 

An hour later and with sore fingertips, he gathered his things and returned to his car for the hour-long drive back to his home. As he walked through the front door, he met his brother Gregory coming down the stairs. “Hey Harold, good news,” Gregory said. “I was just leaving campus today and I noticed a new notice on the community bulletin board. The community orchestra is holding auditions this weekend. You should go check it out. You are really, really good.”

“Ah, man, I don’t know,” Harold answered. “I think you’re the only person that thinks so.”

“Well, duh,” Gregory answered. “That’s because you won’t play for anyone. No one has the chance to hear you. I have to sneak around to get to hear you play. I’m serious. You are really good. Promise me you’ll give it a shot.”

Feeling a knot in his stomach, Harold coughed a couple times. “I don’t know Gregory,” he said. “I just don’t know if I’m up to it.”

“Don’t be silly,” he answered. “Of course you are. You are better than anyone I’ve heard around here. You won’t have any problem winning a place in the orchestra. Please, give it a shot. It’s not right to hide your talent.”

Harold started up the open staircase and stopped part way up. Looking at the hand painted portraits on the wall next to him, he knew he came from a long line of musicians. Six generations hung before him and he could feel himself getting clammy. Reaching the top of the stairs, he walked the wood paneled hallway all the way to the end. Closing his bedroom door behind him, he slid his violin under his bed and lay back, exhausted after the long practice and the long drive.

He had just begun to drift off into sleep, when a sudden knocking on his door jarred him awake. “Harold,” Gregory called out, poking his head into the bedroom, “Dad is having some important people over for dinner, so we’ll be eating in the formal dining room tonight. Mom wants us to dress up a bit.”

“Ugh, okay,” Harold answered, “great, company, you know I just love social settings.”

With a chuckle, Gregory shut the door and Harold could hear him walking away back down the hallway. Sitting up and swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, he left his room and walked down to the library. Closing the door behind him, he walked to the center of the room and slowly turned in a circle, marveling at the thousands of books that filled the shelves, floor to ceiling. Hopping on the ladder, he gave himself a push and rolled to the far end of the room. 

Stepping off the ladder, he ran his fingers along the row of books in front of him but then stopped. At the end of the shelves, just before they met the adjoining wall, he noticed a small door. “What the heck?” he thought. “Why have I not seen this door before?” Carefully turning the knob and pushing the door open, he saw only darkness. Sitting on the floor, he crossed his legs in front of him and stared into the darkness. 

“Oh, hey, there you are,” Gregory called out as he walked into the library. “What are you doing?”

Quickly looking toward the main door, he glanced back at the newly discovered small door only to see that it no longer occupied the space at the end of the shelf. “Oh nothing,” he answered. “I just felt like a change of setting. I like being here.”

“Okay, well, whatever,” Gregory answered. “Anyway, dinner is in an hour, so make sure you’re ready.”

Every day during the week, just before dinner, Harold would slip into the library and open the door, staring into the darkness. But it was on the fourth day that he could feel something different taking place. As he opened the door, it was no longer darkness but a brilliant white light that poured from the opening. Initially taken back, he could feel something urging him to step forward. He took a step toward the door when a elderly man appeared. “Hello Harold,” the man said. “I am so happy that you found this place. But you cannot come in yet. What I can tell you is that you need to start playing your music for the world to hear. You have a special gift.”

“How… how do you know my name?” Harold asked. “And who are you?”

“We are connected,” the man answered, “in ways that you cannot now understand. My name is Andrew and I have been with you from the moment you were born.”

“So, why am I just now meeting you?” Harold asked.

“There is always an appropriate time for things,” Andrew answered. “Don’t worry about timing. What you do need to be concerned with is your music. Promise me that you’ll try out for the orchestra this weekend. This will be a pivotal moment for you.”

Harold stepped away from the door and sat down on the piano bench. Looking back, he realized that the door was gone, and he sat in silence. Trembling, he poked at the keyboard, his mind racing as fast as his heart. “Play his music for the world?” he thought. “I can’t do that. I’m no good.”

“Oh Harold,” he heard his mother call from the doorway. “You need to stop telling yourself that. Everyone in this family knows how incredible an artist you are. You really should let the world hear you.”

“Geez, Mom, you startled me,” he said. “You say everyone in this family knows that but I never hear Dad say that sort of thing.”

“Well, if he doesn’t say it to you, he should. But I promise you he has said it to me many, many times. He is very impressed with your talent and creativity.”

“Okay, mom,” Harold answered. “If you say so.”

Harold crawled out of bed on Saturday morning and sat in the kitchen eating oatmeal in silence.

“Hey, there you,” Gregory said, as he burst into the kitchen. “Finish up your breakfast. The auditions start in an hour. I’ll drive you down there if you want. You have to show off your talent. I’m telling you, this is a sure win for you.”

Suddenly no longer hungry, Harold agreed and returned to his room to get dressed. Sitting on the stage of the performance hall ninety minutes later, he heard his name called. Trying very hard not to tremble, he climbed the steps and sat down on the single chair near the front of the stage.

“So young man,” the director said, “what will you be playing for us today?”

“I’ll be playing a piece by Vivaldi,” Harold answered, trying to control the tremble in his voice. With no sheet music before him, Harold took out his instrument, quickly tuned it and closed his eyes, playing the piece from memory.

As he finished, the room sat in absolute silence. “Oh great,” Harold thought, “I must really suck.” Opening his eyes, he realized that the director and the other three judges all sat with their mouths open. He even saw a tear drop from her eye. As he put his instrument away, the four judges rushed onto the stage, shaking his hand in turn. 

“Oh Harold, that was absolutely beautiful,” she said. “Why have we never heard of you before?”

With a nervous laugh, Harold tried to answer without throwing up. “I.. I’m not really that good. I mainly just play for myself,” he said.

“Well, that, young man, is going to change today,” she said. “We would love to have you take first chair in the Bowville Chamber Orchestra. Please accept.”

From his seat on the stage, Harold could see the wide smile of his brother all the way in the back of the hall. Pumping his fist in the air, Gregory gave him two thumbs up.

Answering before he could spend too long thinking about it, Harold accepted the offer.

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” she said. “We have practice Monday night at seven o’clock pm, right here. We look forward to having you join us.”

The next day, just before dinner, Harold stood in the library and opened the small door in the corner. Andrew immediately approached from the other side. “Congratulations Harold,” Andrew said. “I told you that they would love you. This is a very important step for you. You are going to change the world.”

“Oh, geez, don’t say that,” Harold answered. “That is way too much pressure for a guy like me. How about I just think of this as a different place to practice? I think I can do that.”

“Very well,” Andrew answered. “I think that is a fine place to start. Here, come close and place your arm through the doorway.”

“Hm, okay,” Harold said. Walking up to the edge of the doorframe, he reached out his right arm into the light. As he did, he realized that everything around him in the library, the books, the shelves, the piano and even the carved wood turned black and white, like an old-fashioned movie.

Jerking his arm back, he stepped back from the doorframe. “Whoa, what the heck was that?” he asked.

“I just wanted you to see the difference between my world and yours,” Andrew answered. “Things aren’t always what they seem.” With a smile and a small wave, Andrew closed the door and it immediately disappeared. 

Harold’s world radically changed in the next few weeks. He began to make connections and friends as he joined the orchestra. He marveled at the beauty of playing music with others and the glory of what they could create. But always in the back of his mind, he wondered about his experience with Andrew. 

As the days and weeks passed, Harold found himself spending more and more time in the library, standing at the door and staring into the light. The more time he spent, the more detail he could see as he looked into the world on the other side of the frame. He began to see others as well, more and more people were in that place, all of them very happy and interacting. His own world around him began to take on less and less appeal. 

His time in the library became an excuse to slip his arm into the new world. The first two times, he did simply as Andrew had told him. But then he began placing both arms into the light. He began inching his toes into the doorframe. As he drew closer and closer, he began to hear music, music so incredibly beautiful and moving, his heart ached within him. He could hear talking and laughter. He could smell incredible scents, like a massive rose garden.

At the end of the first month of daily visitation, Andrew approached him as he stood with his feet halfway into the light and both of his arms extended. “I think you may be ready, Harold,” Andrew said. Taking hold of both his hands, Andrew looked into Harold’s eyes and smiled. A warm tingle swept over him like he had never experienced before. “This is like Vivaldi, but a thousand-fold,” he said. 

“Ah, yes, Antonio Vivaldi,” Andrew said. “He too understood the beauty of this world. If you love his music. You will love being here as well. But come back tomorrow at the same time. I’ll have a surprise for you.”

Harold lay in bed that evening, his eyes wide and his mind racing at the possibilities of the next day. At six am, on that Sunday morning, Harold leapt out of bed and ran downstairs, still in his bed clothes. Running into the library, he found only shelves and books. Somewhat disappointed but knowing full well that it was far too early, he slipped into the kitchen and ate his breakfast. 

Every hour as the day passed, Harold would slip into the library and check the corner. Finally, when five that afternoon came around, he knew what he would find. Entering the library and closing the door behind him, he approached the small door in the corner. Swinging it open, the brilliant white light filled the library, and a massive crowd filled the space, as far as he could see. 

“We are all here for you, Harold,” Andrew said, standing smiling at the front of the crowd. “That world no longer has anything for you. Are you ready?”

Harold approached the crowd and stuck out both hands. Andrew and another man gently took hold of him and welcomed him in. Stepping fully into the light, it was as if an explosion had gone off in his head. Everything became so real, so beautiful and so overwhelmingly wonderful. Walking through the huge crowd of people, he could feel nothing but joy and love as they all greeted him. He was hugged by more people than he could count, and he could feel his tension, his stress and his fear all melt away.

Looking out across the endless world that lay before him, he could see so many things, so many people but it was the joy that stirred him the most. He had never experienced such joy and love as he did there. Turning around, he realized that the doorway was gone.

“Yes, that doorway is gone,” Andrew said. “But you’ll come to realize that this world and that world are really the same thing but only from a different perspective. Don’t worry though, you and I will explore this, and you will come to understand it all.”

Harold slowly walked around his new world and thought about all that Andrew had said. “This world and that world are the same…hmm. If that’s true then I should be able to be there and be here as well. I wonder what that looks like?” Laying down on the grass, he stared up into the bluest sky he had ever seen. A few puffy white clouds but no sun or moon. He sat up on his elbows and looked as far off into the distance as he could, yet he saw no mountains, no oceans, only beautiful rolling hills and people. 

“Hello there,” a voice called out from behind him. Turning around, he made eye contact with a beautiful young woman. “My name is Candace,” she said. “I think you just arrived. Am I right?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Harold answered. “How did you know?”

“Newcomers always have that look of wonder and awe at first and they also tend to sit quietly alone for a time,” she answered. “But don’t worry, the wonder and awe never fade away but you’ll find that spending time with others only adds to the beauty and joy of this place.”

“How long have you been here?” he asked.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” she answered. “Time doesn’t really flow here and after a while, the desire to visit the other side diminishes as well. I didn’t think it would but this world and all these people are so wonderful. The sadness and darkness of the old world has really lost its appeal.”

“Well, it was nice talking to you, Candace,” he said. “I think there is something I need to do right now.” Standing up, Harold made his way back toward the spot he entered this new world. Smiling and waving at more people than he could count, he was momentarily distracted by a small chamber quartet playing the most beautiful music he had ever heard. “This is really wonderful,” he said to another man standing nearby. “I’ve never heard this piece before. Is this Bach?”

“Bach? Oh no,” the man said. “This is an original piece. They all are. I’ve been enjoying this quarter for as long as I can remember and every day they have something new. Are you a musician?”

“Yes, yes, I am,” Harold answered. “Maybe someday I’ll have a chance to play as well.”

“I think that would be wonderful,” the man said. “All you need to do is start. We are all drawn to beauty.”

“Hey, I have a question,” Harold said. “Andrew told me that this world and the old world are the same world, just from a different perspective. How do I see the old world, if I wanted to?”

“Oh, Andrew didn’t explain it to you?” he said. “Simply find a doorway, take hold of the knob, close your eyes and think of where you want to see. When you walk through, you’ll be there. But you should understand, everyone that you left behind won’t be able to see you. After a time, you’ll be able to leave small hints, little interactions, and clues to those still there. Sometimes they’ll see them but sometimes they don’t. It depends on the person. Honestly, I did that sort of thing for a while but after a time, around forty days, the appeal really wears off. Like eating corn dogs when you have all the prime rib and lobster you could want. Well, good luck.”

Harold walked off and began wandering, not really knowing where to go or where to even begin looking for a door. After a time, he finally found one and, grabbing hold of the doorknob, thought about the kitchen at home. Opening his eyes, he pushed the door open and found himself standing in the doorway to the kitchen. His mother stood at the sink, staring out the window. It was then that an idea came to mind. Approaching the small radio on the counter, he turned on his favorite piece by Vivaldi. His mother quickly turned and looked at the radio.

“How… what happened?” she said. “This is Harold’s piece of music.” She stood in silence and listened to the music, eventually sliding down to a sitting position, leaning against the cupboards. Harold stood and watched his mother for a long time. He reached out to touch her but realized that his efforts were futile. Walking back through the kitchen door, he returned to his new world and seeing Andrew, embraced him in a full hug.