Howard's Curse

It was a blustery Friday, a day when happiness and content prevailed
from within the small confines of Mr. Harris's tiny little home. It was
his birthday party, after all, and a day for celebration. He was
forty-three and he couldn't have been happier about it. His wife, his
"Bride" as he liked to call her, carried the cake in, candles blazing.
They lit up the darkened room, the tiny flames dancing in the breeze
because of the opened French doors that led off to the deck. There was
a slight chill in the air that night, and Howard (Mr. Harris) had on
his favorite sweater, a button down wooly sort of thing that was almost
as old as he was.
"Happy Birthday," said Linda. She smiled as she lowered the cake down
in front of Howard. She was four years his senior, but it didn't show a
bit. She was slim by nature and still had a youthful glow about her.
"Make a wish!"
Howard looked up at his wife, then, around the room at all his friends.
His heart felt full enough to burst. He took a breath, and, after a
quiet moment of contemplation, he blew out the candles in one giant
huff of air. There was clapping and cheers before everyone began to
sing&;#8230;
"Happy Birthday to You! Happy Birthday to You! Happy Birthday Dear
Howard&;#8230; Happy Birthday to YOOOUUUU!"
Howard cut the cake. "Hey, can you get the lights, Larry?" he called to
his friend. Larry was his "bestest friend" in the world. He had
actually saved Howard's life once when they were college roommates
years and years ago. Larry flipped the switch. There was a buzz and a
flash, then, more darkness. The bulb had burned out. "Where are the
bulbs?" asked Larry.
"I'll take care of it," smiled Linda. She winked at Larry. He was a
good-looking guy. His eyes beamed right back at her. She turned and
went into the kitchen; her little hips nudging the door open as she
went. She was back only seconds later and handed the bulb to Larry. He
was tall enough to do the job without so much as a stepladder.
(Writer's Note: I, for one, am nowhere near that tall and am insanely
jealous of anyone who is able to accomplish such feats as this.)
Larry put in the new bulb, but it was to no avail. It didn't work
either. He took it out of the socket and shook it. There was a metallic
sort of rattling sound. "This one's bad, too," he sighed aloud. Howard
was handing out pieces of cake. It was really no big deal. Linda got
some candles out, and the party continued into the night.
There was lots of drinking going on that evening. You know how parties
are. In any event, by the time Larry was ready to go, he was quite
drunk. In fact, he was so drunk that he insisted he wasn't drunk at
all, even though he couldn't stand so well on his own. Larry was the
kind of guy that argued when he got drunk, and there was just no
convincing him otherwise. That's why he decided to drive himself
home.
Now, Howard was Larry's best friend and all, and he couldn't stand to
let Larry drive himself home. But, the truth was, that Howard was
drunker than Larry was, and so, when he walked Larry out to his car,
there wasn't much he could do to stop Larry from driving himself home.
Larry got out his keys and opened up the car door. "Reallllyyy,"
slobbered Larry, "I'm okie-dokie." He wasn't all that convincing. He
got into the car and turned on the overhead light. When it came on, the
sudden burst made Larry wince his eyes shut. "I have those tickets to
the game tomorrow night in here," he said, his hands searching the
various compartments of his car. "I know they are in here. Damn!" The
light had burned out.
"Don't worry about it now," said Howard. "Find them tomorrow."
And so, Larry started the car.
"Drive safely," laughed Howard. It was a joke between friends. He
wasn't all that worried. Larry only had to drive a couple of miles to
get home. He had done it many times before. It wasn't that far after
all. At least it didn't seem that far, at the time.
They heard the sirens not long after that. When they got to the scene
of the accident, Larry was being cut out of his car. The cops figured
he must have been going about sixty miles per hour when he wrapped his
car around that tree. He was dead before they could even get him out of
the car. Howard felt awful. He felt responsible. He was a deeply
saddened man. Larry was buried three days later.
After the funeral, there was a wake held downstairs in the Church.
There was macaroni salad and potato salad and chicken salad and every
other kind of salad a person could think of. There were cakes, too, and
brownies, and fudge, and cookies, and even Jell-O and chocolate
pudding. People love to eat after a funeral, well, most people do but
not Howard. He couldn't eat a bite. All he could do was think of his
friend. He was heartbroken from his loss, so, he left the main room
where all the food was being served and went into a quiet little office
on the side to be alone for a while.
"Oh, I'm sorry - I didn't know anyone was in here," said an old woman
with skin so pale that you could see the veins underneath it. "I just
wanted to rest for a bit. I won't bother you," she promised. She sat
down on a couch across from Howard. "I'm Helen," said the old lady,
extending her hand toward him. He clutched her old wrinkled hands
between his and asked her how she had known Larry. She told him that
her daughter had been his cleaning lady for the past couple of years,
and she had come along to the funeral with her daughter, Liz, "who's
single, by the way," said Helen. "Are you married?" she asked.
"Yes," said Howard rather flatly. He wasn't much in the mood for
conversation, certainly not for one like this, and he didn't want to
encourage the old woman.
She took the hint. "I'll leave you be," she muttered, more to herself
than to him. "I'll just read for a bit," she announced. She reached
over to flip on the little light that was next to her. There was a
little charge of electricity that sparked before the light abruptly
went out. "Well, then," said the gray haired woman, "I guess not."
Annoyed, she got up and left. Howard was happy to see her go. He closed
his eyes and drifted off to sleep in the chair.
He was awakened by the sound of a commotion just outside the door.
When he got up to see what had happened, he was shocked to see that old
lady who had been talking to him just a short while ago was now slumped
over in a chair, her ancient little body already turned blue. No one
knew exactly what had happened to her. She was old, yes, and there was
talk that perhaps it had been some sort of heart attack or, perhaps, a
brain aneurysm. The autopsy settled it. They found a carrot stuck in
her windpipe. She had choked to death. Amazing that no one had noticed
her dying like that. Well, sometimes stuff like that happens.
In any event, Howard didn't care. He hadn't really known the old lady,
and he certainly hadn't been responsible for her death. He read her
obituary in the paper. She had been eighty-three when she had died. Liz
was her only living relative. That thought struck him. He felt somehow
sorry for Liz, who was now alone in the world, and Howard had also felt
very alone since Larry's death. He decided to go see the florist, to
buy Liz some flowers. It was the least he could do.
He walked to the flower shop. The day was bright and sunny. It was
spring out. He breathed the warm air into his lungs, and for the first
time in a week he felt life filling into him. He walked like a man with
a purpose, with a quickness in his step. He had on his favorite brown
sweater. It was the first time he had worn it since Larry's death. When
he walked into the flower shop bells on the back of the door announced
his arrival.
"Good morning," said the young clerk behind the counter. She had
golden blonde hair with highlights in it. "Can I help you with
something?" She smacked down on the gum in her mouth.
"Yes," said Howard. He nodded his head, "I want to get some flowers
for a funeral. Something tasteful, but not too pricey." Howard was a
bit of a tightwad.
"How about some Carnations?" asked the cheerful young girl. She walked
over to a refrigerated case. "We got these in just this morning." She
opened the door and pulled out some red and white Carnations. They were
rather artfully arranged.
"Those are perfect," said Howard.
Then, strangely enough, the lights in the refrigerated case went out.
The girl slammed the door closed, then kicked at it a couple of times.
"It's been doing that all week," she apologized. Howard was concerned.
Every time this had happened recently someone had died. He paid for the
flowers with his check card, gave the girl the address of the funeral
home to send them to, and went on his way. "You take care of yourself,
now," said Howard. He was more than worried for her, he was downright
scared. He wanted to tell her, but he knew he would come off sounding
crazy. Besides, he convinced himself, it's probably all just
coincidence.
The next day, he made it a point to go down to the flower shop just to
check on her. When he walked in, there was an old guy behind the
counter. He figured it was just her day off, so he looked around for a
while, pretending to be looking for something. "How much are these,"
Howard asked the old man. "I don't know - is there a tag on them
somewhere?" the man answered. "I'm not the regular clerk, I'm just
filling in for the young lady who's normally here. She was hit by a car
on the way home from work last night."
"Is she okay?" asked Howard, in all seriousness.
"Afraid not," said the old guy. "She died on impact."
Howard was astounded. He knew he was dealing with more than just
coincidence. "Thanks. I mean, I'm sorry," replied Howard. He left in a
hurry.
And so, Howard lived his life with this new knowledge. It happened
time and time again. Sometimes, he did try and warn people, other times
he didn't. It never made any difference. In the end, whatever was going
to happen, happened.
The knowledge he carried was both a gift and a curse. Mostly, it was a
curse. No one else seemed to know what was happening, no one ever
noticed. Even his own wife would not listen to him, not even when he
tried to convince her to take along some extra projection bulbs for the
slide machine for the seminars she presented. She died at one of those
seminars - a heart attack.
When Howard retired from his job, he bought a small lighting company.
He slept with the lights on. He had red and green Christmas lights on
his house all year long. The locals all thought he was nuts. Maybe you
do, too. Say what you will of him, but the day he died was also the day
of the last great solar eclipse. Coincidence? Could be.