Harry — The Ordinary Years

— Prologue in a five-part series about what happened to Harry —

Harry had been part of my everyday life for over twenty years—always there when something needed fixing or doing. That September in Bagheria felt like any other: errands, hardware stores, traffic, and a late pizza in the town square. Only later did I realize it was the last ordinary day we would ever spend together.

Harry had been my partner for more than twenty years.
Before that, I had always been on my own with my daughter. After her father left us when she was two and a half, my love life more or less came to a halt. In those days there were no dating apps yet—you had to actually go out to meet someone. I had a low income and no money for a babysitter.

At first, not going out felt frustrating, but after a few years I got used to it. Even when my daughter was old enough to stay home alone, I still didn’t go out. By then, staying at home had become such a habit that it simply didn’t occur to me anymore.

So I ended up meeting Harry… at my place.

I had just moved and needed help with some work around the house. A colleague said, “A friend of mine would be happy to help you—just invite him over for dinner and he’ll be glad to do it.”

Harry offered to help with other things too, beyond what he had originally come for. I was grateful for that. I couldn’t do everything myself, and I didn’t have the money to hire someone.

That’s how Harry became a regular presence in my life.
For years, he came by and helped wherever he could.

He liked me, but I didn’t see him that way. For me, his presence was practical and pleasant.

He helped me with all kinds of practical things, and we spent evenings in cafés drinking beer, or at home with wine and snacks. We went out to eat, took trips, and even went on vacation together.

By then, people already saw us as a pair. He called me his wife, and I called him my husband, even though our relationship was platonic.

In the later years, we often went to Sicily. I had fallen in love with Palermo, and Harry had already retired.
Two years ago, I bought a house in a small town called Bagheria, near Palermo. Harry had helped me with that— not financially, but with his practical building knowledge, since he had worked in construction his entire life.

After the purchase, Harry would come stay with me for weeks at a time, also to help with work around the house—things you can’t really do alone, things I don’t have the physical strength for, or simply don’t know anything about.

This last time was no different.

Harry had taken a part-time job through an agency for retirees. That allowed him to earn a bit of extra money between his trips to Sicily, so he could enjoy himself there. He especially loved good food, and Bagheria is definitely the right place for that.
When he came to visit me in September, he had worked right up until the day before his flight. He was looking forward to trying new trattorias, pizzerias, and restaurants.

Meanwhile, I had hired masons in Bagheria to build a toilet in the bedroom. They had just finished everything they could with the materials available. We still needed to pick up a toilet, a small sink, tiles, and some plumbing supplies.
Harry and I were going to do that together the evening he arrived. We always rented a car at the airport, and the hardware store was on the way home anyway.

But things ran later than planned.

Traffic was a mess, and by the time we got to the hardware store, it was hard to find what we needed. The store was about to close, and we felt pressured to make quick decisions. We didn’t like that. So we decided to come back early the next morning, when we could take our time.

It was already very late when we finally sat down in Bagheria’s town square for a pizza and a beer.
The next morning we got up before dawn and headed back to the hardware store. If we could be there at seven, we’d beat the rush. By around eleven we would have everything home, and we’d be free to go out for lunch somewhere nice.

But it didn’t go that way.

One store didn’t have tiles, another didn’t have a toilet…
We had to drive back and forth across the city several times in heavy traffic. It wasn’t until around half past six in the evening that we finally had everything.

We were exhausted, but I still hadn’t been able to do much grocery shopping, so we decided to quickly stop by the supermarket to get something to drink and a small snack for the evening.

That was the last ordinary day we spent together, without me knowing that these would turn out to be the final conscious moments of an ordinary life.

Prologue in a five-part series about what happened to Harry

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Photo: Oxana Melis