Terence and Harold

Word Count 1965

Terence and Harold
by
Robert Waltz

“Well, Terence, I see you’re still wearing the coat.”

The brothers had somehow managed to score a corner table at Starbucks. Harold leaned forward, one hand around his soy latte, his legs crossed at the ankles.

Lounging against the window, one arm slung over the back of a chair, Terence fingered the fraying lapel of the tan coat in question. “I like it,” he shrugged. “It’s warm.”

“It’s patched in five places and should be patched in six more,” Harold pointed out. “You need a new coat? I can buy you a new coat.” Harold’s own wardrobe consisted of a gray sport coat, black scarf, and white turtleneck, all of which might as well have still had the tags attached.

“It’s not about the money, man.” Terence reached over and picked up his caramel mocha. “I just like it.”

Something honked. Harold glanced to the window behind Terence and saw a stretch limo trying to turn onto Fifth Avenue. Other cars protested this maneuver. So did a throng of pedestrians. “How about the exercise program? How’s that going?”

Terence sipped his mocha. “It’s going.”

Harold winced. “You’ve always been a terrible liar.”

“Okay, fine.” Terence put his cup down and turned his gaze to the spectacle outside. Other vehicles had joined in the honking. “It went.”

“And of course you’re still smoking weed.”

“Look, man, did you just ask me to meet you to give me shit about my lifestyle again?”

The massive limo inched forward, its side dangerously close to a cab’s back end. A frantic arm poked out of the taxi, warding away the black car.

“Damn it, Terence, I’m just worried about you.”

Terence twisted the cup in front of him. “I’m healthy enough,” he asserted.

“Right.” Harold watched as the taxi reluctantly rolled six inches, allowing the limo to crawl forward another three. “I bet you couldn’t walk ten blocks.”

“Ten? I could walk a hundred.”

Harold snorted. “Sure you could. That’s five miles, you know.” The car ahead of the taxi slid forward, giving the cab more room to maneuver. The limo moved another inch.

“Yes, I could. I don’t know if you could, though, Mister I-don’t-eat-animals.”

“Hey,” Harold protested. “It’s completely possible to get enough protein on a vegan diet.”

A long, sustained honk jerked the limo into movement again as a delivery truck, double-parked on Fifth, finally shifted forward, allowing more room for the oversized black sedan.

“Fine,” Terence drummed fingers on the back of the chair. “Sounds like a bet, then.”

Harold snorted. “That wouldn’t be fair.”

“Why? You said you could do a hundred blocks.”

“…to you,” Harold clarified.

Terence snorted.

“Tell you what,” Harold went on. “We both know I’ll win here. But if you even finish, I’ll buy you dinner.”

“I’m not eating that rabbit food,” Terence objected.

“You finish, and we can go wherever you want. But when I win, you give up the weed for… a month.”

“Okay, but what if I win?”

Harold laughed. “Right. I run two miles a day, ten on weekends. I can do five miles in my sleep. And half your lungs are probably resinous by now.” A last chorus of honks sounded outside, and the limo freed itself from the turn, only to be stopped at the next light. It sprawled over all three of Fifth Avenue’s lanes.

“Okay, but if I win, you’re eating a cheeseburger.”

“No danger of that.” Harold smiled and leaned back, gesturing out the window at the broad avenue with its wide sidewalks. “Fifth Avenue? Tenth to 110th?”

Terence shrugged. “Why not park to park? Start at the Arch, end at the Duke. It’s just an extra couple of blocks.”

“I like it,” agreed Harold.

“So, when?” The light having finally changed, the limo cruised southward down the one-way avenue, and traffic resumed its ordinary chaos.

“No time like the present. Get geared and we’ll meet at the Arch in an hour.”


Dominating the very end of Fifth Avenue, the iconic Washington Square Arch crouched above the brothers. Harold now sported a slick Under Armour matched set, a black headband, and a squeaky pair of Nikes, while Terence wore an old gray NYU sweatshirt, stained blue drawstring pants, and scuffed Converse sneakers.

Harold glanced at his Apple watch. “Just about noon. You sure you’re up for this?”

Terence grinned. “Walk in the park, bro.”

“Nope. Run on the Avenue!” And with that, they were off.

Harold leapt across the street and sprinted. At 8th Street, he glanced back to see Terence puffing and struggling half a block behind. Grinning, he kept going.

When he reached 10th, the Don’t Walk sign shone steady. Looking again, he saw his brother at the 9th street corner, doubled over with his hands on his knees.

The light changed to Walk and Harold ran across. He didn’t look back after that.



Terence watched his brother jog across 10th Street. Straightening up, he strode along the broad sidewalk. “Well,” Terence said to himself, “at least it’s a nice day.” He looked around, taking in the other pedestrians, canopied entranceways, and ever-present construction scaffolding. Terence smiled. “Bet Harry’s moving too fast to enjoy the view.”

The light flashed to Walk just as he reached the cross street. “100 blocks to go,” he muttered. “I can do this.”



Harold settled into a steady jog, the same comfortable pace he used for his daily runs around the Reservoir. This far downtown, Fifth Avenue couldn’t be described as crowded, and for long stretches, he had the concrete all to himself. Past apartments and churches, through the hulking brick and glass buildings, he slapped one Nike in front of the other.

Might as well get the exercise, he thought to himself. Terence can catch up later.

As was his habit with exercise, Harold shut out the sights around him. After long years of living in the city, his subconscious evaded the occasional obstacle, helped him dodge around pedestrians, avoided dogs on their leashes, and sensed the timing of street crossings as he approached each intersection. His mind wandered, stilling itself even as his body chugged along.

Effectively on autopilot, Harold jogged up Fifth Avenue.



Terence watched the familiar spire of the Empire State Building grow ever larger as the street numbers slowly increased. Residences alternated with businesses and shops. He grinned as he strode past the Starbucks where he and Harold had spoken that morning. A woman with two preteen boys had claimed their table; she ignored their fighting as she mumbled into a phone.

He wondered for a moment whether the kids would grow up to be as close, and as different, as he and Harold were. Maybe one day, they too would race up Fifth Avenue.



Something caught Harold’s eye. He wasn’t sure what it was that tipped him off. Maybe something about the windows. Perhaps something subliminal in the scent on the air. But it nudged him out of his moving reverie, and he beheld the storefront sign:

HEALTHY EDEN
Vegan Restaurant
Juice Bar
Crossfit Gym
Yoga Studio

He stood for a moment on the corner, one hand on a street sign.

Surely, he could just stop in for a quick smoothie? There was no way Terence would catch up, even if Harold made a quick pit stop. And even if, by some miracle, he did, Harold reasoned that he could increase his pace if he had to.

Yes… just one brief stop.

Harold opened the shop door and stepped into his own personal Paradise.



Terence strode through midtown, where shops and storefronts catered to the opulent rich. Marking his journey block by block, he paused after 40th Street – almost a third of the way there! – and dug crumpled bills out of the pocket of his sweats. Exchanging them for a bottle of water at one of the many street vendors, he took a moment to enjoy the view of the lions of the library steps.



“This… this is really good!” Harold gushed as he wiped green slime from his upper lip. “What’s in it?”

“Oh, the usual,” said the bartender, a dangerously skinny girl with about two hundred piercings. “Kale, broccoli, a slice of kiwi, some flaxseed. More kale. And just a bit of strawberry. All organic, locally sourced, of course.” Her name, according to her tag, was Carylynn.

“Wow.” Harold shook his head. “Why haven’t I been here before?”

“Oh, we just opened last month,” Carylynn said. “Have you seen our gym?”

“I’m kind of in a rush,” said Harold.

“Oh, I just thought – with the sweats and all – you know. Anyway, we have all the latest equipment. Also locally sourced and organic.”

“Well... I suppose it won’t hurt to take a look.”

Carylynn led him to a set of frosted doors in the back, which she opened.

Harold’s head spun. Beyond the doors was a fully-outfitted gym. Gleaming exercise machines dominated one half of the room, while inviting mats lined up along a mirrored wall. Free weights stood like soldiers in formation.

“Holy shit,” Harold breathed.

“I know, right? Wait until you see our yoga studio.”

“I really should get going,” Harold protested.

“Come on,” Carylynn prodded. “Slow down. Enjoy life, you know?”

“Well, I…”

“This way.” They entered another chamber, its only light coming from flickering candles – soy-based, naturally. Soft Himalayan prayer music chimed from speakers high on the walls.

“Go on. Try out one of the mats. They’re cruelty-free, sustainably produced.”

“Okay,” he said. “I can take just a minute.” Harold knelt on one of the mats, closed his eyes, and concentrated on his breathing.



Terence noticed a sign amidst all the golden facades of Fifth Avenue. “Huh,” he said to himself. “’Healthy Eden.’ I wonder if Harold noticed that? He tends to zone out when he’s running. I’ll have to tell him about it.”



Harold opened his eyes with a start, not recognizing for a moment where he was. He glanced at his wrist. “Shit,” he spat, earning him rude looks from people who hadn’t been there when he’d come in. “Sorry,” he whispered, leaping to his feet. Back through the gym he went, racing past Carylynn at the juice bar, through the door, and he resumed his run up the avenue. Panicking, he picked up his pace.



Terence approached the rose-colored plinth supporting Duke Ellington and his piano. The last mile had been the hardest, though he’d enjoyed the beauty of tree branches hanging over the wall from Central Park.

Sighing, Terence sat on the stone and looked around, lifting one leg at a time in a stretch. “Okay, Harold,” he muttered. “Where the hell did you go?”

Pulling out his phone, he thumbed his contacts until he found Harold. Before he could tap to call, he heard feet slapping the paving stones. Looking up, Terence beheld his brother, out of breath, running up to the Duke from the south.

Harold collapsed on the plinth.

“What the hell?” Terence asked.

Harold panted and held up a hand.

Terence put his phone away and waited.

Finally, Harold sat up.

“Wait, you’re just now getting here?” Terence stared at his sweat-covered brother.

“I… um. I might have gotten distracted.”

Terence raised an eyebrow.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“So… I won?”

Harold slapped Terence on the knee. “Yes, little brother. You won. Come on. Let’s get an Uber back downtown, get cleaned up. And then… well, I guess we’re both getting cheeseburgers.”

“Aw,” Terence said. “I wouldn’t really make you eat a cheeseburger.”

“Hey, a bet’s a bet. I win, you lay off the weed. You win, I choke down dead cow.”

“Yeah, about that. You know I don’t actually smoke weed, right?”

“What?” Harold stared at Terence.

“Yep. Just naturally lazy, I guess. Come on, you still owe me dinner.”