Without giving myself the chance to walk away, I grabbed the camera and sneaked down to the darkroom in the basement. As I reached the door and turned the knob, I flicked on the light. I sighed, a strange feeling settling within me.
Because Poppy had been right. My pappa had prepared this room for me. My equipment was exactly where it would have been two years ago. The lines and pegs were ready and waiting.
The process of developing the pictures felt as if I’d never been away. I enjoyed the familiarity of each step. Nothing was forgotten, like I had been born with the ability to do this.
Like I had been given this gift. Poppy recognized that I had needed this in my life, when I was too blinded by the past to see it.
The smell of the chemicals hit my nose. An hour passed, and I eventually stood back, the pictures on their pegs forming into shapes, second by second revealing the moment caught on film.
The red light didn’t stop me from seeing the wonders that I’d captured. As I walked along the lines of hanging images, of life in its glory, I couldn’t stave off the excitement burning in my chest. I couldn’t stop the smile—for this work—playing on my lips.
Then I stopped.
I stopped at a picture that held me captive. Poppy, holding on to the hem of her dress, dancing in the shallow water. Poppy, with a carefree smile and windblown hair, laughing wholeheartedly. Her eyes bright and her skin flushed as she looked over her shoulder, right at me. The sun lighting her face in an angle so pure and beautiful it was as if it was a spotlight on her happiness, attracted by her magnetic joy.
I lifted my hand, keeping it a centimeter away from the picture, and traced my finger over her beaming face, over her soft lips and rosy cheeks. And I felt it. Felt the overwhelming passion for this craft burst back to life inside me. This picture. This one picture cemented what I had secretly known all along.
I was meant to do this with my life.
It made sense that this picture brought this message home—it was of the girl that was my home. A knock sounded at the door, and without taking my gaze from the picture, I answered, “Ja?”
The door opened slowly. I felt who it was before I looked. My pappa entered the darkroom, by only a few steps. I looked at him, but I had to turn away again at the expression on his face, as he drank in all the pictures hanging from the pegs across the room.
I didn’t want to confront what that feeling in my stomach meant. Not yet.
Minutes passed by in silence, before my pappa said softly, “She’s absolutely beautiful, son.” My chest constricted when I saw his eyes on the photo that I was still standing before.
I didn’t respond. My pappa stood awkwardly in the doorway, saying nothing else. Finally, he moved to leave. As he went to shut the door, I forced myself to say a sharp, “Thank you … for the camera.”
In my peripheral vision, I saw my pappa pause. I heard a slow, ragged intake of breath, then he replied, “You have nothing to thank me for, son. Nothing at all.”
With that he left me in my darkroom.
I stayed longer than I intended, replaying my pappa’s response in my mind.
Clutching two photographs in my hands, I climbed the steps of the basement and headed for my room. As I passed the open door of Alton’s bedroom, I saw him sitting on his bed, watching TV.
He hadn’t seen me, standing there in his doorway, and I carried on to my room. But as I heard him laugh at whatever he was watching, my feet stuck to the floor, and I made myself turn back.
As I entered his room, Alton turned to me, and in a move that made me feel a crack in my chest, the biggest smile spread on his cute face.
“Hei,
Rune,” he said quietly, and he sat further up in bed.
“Hei,” I replied. I walked toward his bed and nodded toward the TV. “What are you watching?”
Alton looked at the TV, then back to me. “Swamp Monsters.” His head tipped to the side, and then he pushed his long hair from his face. Something in my stomach tugged as he did. “You want to watch it with me for a while?” Alton asked nervously, then dropped his head.
I could tell he thought I would say no. Surprising both him and myself, I replied, “Sure.”
Alton’s blue eyes widened to the size of saucers. He lay stiffly on his bed. When I stepped forward, he shuffled to the side of the narrow mattress.
I lay down beside him, kicking up my feet. Then Alton leaned against my side and continued watching his show. I watched it with him, only looking away when I caught him staring up at me.
When I met his eyes, his cheeks flushed with red and he said, “I like you watching this with me, Rune.”
Breathing through the unfamiliar feeling his words brought out, I ruffled his long hair and replied, “Me too, Alt. I like this too.”
Alton leaned back against my side. He lay there until he fell asleep, the timer on his TV kicking in and plunging the room into darkness.
Rising off the bed, I passed my mamma, who had been watching silently from the hallway. I nodded my head at her as I entered my room, turning and shutting the door behind me. I flipped the lock, placed one of the photos on the desk, and climbed through my window and ran across to Poppy’s.
When I entered her room, Poppy was still sleeping. Taking off my shirt, I walked around the side of her bed to where she slept. I placed the photo of us kissing by the water on her pillow, for her to see as soon as she woke up.
I climbed into her bed, Poppy automatically finding me in the dark, laying her head against my chest and wrapping her arm around my waist.
Four footprints in the sand.
Poppy
Three Months Later
“Where’s my Poppy-girl?”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.