A Picture to Burn

Ellen’s hands trembled as she tried to flatten the creases on the old white lace tablecloth her mom had gifted her. Apparently, it was a family heirloom, which she had only used once previously and it was already stained with little red splatters, presumably tomato sauce. Her mother should know better than to trust her with anything of value. But tonight was a special occasion, so once again she risked pulling it out, in hopes of making her apartment a little classier than it was on a normal day. A pot of curry boiled on the stove, the smell of ginger and saffron wafting through the air and seeping into the couch cushions. She hopped that curry was a romantic enough dish, her arsenal of recipes was limited, and curry reminded her of childhood memories of the boy coming over, so it seemed fitting.

Ellen lived on her own in an apartment the size of a shoe box. Well, not really, but it felt like it most days. Her kitchen, dining room, and living room were one and the same and were heavily cluttered with items she found valuable throughout her years on earth. Her walls were covered in an eclectic collection of art, mostly her own starting at the ripe age 12, depicting an array of smiling faces and scenes fit for a psychedelic children’s picture book. She was creative in her childhood, and carried that on into her life now, which is why she had moved to the big city to attend art school, much to her family’s dismay. A few extra chairs sat encircled the small wooden table she had found at a garage sale for $8 and painted an extravagantly royal blue. A large, ever-growing pile of assorted shoes sat next to the front door, in no order whatsoever, and her purple converse shoes were chaotically spread across the kitchen floor where she left them after her grocery trip earlier that afternoon. A pile of dishes usually matched that of the shoes next to the sink, but she had spent all afternoon clearing of the kitchen counters by stuffing the assorted Tupperware into various cupboards and out of sight.

Her table, now decorated in a (mostly) white tablecloth, with a bouquet of red roses from the market, a random collection of half melted candles and the finest bottle of wine she could afford – middle-shelf quality at best – starkly contrasted the chaos that was her living space. Nonetheless she contently sighed while admiring a hard afternoon’s work and wiped her curry-stained hands on her paint-splattered jeans.

This was all for Cameron. It was always for Cameron and it took her 15 and a half years to realize it. Cameron – the 7-year-old boy from summer camp whose eyes were as muddy brown as his constantly stained shirt. The boy who lost his shoes while wearing them and had a smile so lopsided that she instinctively cocked her head sideways the first time he grinned her way. Cameron, who’s mom had transferred to the same lawyer firm as her own mother’s the fall of her eighth birthday, so they soon enough found themselves on shared camping trips, laying hip to hip in a hammock while he teasingly stuck his toes in her hair. Cameron, who would sit still for hours while she painted a lopsided portrait, and who would convincer her to skip last period in high school so they could make it to the local bakery before close for butter tarts. Cameron, who knew her deepest secrets and who was there for her most embarrassing moments.

Cameron had grown up hand in hand with Ellen for 15 years and it occurred to her in the last two, while he was off travelling the world, that their lives and hearts were more deeply entangled than she had imagined. She found herself wishing for his hip against hers once again. For his snarky comments at family dinners and their shared glances that held the secrets of the universe that existed only between them. Before he left, she had not thought twice about him as more than a best friend, but it was something about his absence that made her yearn for him in ways she had not before.

Cameron had sent her letters and pictures while he was off adventuring around the world. A picture of a white sand beach in Italy. A postcard of a castle in Ireland, and then he travelled south when he started to run out of money. He even sent her a little wooden carved bus from somewhere in Asia.

That had always been their “thing” – leaving little gifts in each other’s mailboxes. He had a fascination with trinkets, homemade or otherwise. And she would gift him anything she found on the ground: a wilted flower with a broken stem from her neighbour’s garden, an old penny buried in the sand of the school yard, even an old hat she had found in a ditch which his mother promptly confiscated for hygienic reasons. It was an unspoken tradition that had tethered them together even in their awkward teen years. But now he was back and visiting her hours away from their hometown.

Ellen checked the time and slipped herself into an outfit nicer than the one she had splashed with curry. It was a grand event of picking something classy, yet casual enough not to freak him out. He knew her style and had seen her collection of thrifted oversized t-shirts many times over, so it was odd that she found this such a difficult choice. That being said, it had been a few years since they had seen each other and a lot can change when you have been attending art school, what was he going to expect? She peered at her reflection; a purple corduroy dress hugged what little curves she had on her body. She dabbed a deep shade of red on her lips and cheeks, making her pale face look even more flushed than it already was, which contrasted with her dark curly hair. She let her nerves snake from her stomach to her chest, acknowledging the intimidation of facing this boy again after years apart. She imagined herself jumping into his arms when he opened the door – finally fulfilling the empty space where love hung between them for so many years. She felt as if the layers of invisible wrapping paper holding her heart captive for years were slowly being unraveled. Her waiting time over; she was ready for a confession of love and a new chapter. She glanced over at the little wooden bus he had gifted her a year ago, it had come with a note:

With love,

Cam

As if all his love for her packaged up and sent across the world so she could hold it in her hand. She ran her fingers across the smooth grain, like she had done so many times before.

She picked up her phone to check the time and noticed several missed calls from him. Odd, she thought as they were not really the type to call or text, they normally coexisted in an understanding without much communication, other than a casual text to make concrete plans oof meeting up. She clicked his name and listened to the ring tone until his voice crackled through the phone, just about taking her breath away.

“Hey El,” his voice was so familiar and raspy, it made the corners of her lips tilt into the smallest and sweetest of smiles.

“Hey! Cam!” any attempt to hide her excited was unsuccessful, and she knew that he would be able to read her anyway, even if it was through the phone.

“Look I have been trying to get a hold of you for hours. I hope you haven’t been to busy with the whole dinner thing, I think we’re going to have to postpone on you until tomorrow.”

The entirety of this conversation taking a while to settle into Ellen’s mind. Rocks sat in her stomach where butterflies were only seconds ago.

“Wha-” Ellen managed to choke out.

“Yea El. I am so sorry; you know I hate to cancel on you like this. But Mara has not been feeling very well all day so we figured it would be best if we swung by tomorrow. Maybe for lunch?”

Mara? What was he talking about? Years of built-up excitement came tumbling down around her all at once. The rocks churning in her belly and the blush unnecessary against her burning cheeks. The silence hanging heavy between them as cracks continued to line her heart with every passing second.

“Ellen?” The space between them amplified by the echoing of the phoneline. Each second a reverberation of the next, I bet he could hear her heart beating after in bounced through the abyss that connected their voices.

“Yeah, I’m here,” she croaked. “Sorry, I am just a bit confused by what you are saying. Trying to grasp at um – at… who?”

She felt like a babbling idiot, but at least he could not see the deep shades of pink her skin had flushed.

“Oh Ellen, sorry dude! I totally thought we were on the same page here! I’ve brought Mara with me. She’s never been to California before, so I wanted her to come check out the big city. This is so embarrassing, what if we had showed up to yours and you had no idea she was with me.” He chuckled as if breaking his best friend’s heart was his idea of a good time.

Embarrassing. That did not seem to fit the grandiosity of misery she felt in this moment. Her knees wobbled as she gave into the wall beside her and slide to the floor.

“Oh yes. Um, that definitely would have been,” her mind buzzed “Sorry Cam, I don’t even know who Mara is?”

“I thought I sent you a picture of her earlier this year? El, you’re going to love her! We met last year on an island off the coast of France and have been travelling together ever since. We ended up getting married when we were in Asia. It was super last minute but honestly the best decision I’ve ever made. I slipped a wedding photo in your mail slot when we stopped by to surprise you this afternoon, but you were out. You’ll meet her tomorrow and I promise you two will be tighter than a French knot.”

With each breath out, Ellen could feel her chest caving in on her own heart. The curry burning on the stove was the last thing on her mind as she tried to suppress 15 years of love breaking apart before her very eyes. She could hear Cam mumbling something to someone on the other end of the phone. To Mara, the love of his life that was not her.

“Anyway El, sorry again to cancel, but we’ll take you out for lunch tomorrow! Promise!” his tone making it clear as day that all telepathic connection they once had was dead and gone.

Clutching her heart all she could manage was a breathy “bye.” Before hanging up and letting her phone clatter to the ground next to her. All emotions coming out of her like a wave, the noise was something between a sob and wail. Two years of waiting while Cam was off falling in love with an island princess.

After what seemed like hours on the tile floor. Ellen got up and opened her front door to find that her neighbour Marie had propped up a silver picture frame next to her door like she often did with Ellen’s mail.

Her hands shaking for the second time this evening, for completely different reasons, Ellen scooped up the frame. It was heavy in her hands, the silver embossed with romantic curls, making it look more expensive than it was. Cam, gifting her a picture of his happiness because she was his best friend, and she was supposed to be happy for him. Cam, the best friend who had sweetly neglected to tell her that he was off falling in love, until it had already happened.

The photograph hurt to look at. The happiness exuding from it contrasted the deep feeling of misery in her gut. Cameron with his arms wrapped around a petite brunette, her smile as lopsided and his. Mara was wearing a flowy white silk slip and they were posed naturally against a backdrop of tropical forest. The picture was natural. You could tell that they were both sweating, Cameron even looked a bit uncomfortable in his suit, but they were looking deeply into each other’s eyes as if all they could see was love. This broke Ellen’s heart more intrinsically than anything she had previously felt in her seemingly short life. Because she knew this love was real, and she knew she could never be happy for him about it.