Happier

“I just can’t do this anymore,” she said, eyes filled to the brim with tears, though they have yet to fall.

We could hear the fight leave her voice and that’s how we knew it was over. We were frozen in time now, smiling through the photo and watching them lose this battle they called marriage. This is a version of ourselves we never thought we’d witness, but with each shout, slammed door, or silent evening cry, we became more aware. Since the creation of photography, people have been worried about the camera stealing part of their soul. To this day, some continue to believe this old wives' tale, but what if it is for the better? The family we’re seeing versus the family we are in this photo has changed significantly.

The kids still have time here. Bobby is still alive and Charlotte has yet to grow into this angry, sad teenager we see through the film placed over the magnet we were printed onto. Charlotte is beaming, Bobby is making a funny face and Maddie and Randy look prideful. Like they’ve finally made it. We haven’t seen any of them smile since they lost him. That’s the only reason we can see them now. Our smiles will never wane, but they’re genuine. The feelings the family in front of us had the day they took this photo are still prominent with us. We all remember how the day went and we’re all stuck in the pure joy of the younger family we were in the photo booth.

What woke us up was when the living room door slammed shut and Maddie let out a wail so loud and so desperate we were shocked nothing else in the house sprung to life. Charlotte was the one who showed up first, running so quickly out of view that she looked like a blur of red hair and flushed cheeks. Randy would guide Maddie into the kitchen and comfort her for a long time. He held her so tight and gentle we almost felt it here in the warm autumn sun. We’re content here. We’re whole here. Since we woke up, there has been such an emptiness in the home that we almost wish we could look away.

Even now as Maddie holds back her tears and her fight in this dark, cold kitchen. The two didn’t even bother turning on the light before they were at each others throats. They fought for hours the very second Randy took Charlotte's dinner upstairs. Their daughter hasn’t had dinner with them in a long time. We only see her on her way out of the house these days. Sometimes she doesn’t come home for days at a time. It’s been even longer since we’ve seen Randy hold his wife. “What can’t you do?” Randy finally replies, voice horse and defeated.

“Don’t do this, Randy.” Maddie pleads as she stands from the island. “It’s not the same. It’s not your fault, but I'm missing something. I’ve tried. I’ve tried so-”

Emotions push away her voice as she chokes back the tears she’d been trying to keep inside. Her attempts to be strong never got far, but this time we see it. We see her leaving and we never would have thought this is how they would end. Not when the sun silhouettes our hair and warms the nape of our necks. Not when we still have Bobby. And not while Charlotte smiles the biggest we’ve seen in years. It doesn’t resonate, but we see it. We see the dissolving of what we are in this photo. Yet, all four of us are here and beaming despite the chaos and sadness the family has become.

“Maddie please,” Randy begs quietly, reaching for the hand he’d held for 20 years. “What are we going to do without each other? What about Charlotte? We can get through this we just…”

“It’s been 4 years, Randy. When are we supposed to feel better? When are we supposed to move PAST this?”

“We won't move past Bobby, but we can learn. We can navigate, Maddie.”

“I don’t know if we can.”

She’s finally crying and for the first time in years, we watch Randy pull her close. We watch her melt into him the way she used to and they sob. We feel the weight in the room lighten and Maddie looks at us over her husband’s shoulder. “Should we get rid of it?” She asks, vocal cords tight, sniffles in between.

Randy turns to face us now the way he looks at us everyday when no one else is around. We don’t think he can. “No matter what we do, that picture is burned behind our eyelids,” Randy admits. “What will removing it do?”

There’s a pregnant, fleeting pause. “I don’t know how much longer I can look at him and know I’ll never be waking him up for school,” Maddie can’t stop sobbing, “He would be nine now, and we’ll never see him grow taller. We’ll never have to force him to shower, we won’t be able to smell his head to ensure that he is clean. We won’t see his first date! He’ll never AGE, Randy and that hurts almost more than losing him.”

We think for a moment that Randy might have forgotten how to speak because we watch him lower his head. “It’s about remembering the good times,” Randy’s final attempt to grasp at straws.  

When Randy looks at us, we can feel such deep affection. It’s all over his face. He loves us and everything we as a photo represent. When Maddie looks at us, there is bitterness. An emotion consuming those beautiful blue eyes we fell in love with. Leaving them dark and filled with rage. Both exhibit incredibly strong feelings, yet they seem to be on the opposite side of the spectrum. Are we the elephant in the room? Are we the reason this family has fallen apart? We begin to suspect this is true when she pulls from him and storms toward the fridge.What is this? Fear? What will happen to us when we’re thrown out and forgotten? Will Bobby’s presence still be in the house?

  Maddie snatches off the fridge, gives us another look and throws us in the junk drawer beside some old receipts and keys. She slams the door shut and now all we see is darkness. We’re still smiling. We’ll never stop, but we can still hear the snivels and the muffled conversation. We can still feel the desperation between two spouses who once loved each other effortlessly. We can still feel the sorrow of a broken home, but we will always be happier. Whether we want to be or not.