A Photograph in Time

It was one of those cold, windy January days that made you want to stay inside and cuddle up with a good book and a hot cup of tea. But sometimes life just gets in the way of having a good time and you have to leave the house. It was also exactly one of those days that made sitting at my favorite cafe even cozier. The familiar ring of the bell at the door announced my arrival and I was greeted by the steamy air, thick with the smell of freshly brewed coffee and sugary snacks. The girl behind the coffee machine smiled at me and I instantly felt warmer.

I had just gotten my regular order and sat down at my usual table, ready to get my laptop out and get some work done before I had to be at my lecture in the afternoon. That’s when I noticed him for the first time. I know, how cliche. A young man was looking straight at me. He was sitting across the room at a small table in the shadows of one of the corners of the cafe. When our eyes met I had to turn away. Although that scene may not be that unusual in a place like this, I felt something was different about him. Of course, I couldn’t help but look up at him again. This time his eyes were focused on the book in his hands. I had never seen him before. His dark hair was long enough to fall into his face. I couldn’t see his face clearly. He was dressed completely in black, making his skin look very pale. Taking a second sneaky look at him over the screen of my laptop I noticed the black lines of a tattoo peaking out from underneath his jacket’s collar. I quickly pretended to stare into the distance when he moved but he seemed fully engaged in his novel. I wondered what he was reading. Although our eyes had not met again, I couldn’t shake the feeling, that he was watching me. Or was I imagining things?

The next day when I walked into the cafe again, he was sitting at the same spot again, looking right at me as I sat at my usual table again. Just like the day before. He had dark eyes and thin, light pink lips. This time he wasn’t wearing a jacket so I could see more of the tattoo on his neck. It looked like some kind of symbol. I couldn’t really put my finger on it but I felt like I had seen it before. Maybe he was part of some gang. He definitely had the aura for that. After seconds that felt like hours, he returned his gaze to his book. It looked old and worn like it had been read a hundred times and traveled through many hands, like it had lived a life of itself. With a sigh I got my headphones out, and tried to concentrate on my work. He was gone the next time I looked up from my screen.

A couple of days passed until I came back to the cafe. The weather had gotten worse and an icy rain started to fall by the time I got there. The heavy clouds kept the whole day buried in a misty darkness and I just wanted to get out of the cold.

With my hot coffee in hand, I sat down and noticed the table across the room in the corner of the cafe was empty. I almost felt disappointed. Then I realized how embarrassing it was for me to expect him to be there. I’m sure he had a life of his own and did not come to this coffee shop simply to see me. My thought kept going back to him for a good while before I was able to focus on my lecture notes. Still, every jingle of the small bell at the door made me look up in a secret hope it would be him coming through the door. I almost dismissed the thought before my eyes could even look up. Giving up on concentration I was ready to pack up my stuff. But there he was. I had missed him coming in. The sight of him startled me more than I had expected and I did what every sane girl does in a situation like that. I was fleeing to the bathroom. Step by step I made my way back up the short staircase and when I didn’t see him at his table I felt a little relief. Quickly I tried to pack up my stuff and leave.

“Hey.”

Oh no. Was that him?

“Hey.” I answered.

Yep, definitely him. He was standing right there in front of me. God, he was tall.

“I found something and I think it belongs to you.”

“What?” I couldn’t follow what he was saying. Did I leave something at the cafe the other day? I wasn’t missing anything. An awkward little pause, me looking into his eyes, him looking into mine.

“This is yours, isn’t it?” He said again and I finally looked down at the book he was holding in his hands. Faded gold lettering in the cover.

“What?” I whispered again. The book he had been reading was an old copy of one of my favorite books. The Great Gatsby. It’s cover looked worn and stained, the corners and edges were damaged. I took the book from him and skipped through it. The pages looked worn and yellow, I was afraid to accidentally rip some of them out. The first page indicated, that it was a copy from 1952.

That was when my breathing quickened. I had a book just like this one. That was true. And I had lost it on a train many years ago. But how would he come to the conclusion that it was mine?

He spoke softly, so quietly that I could barely hear it. Or maybe my brain just didn’t want to hear it.

“This picture was in it. That’s you. Isn’t it? You look exactly the same. Same eyes, same expression. Same everything.”

I looked at the small, square picture in his hands. A black and white photograph of a young couple in Times Square. Both smiling brightly and seemingly happy. Small letters underneath the picture read “Wilhelmina and Karl, July 1952”.

I took the picture out of his hands. I hadn’t seen it in years. By now my heart was pounding, I could feel it right in my throat.

“Where did you get this?!” This time I was speaking much louder than I should have.

“So it is you. But it says 1952. How is that possible?”

I was ready to leave the cafe at this point, angrily picking up my bag and jacket and shoving him to the side to get past him. That was surprisingly easy, he just moved and let me go. I practically ran away. Outside the rain was still falling and the wet cold hit me hard, instantly making me shiver. It was me. It was my book. The very same book Karl had given me as a birthday present on that trip to New York City. In 1952. The very same book I must have forgotten on the train back home. In 1952. How did he get it? How much does he know? I couldn’t keep walking and stopped to catch my breath.

“Who are you? How is that possible? What are you?”

His voice sounding behind me again. My body was unsure if to shiver again or boil with rage and fear. Instinctively I turned around to face him.

“Where did you get this?” I asked, meeting his gaze directly. There was no way around this anymore.

“Yard sale. I promise. Looked cool so I picked it up, the picture was between the pages.”

“How did you find me?”

“Would you believe me if I said it was a coincidence?”

“No.”

At this he just shrugged. “I’ll tell you everything if you tell me everything.”

Seconds of silence. Standing in the ice cold January air with my thoughts racing. His gaze kept me fixated at the spot, his dark figure almost looming over me.

“Family heirloom. Belonged to my grand-mother or her mother.”

“Right. Seems totally reasonable. Let’s try this again, shall we? Who are you? How is this possible?” He vaguely gestured at me.

" You won’t believe me.” I wanted to leave but my body wasn’t moving.

“Try me.”

“I’m a witch.”

“A… what?”

“A witch. You heard me. Magic, spells, potions, everything. No broomsticks though.”

“You’re messing with me.”

“Am I? You wanted to know.” Now it was my turn to shrug.

“Prove it.” He challenged. Like he was not at all fazed by the revelation.

I took a deep breath, swirled my hands a little more dramatically than I needed to and in an instance the rain stopped, hanging in the middle of the air. Cars stopped driving and everything went very, very quiet. Only the two of us still moving. Time stopped.

“I can do this as long as I want to.”

He looked around him, only now a slight notion of fear and uncertainty in his hazel eyes.

“So you’re immortal? Is that it?”

“No, not exactly. I just age very slowly.” I shook my head as if that wasn’t obvious and by that I restarted time, cars moving and humming, rain falling.

He was silent for a long moment, staring at me as if seeing me for the first time. Then he said, “You could’ve just lied, you know.” Now he seemed… amazed.

“Yeah,” I said, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “But you seemed like the type who wouldn’t stop digging.”

He smiled, a knowing, confident smile. Now I only had one question for him.

“So. Who are you?”