The Afterglow of a Memory

*TRIGGER WARNING: Death, trauma

Picture this—the city deep asleep in an ungodly hour of the day. All eyes shut, homes locked and soundless—the sprinting vehicles, tucked away from sight. Shops closed. The windows of buildings towering over the setting, out of light. The usual hubbub and whirl, waiting for daylight to advance. The light sources were few and enough to provide for the area. 

But Hunter could only focus on the hanging yellow lamp that barely flooded his condominium unit with glow. He was drawn to the direct glare of the lamp. It felt like staring into a light he had yet to see at the end of a torturous tunnel. He gravitated towards the urge to stay active then. It was silent, but not peaceful. As long as his mind was chaos without deciphered translation, he would never call himself at peace let alone in a state of tranquility. 

Hunter rose from the bed. He walked like a ghost, dragging himself across the wooden floor. The only direction in life he followed for the time being was the way to the window wall where he parted the curtains and saw the outside for himself. Although there was not so much to see, his eyes zoomed in and out of the place like a hawk in hiding, inspecting it intently and following whatever was available. His name fits him perfectly—a hunter. 

As observant as he was to detail, Hunter loved to take photos. The liking began when he was seven. Right after it had developed into a passion at thirteen, his mother gifted him his very first camera. It was a Kodak. 

Since then, Hunter had been snapping away everything he found appealing and worthy of a memory. He bought the newest model each time and he’d proudly bring it everywhere he went. It was easy how he’d tug the gadget out of his stuff and start clicking at whatever, wherever, and whenever. 

He took photos of greenery and bright skies. Most times, he snapped shots of known landmarks whenever he traveled locally and internationally. In the most random instances, those of cars and art whenever given the chance to visit museums. But above all, he had his favorite subject—Madison. 

When he took photos of her, he usually wouldn’t tell her to smile. No. He’d count to three and tell her she was beautiful or he loved her the moment his finger pressed the shutter button. And she, of course, would give him the most lustrous smile ever. 

Back to the vicious reality, Hunter heard the crickets accompanying the noises bothering his psyche. His thoughts were, of course, reverted to none other than Madison. If she could only watch the night fly with her as they spoke about life after college, he thought. If she could only see how pretty the moon hung in the wide blue yonder as it guarded him, he thought. But no, she couldn’t. Not anymore. 

If she, the love of his life, hadn’t gone to the spring break she was more than eager to go to, she wouldn’t have left Hunter on earth alone. Knowing what had happened that very fateful night, Hunter turned just as angry as the water waves that washed Madison away from her future—away from him. 

He was a year away from completing his education, and that drowning tragedy willingly happened. His performance enfeebled and his marks plummeted. At university, the once-overachiever Hunter turned into a single sheet of cellophane because of his decline as a student. He got himself a part-time job at the local bar as a barista, but it didn’t last long. Which was a bummer, because his bills needed his awareness more than ever. 

Hunter sucked in a tear. But men don’t cry, Hunter’s father reinforced. Since the first tear he shed when he became an adult, Hunter’s father told him it was improper for a man to cry. Which, of course, he found an absurdity. His emotions opened the door to a drift between him and those who mattered.

How could he not cry over Madison, the first of them all to make his heart skip a beat? She was his world. But the real world was big and cruel. 

He could just admit it to himself—he lost it all. What was left was nothing but shards and smithereens of what he used to be. 

He parted the curtains a little further apart and tilted his head upward. His eyes crossed the omniscient moon then. He paid it mind as it seemingly whispered and spoke to him, seizing its only time to shine. It had no place in the day. 

“What am I doing staring at a moon this late?” 

Hunter squinted a little, scrutinizing it. That was the exact moon Madison adored aside from him. Madison loved looking at the moon, allowing herself to be lured into the bewitching trap of a satellite. She always believed that the moon was an imperfect image of beauty amid havoc. The moon’s craters were, in her eyes, equal to the scars of human skin.  

“But look at that.” He gazed at the celestial body. His voice was barely a whisper in the thick of the persevering silence. “Pretty.”

Hunter knew the moon was there to lodge in the sky every night. He knew it would look the same at every height and sometimes every angle and would carry the same visible and unmistakable craters. It was the first time for Hunter to think long and hard enough about Madison, thanks to the moon that epitomized and spit everything about her. It was simply a reminder. 

Their moments together swarmed and swamped in his brain. He knew then why he loved to take photos of her. Not only was she such a beautiful subject, she was full of stories Hunter found solace in. He then had a clue how to find that solace again. He’d do what he did best.  

It was three in the morning, but he was inclined to where he was. The moon appeared brighter and more beautiful at the idea of her. In brief time’s fullness, he wanted to capture the exact phase of the moon as he thought of Madison and bottle its sight so he may bring it wherever he went. He wanted to remember the moment. Just as Madison was a memory, he wanted to keep that night forever. 

A bolt of hope and joy surged through his system, finding true purpose in his photos. A smile spread across his face. He treaded to his drawer and yanked it open. There, he found his favorite Canon camera.

He went through his photos of Madison before. She was clad in a dreamy yellow summer dress at the last amusement park they went to on her birthday. 

He hadn’t taken a photo of the moon ever, despite him boasting he’d somehow mastered every subject known to him. He always thought it was nearly impossible to take a clear photo. But then, he thought he’d give it a try. Not only was it a challenge, but if it reminded him of Madison, then no shot would be a waste.  

He went back to the window wall with the camera, clutching his tripod this time, and adjusted the settings carefully and appropriately. Once he achieved his goal, he positioned his camera with smart and stable hands. He waited until he arrived at the perfect perspective and lighting. Beautiful, just like Madison. He started to click and click masterfully with good grace. The first few shots weren’t the best out of everything he took in his lifetime. But that didn’t matter then and it didn’t frustrate or thwart him one bit. He knew he would get better at it with every click.

It was as if she was his muse all over again, comforting him like the afterglow of a memory.