The photograph

I’m sure I must have taken this picture at some point years ago when I was full of dreams and hopes. When I was still young… 

But if you were to ask me if I can pinpoint the exact moment, day, or time I did, I could scarcely tell. My album is full of photos I’ve collected over the years. But for some reason, unknown to me, this is the one I can’t help but come back to. Again and again…. 

Did I love him at that point? Did he? Were we  ever in love? I stare at the picture. A distant reflection of mine staring right back. I must have been what - 32 here? God, I looked so happy with my then long dark brown hair, my eyes that shined so brightly, a necklace I have no memory of, and him next to me. He’s not looking at the camera, but at me. And watching his eyes you would think, I’m the best thing that ever happened to him. His most precious treasure. 

Now, my hair is considerably shorter and it’s turned all white. I laugh sometimes and I rarely wear jewellery. And most importantly, there’s no one next to me. 

Sometimes there are people who whisper a lot when near me, acting like I can’t hear them. Acting like I’m deaf and too old. Perhaps I am. And sometimes two people come. They sit near me and tell me stories. They talk endlessly about a lot of things and show me pictures I don’t care to see. I don’t recognise anything or anyone in those photographs. Truth be told, they bore me a lot, thinking I care about their incessant talks. Other times, I welcome the distraction. And the more they talk, the weirdest thing happens. Images form into my mind and I can almost visualise one or two things they’ve said. Like I’ve lived it. 

But this picture, - I don’t know why- never leaves me. I carry it everywhere. I know it’s me on it. The same way I’m not sure if it’s me on the others. And him. Sometimes I look at it and tears fall on my cheeks. I don’t know what I miss the most. My lost youth or him. The man next to me. 

Of course, I also wonder what happened to him. Where he is now. Is he here? Somewhere in this place with white walls and unknown faces. Or somewhere else? Holding a picture with me on it and wondering the same? Or does he remember everything and misses me the same way I miss him with no recollection of the past. Or is he happy I’m finally out of his life. I wish I could just remember. It bothers me so much, I can’t tell who he is and what our story could be. I won’t lie I’ve sometimes thought of burning the photograph so I wouldn’t have to go through this internal anguish, but then I think about how much this little piece of paper means to me. And if I were ever to burn it, I would surely remember and it will hurt me even more than not remembering. 

Who are you my tormentor? And why, oh Lord, why can’t I remember a thing about this picture? 

The door to my room opens and a young and handsome man enters. 

• Hello… Caitlin he trails off awkwardly. Did you sleep well? He has the same dark brown hair that once used to be mine, the same smile, although it seems sheepish, like he’d rather be anywhere else or he doesn’t know how to talk to me. 
• Yes, thank you. My answer is short and crisp.

Today he’s here alone. The other woman doesn’t appear next to him like she usually does. I like her better, she seems more compassionate, warmer, more me…. Or more her should I say. The woman on the photograph who is perhaps, definitely, most certainly, possibly me. 

He must have noticed my gaze on the door, because as he sits, he scratches his head.

• Ariette won’t be joining us today. I thought you and I could play a game. 

I don’t want to play, which I let him know solemnly, while my hands instinctively crumple the photograph. He looks at it and a sad smile draws on his lips. 

• Oh you and dad’s picture.

Dad? That man is his dad. Does that make me his mother? Its impossible. If I had kids, I’m sure I’d remember. 

But for the first time, I wanna ask him about this photograph. I wanna know when I took it. I wanna know the story behind it. 

• Did I take it?
• Yes mo- I mean … yes Caitlin. 
• Can you tell me about him? His sad smile gets bigger and he takes in a big breath. 
• You were young, younger than you are now, he ends, his smile never leaving.

But now something has changed. Transported in time, he looks like he is far away…. Lost in his thoughts.

• And you took this picture minutes before he asked you to marry him. You had no idea it was going to happen and for years you told Ariette and I it was one of the best day of your life. You’ve loved and cherished this picture for years, especially after he’s left us.

Suddenly I feel drained. I try to stand but I’m unable to do so. 

• Can you help me lie young man? He quickly lets me know he’s going to get a nurse and a few minutes later, he’s back with a young woman in a blue uniform.
• What was his name? I ask the minute I’m in the bed. 
• Sebastian. But you called him Seb. 
• Sebastian that’s a nice name. 

~~~

Later when I’m all alone in my room, I take a photograph that I had left lying on the table and glance at it. 

I’m sure I must have taken this picture… At some point… years ago when I was full of dreams and hopes. When I was still young…