The Mysterious Man in the Photograph

I am dog-tired as I stretch my aching legs before me on the chaise lounge. It is already 6 o’clock and I have not even thought about supper yet. I consider my achy bones and bunched-up muscles as I ponder whether making dinner for one is worth it. As I procrastinate, images of refrigerator contents float through my foggy brain. I could always warm up some left-over Lasagna and those Italian Green Beans my mom gave me from her perfect, oversized garden. Unconsciously, I groan as I make my unsteady way to the darkened kitchen on the other side of the house.

 I stagger into the small and tidy kitchen and then flip on the lights. I open the cabinet to grab a plate as my eyes adjust to the brightened room. While I shut the cabinet door, I turned toward the fridge, which seemed to be threatening a war against itself. Clanging noises compete with foreboding clinks at the back of the sickly fridge. I suppose I will need to make a call to Reliable Rescue for poor old “Bertha.” I set my plate down beside the dish of lasagna and dip out a healthy square, then the beans into a mini mound of green. The kitchen lights glitter in the twirling reflection of the microwave’s shiny door as I head over with my offering plate.  

While I sit at the small and wobbly table for two, I let my mind wander as I wait for the food to warm. I recall getting my bachelor's in social work a few years ago.  I remember being full of hopes and dreams of changing the world. There is something that I must have missed in college. Either that or I just skimmed over that part. The part that says you should take time for yourself and give a little self-care. College does not prepare you for long hours, the self-doubt, and the guilt of feeling like you did not do enough.  And now, I think about the long hours of work and the expectations placed upon me. And loads of guilt. Do not even get me started on the self-doubt. Often, I have come home feeling like I have not done nearly enough.

I heave a sigh of gloom. I wish my husband were here with me instead of on his business trip.  He has a way of helping ease the exhaustion and self-doubt that threatens my mind. After a long day of work, I can come home to a plate already warmed, dishes done, and a bit of thoughtful insights. Ah, well! I look forward to hearing from him soon after the plane lands. The microwave’s ding breaks my train of thought and brings me back to earth with a bang.

Quickly, my eyes focused on the small flying bundle of fur that crashed into the chair at the desk and then onto the bulletin board above the cluttered desk. Just as quickly, my mind forgets the microwave as my eye lands on reminders hanging lopsided above old and forgotten grocery lists. Anecdotes attempt to brighten the mood while the dried rose threatens an escape plan. A newspaper article reminisces about “On this date 50 years ago…” My eyes go further yet. Tucked underneath the wrinkled wrapper of a recipe, I see the bent corner of a photograph. The food is long forgotten as I reach out a shaky hand. I had forgotten this picture from long ago. I knew what it was before I even had it cleared away. As a teenager, I had snagged this picture from my mom’s closet.

It was a black and white photo bent in the corners. It held an air of mystery that I could not ignore. Glistening in the sun, a black steam engine stood waiting for its passengers. A mysterious man, arms laden with parcels, turned towards the camera and was getting ready to board. He has black hair and dark eyes like me. My mother had once told me about a man she loved. I looked at this photograph and wondered if this was the man she talked about and if he was my father. I have always hesitated when I thought about asking her. What if it brings her sad memories? What if she does not want to tell me anything at all?  

However, the weight of uncertainty is lifted, and replaced by an eagerness to uncover the mystery man in the photo. I am excited to expose the secrets that have remained hidden for so long. This renewed sense of hope carries me forward with a firm purpose. Maybe this journey is what I need to combat the stages of burnout I have been experiencing. I could use a vacation anyway. They certainly talk about having self-care. Maybe that is what I need.

 I reach for the phone and dial her number. She picks up on the third ring and answers a bit groggily. “Hey, Mom!” I said, feeling a little guilty for calling a bit late. We exchange some gossip and, in a pause, I bring up the picture. She grows momentarily quiet and then with a small sigh, begins on a small tale of love and being pregnant with me. “He left. He wanted to stay but he couldn’t” she said. Mom gave me the name and the last known address. “Thank you, Mom, for giving me this,” I told her and hung up the phone. I glanced up at the calendar to figure out my next move. Monday and Tuesday are full of work-related business but the next 3 days after are free. Perfect! Five days of investigative work will be helpful for sure. I grabbed the notepad and started making notes. And soon enough, the anticipation made the days fly by and I began the journey to find my father. Quicker yet, I walked up the steps to greet my father. He is older now, with silver hair, but holds the same dark and smiling eyes. A week ago, this journey sure wasn’t what I expected!