The Lies I Told(26)

14


MARISA

Monday, March 14, 2022

11:00 a.m.

Back in my apartment, I walked to the row of ten pictures I’d taken of the river. Now two were missing. I raised my hand to the spot where the forgotten first-sale image should have been, as if doing so would summon the buyer and fill the blanks in my memory. Why did it matter who I’d sold the picture to?

I had no real record of the sale, but I still had the negative for the original picture. I slid on my glasses, sat at a light table where I worked with my prints. I opened a notebook filled with negatives tucked in clear sleeves and found the one for the first sale.

This image was different from the others. I’d set my camera up on a tripod the day of this shoot, and I’d walked into the frame. Staring out at the water and using the remote, I’d snapped twenty images. I’d stood still, staring, thinking about Clare, trying to channel her. Part of me hoped my sister was at peace, but my selfish-self wished her spirit were restless, angry, and stalking the earth in search of vengeance.

This picture was the only one in the sequence that had worked. The others on that particular day of shooting either had been out of focus or the lighting was off; however, this image had arrived fully packed with emotion and a shadow echoing my shape that had me wondering if I’d conjured up Clare’s spirit.

I moved into my darkroom, which was the apartment’s windowless closet. I set up three chemical trays, one for the developer, one for the neutralizer, and finally a water bath. I chose the negative from the sleeve in my binder and centered it on the enlarger. After switching on the red light, I closed the door and shut off the bright light. Centering my photographic paper, I tried to remember how I’d created the first image but knew no matter what I did, this wouldn’t be an exact copy. I clicked on the enlarger, burned in the right edge to the count of three, and then clicked the machine off. I slid the paper into the developer and watched the print’s twin slowly appear.

The shadow on the right was darker this time, but the effect felt like it worked. Next the neutralizer stopped the development and then the water bath. After I pinned the print to the small clothesline strung over the workbench, I stepped back and studied it. It felt close to the first.

I’d never stopped to consider whether I should limit the number of prints. But now, as I stared at this one, I knew I’d never re-create it again. It was officially retired, and this copy would belong only to me.

This mystery buyer and I now shared a connection. We both owned this print. Our meeting might be forgotten, but the tethers binding us would always exist.





15


HIM

THEN

Tuesday, November 20, 2008

10:00 a.m.

I stared at the pictures I’d taken of you in the last forty-eight hours. I marveled at the power your face held over me. You were the first woman I saw when I woke up, and you’d be the last before sleep.

Glancing back at my neatly made bed, I imagined the gray sheets twisted around your naked body as you offered me a satiated smile. I wanted you to want me. There needed to be an us.

But the doctor would have said to leave us safely tucked away in my brain. Forcing love leads to trouble. Imagining an us could be enough. It was safer.

Still, I couldn’t stay away. I needed to see you.

I moved inside and toward a makeshift bar, grabbed a beer, and popped the top. A long pull later, I felt a little steadier, and not as nervous.

The music pulsed, thumping in my head and churning up a primal desire I’d not felt in a long time. I downed the last of my beer as a woman dressed in silver sequins angled toward me. She nodded to the dance floor, and though I wasn’t interested, standing and simply staring was a guarantee to get noticed or remembered in the wrong way.

Drink set down, I took her by the hand and pulled her toward me. Emboldened by music and alcohol, she quickly closed the gap between us and pressed her breasts to my body. She smelled of perfume, hair spray, sweat, and booze—nothing like your scent of clean soap and shampoo clinging to freshly washed hair.

When the song ended and a new one started up, she tried to coax me to stay, but I’d had enough. Making a polite excuse drowned out by the music, I left the room and found my way to the parking lot. Leaning against my car, I pulled a cigarette from my jacket pocket, lit the tip, and inhaled. My ears pounded, and I was frustrated that I’d not seen you.

I checked my watch, knowing the event could go on for hours.

And then just like that, you appeared on the front porch, looking a little frazzled and a lot annoyed. Big parties weren’t your thing, either, were they? I knew we were kindred spirits.

I considered all the stories I’d rehearsed. The simplest lies were the best. I ground out the cigarette and closed the distance between us. “Hey,” I said. “I think I know you.”

You looked up, and this close, I could see fatigue had whitewashed your complexion. “Man-who-needed-directions.”

I liked the nickname. Couples had nicknames for each other. What should I have called you? Red was too obvious. “I thought I saw you in the party. I came out here to get away from the noise.”

“You were at Tamara’s party?”

“She’s a friend of a friend.”

You started walking. I fell in step beside you, and we walked down the line of cars toward the Jeep you’d been driving the previous day. Out here, the darkness wrapped around us, cocooning us from the world.