this photograph was taken from you - 3

I would not go up those stairs. I took one look. At the stairs. At you. I said, "No way." It wasn't because of you. It was because of the vertigo. But you were sitting on the steps. You were beautiful. And sad. And, I'm sure, a little annoyed that a stranger was taking a photograph from you. But I had to have it. Indeed, I took several photographs from you.

This is but one. There will be more to follow.

I know you saw me. You looked at me and turned away. Perhaps you thought I was merely taking photographs of the steps. The impossibility of the steps. But you also knew I was taking photographs from you.

Did you not say anything because we have a language barrier? We don't. I can read your emotions in any language. As you knew I would not go up those steps--as you felt my fear--I felt your sadness, your aloneness. I'm sure you were relieved when I turned and walked away.

You will probably never see this photograph that I have taken from you, but I hope you somehow know that you are not alone.

rain forever

The rain was finally falling. It had been threatening for hours now. Needed for months. Or so it seemed. The rain fell. The wind howled. The branches swayed. It seemed like it would never end. Rain forever. Which is worse? No rain ever. Or rain forever?

But rain does end. And so does the drought, eventually. The sun shines. The rain falls. The flowers grow. And life is back to normal. Always.

front door

I heard the front door open and ran to find out what was going on. You went outside. Into the front yard. I've never been there. It's intriguing and rather scary. 

I hope you are okay. You are just standing out there. Holding the black box up to the colorful things and pressing a button. I am worried. Usually when you go out the door you go away in the big box with wheels ,and I can't see you for a while. I can see you now and that worries me. I will sit here until you come back.

You are turning toward the door. You are coming back inside. I turn away. I don't care about you.

this photograph was taken from you - 2

They looked into the camera and smiled. Each mouth slightly open. Teeth bared. Eyelids crinkled. The truth in happiness. The truth in love and laughter.

But people smile for cameras all the time. And we are smiling at a camera in this one. In one instant two flashes blaze. One, your camera, capturing us as we grin at you. The other, my camera, capturing us as we smirk at you. 

I took this photograph from you. Though I am in the photograph. For it wasn't your camera taking the picture, but my camera taking the truth. From you.

the stacks

She was having it again--that dream that she was trapped in the library. She was wandering that endless maze. The aisles seemed to get narrower as she went. She navigated the twists and turns, but to no avail. The shelves were pressing in, her chest was compressed.

She was certain the books would soon tumble down upon her. Bury her under leather, paper, glue, age.

She was startled by a rap on the table to her left. She looked up. Had she fallen asleep while studying again? Yes. And no. The aisles were narrow. This was a maze. She was irrevocably, continually lost. In the stacks.

vertigo

She stood on the edge of the precipice and felt it again. Vertigo. That uncontrollable urge to fall. She had heard or read that somewhere, but she could never remember where. She supposed it didn't matter anymore.

She had also read somewhere that the word "vertigo" is an incorrect term for a fear of heights, which is actually "acrophobia." But she didn't fear heights. She felt an uncontrollable urge to fall. This urge made her dizzy, hence "vertigo."

Again she stood on the edge of the precipice. She knew that she could just close her eyes and let herself go. That was what she feared the most, that knowledge. 

She knew she should tell someone about this urge. Maybe then they would stop taking her to the edges of precipices, or at least not let her get so close. But how do you tell someone that you don't want to fall, but know you could quite easily and are finding that urge less and less controllable? You just don't. That's the kind of thing you keep to yourself. You don't want them to worry. Though you know that perhaps they should.

These were the things that wandered through her mind as she stood on that edge. These things and the urge to fall of course.

As usual, she turned and walked away, but the customary fear bit at her stomach: would she be able to turn away at the next precipice?

beyond the bridge

She sat on the edge of the water and looked out. At the bridge. Beyond the bridge. She knew life would never be the same.

But would it be worse? Probably not. They say things work out for the best. They say when one door closes another opens. They say a lot of things. Who are They anyway. They clearly know nothing about anything. If They knew something, They would know that this wasn't for the best. They would know that doors are slamming shut and the rest are sealed.

She gazed again, beyond the bridge. Still, this would get better soon. And They are usually right, in the end. She looked to her left and noticed a small pink flower fighting for survival next to her bench.

She smiled and gazed again beyond the bridge. They say when one door closes... "A flower takes its place," she said aloud, to no one in particular. To the bridge.

this photograph was taken from you - 1

This photograph was taken of you.

No.

This photograph was taken from you.

I took this photograph from you.

I did not steal it from your hands, but rather from your soul.

You do not know me. And I do not know you. 

But I took this photograph. 

From you.

You look happy. You are laughing. But we know better, don't we?

Perhaps if I had lifted my camera in the next moment or even the one before, you would have been pensive.

You would have been angry.

You would have been crying.

This is your moment.

Stolen.

Your stolen moment.

Mine. 

My stolen moment.

From you.

the punch

And out of nowhere the fist collided with the face.

Out of nowhere. Out of left field. What do these things mean? And is a punch usually unexpected? Isn't a punch generally preceded by an incident?

But this punch was different. This punch was out of left field. Both literally and figuratively as the fist-owner was indeed sitting on his left, and the punch was wholly unexpected. He turned in expectation of an unexpected argument. The girl grinned. "Merely a love tap," she said and returned her attention to her drink.

He rubbed his jaw in confusion. The evening progressed into night. He kept his eyes on her. She kept her hand in a fist.

Sad Clown

You think I'm not sad, but you're wrong. Can't you see this tear? But really you shouldn't crave my sadness. Do you know how I really feel? Proud. I'm proud that you made it--even through all the pain and sorrow. Through the close calls and near misses. I'm proud of what you have become and look forward to seeing how you grow. Forget my sadness. You can have my pride.

Enough mushiness. I'm turning the music on. Go back to dancing your sad little dance.

Is this it?

As she placed the final flower in her hair she considered how she got to this moment. Her list was nearly complete. Graduate from high school—check. Go to college—check. Graduate from college with a boyfriend—check. Get married— Have a baby— In that order. Is this really what life is all about? What would she be missing?

She turned back to the mirror. Flower in one hand, hairpin in the other. Is? Perfectly curled tendril. This? Flower placed. It? Pin secured.

She took another look. Perfect hair with perfect flowers. Perfect white dress buttoned up the back. Professional makeup and dainty silver sandals. She heard the voices, felt the expectations. Is this it?

Her hand reached for the doorknob, her heels clicked down the hall. She turned once more and glanced behind her. Is this it?