The Photographer

Would you stay and read with me? Just for a little while?-

The Photographer

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I stare at the small nikon camera that sits on my desk. Something within my heart aches at the sight of it. 

I pick it up and my mind drifts elsewhere. 

I’ve never been much of a photographer. I just.. Took photos whenever I felt something. Not sure what I was feeling then.. But I took a photo anyway,

Glancing at my phone, my heart ached again. But this time I knew the reason. I’m a fraud. A nobody. Good for nothing. Absolutely worthless. At least.. That’s what I reminded myself as I saw his messages. 

I felt my eyes brim with tears, feeling it in my chest as the tears rolled down my cheeks. I didn’t understand. How could someone so sweet and kind, think of me like that? I thought back to the moment where his words relayed in my mind. Over and over again.

I remember sitting there in the water. The same place as last. With the moon shining down upon the water, reflecting ourselves within it’s glow. The words you used to describe me.. It broke my heart. How come someone that barely knew me.. Understood me better than my own family? Perhaps it was because they never cared to try. And here I am. Refusing to message back because I feel.. Worthless. 

All because someone thinks the opposite. Someone thinks I’m worth it. That I’m worth the pain, the suffering, the late nights talking…

I continued to add songs to the playlist I made you.. But I doubt you would notice. Even so, part of me hoped. That you would notice. I didn’t forget you. I didn’t choose to ignore you. I’m just.. 

I’m not okay. 

And I’m ashamed for you to see me this way. For anyone to see me this way. 

I’m constantly telling people that I’m fine and yet I have my best friend worried sick about me.. She’s convinced that she doesn’t feel safe with me staying at home. That I should be elsewhere. 

And that small part of me.. It agrees with her. I wasn’t meant for this. I knew it couldn’t be true.

I wonder.. What would you think? If you saw me like this? 

You don’t know me that well.. Though I did admit some things to you.. Things that I never admitted to anyone else. And I don’t know why. Perhaps you just felt safe enough. Like I could trust you.

I hope you won’t judge me for that either.

I picked up the phone, about to reply to the last message you had sent.. It doesn’t go through.

I cursed as I practically threw it onto my bed. I stare at the screen of my writing document. 

Blank.

Part of me wants to disappear from the face of the planet. Not that I ever would. I just feel that way. Sometimes..

But what if I’m right? It’s not worth it. Waiting up on someone whose life is practically falling apart around them.

I should know better than this.

I do know better than this. I’m not what my mind keeps telling me. Not what my own family says about me behind closed doors. 

I know that I work harder than any of them. Claiming the spotlight so that the cameras can flash over their faces. So that they’ll be recognized. 

I am their biggest trophy. And part of me wants to fail to spite them.

To spite all of it. 

The shouting, the cold shoulders, the fake smiles, the snarky comments, my broken dresser, the hole in the wall of my old room, the mark on my new dresser that refuses to come off… 

The pit in my stomach remembering the moment of my childhood. 

Sitting in the living room with my backpack as my father hurried about the kitchen. We were running late. I watched the TV and talked as his stress continued to grow.

He was telling me to be quiet. So I spoke a little less. Not to spite him. I just figured I was too loud. But then I felt the impact.

Of his fist hitting me in my stomach. And I just stared at him. He stared back at me, in shock of his own actions. Knelt onto the ground and hugged me as he cried into my shoulder. 

I didn’t utter a word. For years after that. 

I went to school fifteen minutes after the incident. He told me, “You can’t tell anyone about what happened this morning?”

“Why?” I remembered asking as I looked up at him from the backseat of the car.

“Because they’d take you away from me. Forever.” He said. Almost annoyed sounding, as if it was obvious.

But I was only in elementary school. How was I ever supposed to know about what any of this meant? 

My stepmother doesn’t know. Perhaps she never will. But if she did. She would never forgive him. Never look at him the same. She would look at him the way I look at him.

Painfully.

It never happened again. Instead of me, it was objects. Or he used his voice. And it worked enough, scared me plenty. 

Even his threats to send me away. So now I count down the days. To get away.

And to my photographer friend, who barely knows me..

I live with so much fear, regret, and guilt. I’m too scared to face you myself. And so here I am, writing. With these broken phones. I couldn’t reply even if I wanted to..

I do want to. 

I just can’t. 

Ha.. I can feel my hands shaking as I type out these words.

I was right about one thing though, if you ever see this or not.. 

You deserve so much better than what you’re given. I hope you remember that.  

Perhaps we both do. We’re oddly similar in this way. Don’t you think? This and many other things. 

Now I set the camera back down onto my desk. I’m not sure where to even start.. You would know, wouldn’t you? 

You’re a good person. Better than me. A good friend. Even if it was for a short period of time..

And for that, I’m sorry. 

But I’ll be here. 

Writing. 

If you’re willing to stay to read.

What do you say, photographer?

Author's Note

Thoughts?

Reviews

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

that was a heavy read, but the brutal honesty and the dramatic turns kept it highly engaging. the way the narrative begins with a camera, but then takes a sharp turn was a very clever point. from there the narrator slowly reveals who she is. the line 'I’m not okay,' landed with a heavy blow. and the bit about her father was enraging but also steeped in sadness. and i espescially feel that way because my father was like that too.
it is a compliated story with many unanswered questions. and the Nikon camera that reminds the character about all these seemingly unrelated but entangled memories was Proustian. it was a hard-hitting but emotionally rewarding read.