other, and even smiled, mid laugh, as the shutter froze them for eternity.
The more we looked, though, the less they smiled. She began to look older and weaker but the man looked the same in every picture. Then there were photos of the woman holding the man’s cat, photos of her with other people we didn’t recognize, photos of her wearing masks and wigs, and photos of her naked and crouched. We finally realized that these cameras, this room, captured a woman gradually dying.
We put everything back the way we found it. We went upstairs and locked the door. Everything had the smell and feeling of death from then on. You considered every object a bit longer, as if it could somehow infect you. I didn’t even want to sleep in the bedroom.
For some reason, we forgot about the love we saw in the photos. The only thing that stuck with us was how easily life faded away in front of us.
…
In the middle of the night, you were slowly running your fingers down my stomach and woke me up. You couldn’t fall asleep and asked me for help. “Take an Ambien,” I said. Most of the time, I didn’t like it when you took pills, but I was too tired to argue about it sometimes.
“I can’t,” you said. “I’m on a diet, and it’ll make me eat.”
“You don’t need to diet. Don’t be crazy,” I said.
You kept touching me. I was getting hard, but I was too tired. Plus, I had masturbated earlier that night.
“But look at my stomach. I look pregnant,” you said. You stuck your belly out as far as it would go.
“I’m more pregnant than you,” I said, cupping my belly with both hands and rubbing it like a crystal ball.
Then you started talking about something that was going to take a long time to talk about. I can’t even remember what it was, but I was trying to avoid it like a dodgeball.
I turned away from you, hoping that you would get the hint. “I gotta sleep,” I said. “One of us has to be awake for the kids in the morning.”
You got quietly sullen for a while. I could always tell your sullen quiet from your normal quiet—your sullen quiet had a buzz to it, like a television showing a tornado tearing houses apart, but with the volume turned down. Then I heard your voice start whispering. It was like that for a while, soft and unthreatening, like you were just talking to yourself. But then you swerved into a field of questions. I didn’t understand what they were—I was half asleep already—but I could hear how you whispered them, like a subliminal spy digging for subconscious thoughts. You tried to make the inflection of the question marks sound sweet, undetectable. Your hands stayed away from me. I simply slurred, over and over, “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” I figured that could be the answer to any of your questions.
…
Vince told me he was meeting a friend to see a movie. I asked if it was Roberto and he said yes, but also two other friends named Serena and Elise. I wondered if this was a double date.
He needed a ride, so I told him I’d take him. I really hoped to meet the other kids, but it was at a theater in the mall, so I just dropped him off outside with a twenty-dollar bill and told him I’d meet him at the arcade next to the theater at 7:00 PM .
I fought off the urge to come back to the movie and sit in the back row to spy on them. I wasn’t sure if I could sit through the movie version of The A-Team anyhow.
When I got to the arcade later, I met Serena. She was nervous and had dark goth hair and sad eyes. She wore clip-on earrings and a fake leather jacket that looked like it would be too warm for the weather. I gave Vince a five-dollar bill to change into quarters, and they played a fighting game with various buttons and two joysticks. Their hands flew everywhere, sweaty and suddenly competitive. I played the lonely Pac-Man and pinball machines.
Serena’s dad showed up about twenty minutes later, and I spoke to him for a moment, but he also seemed nervous. He was at least ten
The more we looked, though, the less they smiled. She began to look older and weaker but the man looked the same in every picture. Then there were photos of the woman holding the man’s cat, photos of her with other people we didn’t recognize, photos of her wearing masks and wigs, and photos of her naked and crouched. We finally realized that these cameras, this room, captured a woman gradually dying.
We put everything back the way we found it. We went upstairs and locked the door. Everything had the smell and feeling of death from then on. You considered every object a bit longer, as if it could somehow infect you. I didn’t even want to sleep in the bedroom.
For some reason, we forgot about the love we saw in the photos. The only thing that stuck with us was how easily life faded away in front of us.
…
In the middle of the night, you were slowly running your fingers down my stomach and woke me up. You couldn’t fall asleep and asked me for help. “Take an Ambien,” I said. Most of the time, I didn’t like it when you took pills, but I was too tired to argue about it sometimes.
“I can’t,” you said. “I’m on a diet, and it’ll make me eat.”
“You don’t need to diet. Don’t be crazy,” I said.
You kept touching me. I was getting hard, but I was too tired. Plus, I had masturbated earlier that night.
“But look at my stomach. I look pregnant,” you said. You stuck your belly out as far as it would go.
“I’m more pregnant than you,” I said, cupping my belly with both hands and rubbing it like a crystal ball.
Then you started talking about something that was going to take a long time to talk about. I can’t even remember what it was, but I was trying to avoid it like a dodgeball.
I turned away from you, hoping that you would get the hint. “I gotta sleep,” I said. “One of us has to be awake for the kids in the morning.”
You got quietly sullen for a while. I could always tell your sullen quiet from your normal quiet—your sullen quiet had a buzz to it, like a television showing a tornado tearing houses apart, but with the volume turned down. Then I heard your voice start whispering. It was like that for a while, soft and unthreatening, like you were just talking to yourself. But then you swerved into a field of questions. I didn’t understand what they were—I was half asleep already—but I could hear how you whispered them, like a subliminal spy digging for subconscious thoughts. You tried to make the inflection of the question marks sound sweet, undetectable. Your hands stayed away from me. I simply slurred, over and over, “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” I figured that could be the answer to any of your questions.
…
Vince told me he was meeting a friend to see a movie. I asked if it was Roberto and he said yes, but also two other friends named Serena and Elise. I wondered if this was a double date.
He needed a ride, so I told him I’d take him. I really hoped to meet the other kids, but it was at a theater in the mall, so I just dropped him off outside with a twenty-dollar bill and told him I’d meet him at the arcade next to the theater at 7:00 PM .
I fought off the urge to come back to the movie and sit in the back row to spy on them. I wasn’t sure if I could sit through the movie version of The A-Team anyhow.
When I got to the arcade later, I met Serena. She was nervous and had dark goth hair and sad eyes. She wore clip-on earrings and a fake leather jacket that looked like it would be too warm for the weather. I gave Vince a five-dollar bill to change into quarters, and they played a fighting game with various buttons and two joysticks. Their hands flew everywhere, sweaty and suddenly competitive. I played the lonely Pac-Man and pinball machines.
Serena’s dad showed up about twenty minutes later, and I spoke to him for a moment, but he also seemed nervous. He was at least ten
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