Re: Eve of Return: Convergence (March)eileen303March 15 2008, 23:08:34 UTC
He showed her how it worked once, when she asked him to. Not in the expectation that she'd pick up the hobby herself, she'd just wanted to have a couple photos of him for a change, and it had given him half an hour of fun. Silly little things like showing her how the scroll wheel worked, or explaining the rule of thirds, and his eyes just about lit up, his thought process couldn't have been clearer if he'd spelled it out. "I am SPEAKING. About PHOTOGRAPHY. To my VISUALLY APPEALING GIRLFRIEND. Who is LISTENING TO ME." Who wouldn't feel valued, with such a high premium put on their interest?
And so she finds herself shamelessly stealing her significant other's most dearly valued possession while he's out helpfully picking up dinner and dry cleaning. His thrilled lesson is put to good use, his camera making little digital fake shutter-snapping sounds as buttons are depressed. It is returned to its initial resting place unharmed. And then she waits for two days, until the next time he checks out from his regularly-scheduled reality and gets carried away with exporting and organizing the images from his Nikon. This afternoon, fun though it is to watch him concentrate and in spite of being curious enough to die, she stealthily vacates the area when she sees him pull out the memory stick and USB cord. If he prefers to pretend the pictures don't exist, that will be his right.
Inviting green eyes are visible above an outheld piece of paper, a slice of an outstretched arm intruding on one side of the frame where she holds the camera out in front of her. "I want us to go home soon" it says.
Another piece of paper winds up a little crooked, as did the camera. "But then I want us to move to A new place" Double-underlined in case the capital letter didn't catch your attention, buddy.
The text is impossible to make out on the camera's screen, but on the laptop, it's clearer that it's his next six-month lease agreement, the very same sitting in a pile of other to-dos on their shared desk. Unlike in the present, the photograph shows a bright green post-it note stuck above where he ought to write the date, a little arrow pointing to the line for his signature, and the words, "Let it go!!"
And now, a piece of the Portland Press's classifieds. It's come out a little blurred, but the format's still recognizable, and one part of the page managed to come out in decent focus. "We can start reading up tonight" say words written in the margin. "We'll find something we both l-" Glare from an unforgiving fluorescent light erases the rest of the sentence.
"Think about it if you're ready" She taped this one to the sliding glass door that leads out to their hotel apartment's teeny tiny concrete balcony. The edges of the panes are no longer frosted these days, and the trees outside are brown and snowless. Not understanding the fundamentals of reflection, her dark outline appears on the door as well, her elbows jutting out as she holds the camera up to her face, a round bump against her right side where her tunic top sash crossed over and tied.
And a last message, taped up where the previous one was. She's holding the camera down in front of her now, looking at the screen rather than through the viewfinder. Her silhouette shows one hand up by her face; shielding her eyes from midday sun, maybe, or keeping her hair out of her face and her vision unobstructed. "I just wanted you to know" - the words are scrunched up and difficult to read as she runs out of space - "I love you and I am"
Quietly watching TV in the bedroom, she smiles and drums impatient fingers on her stomach. After the anniversary she doesn't dare profane with this kind of excitement, flowers left on graves and apologies made for helplessness and another year cheating death, next month, next month they could be back! And then they could look, talk square footage and closet space, and then pick, and... go home.
And so she finds herself shamelessly stealing her significant other's most dearly valued possession while he's out helpfully picking up dinner and dry cleaning. His thrilled lesson is put to good use, his camera making little digital fake shutter-snapping sounds as buttons are depressed. It is returned to its initial resting place unharmed. And then she waits for two days, until the next time he checks out from his regularly-scheduled reality and gets carried away with exporting and organizing the images from his Nikon. This afternoon, fun though it is to watch him concentrate and in spite of being curious enough to die, she stealthily vacates the area when she sees him pull out the memory stick and USB cord. If he prefers to pretend the pictures don't exist, that will be his right.
Inviting green eyes are visible above an outheld piece of paper, a slice of an outstretched arm intruding on one side of the frame where she holds the camera out in front of her. "I want us to go home soon" it says.
Another piece of paper winds up a little crooked, as did the camera. "But then I want us to move to A new place" Double-underlined in case the capital letter didn't catch your attention, buddy.
The text is impossible to make out on the camera's screen, but on the laptop, it's clearer that it's his next six-month lease agreement, the very same sitting in a pile of other to-dos on their shared desk. Unlike in the present, the photograph shows a bright green post-it note stuck above where he ought to write the date, a little arrow pointing to the line for his signature, and the words, "Let it go!!"
And now, a piece of the Portland Press's classifieds. It's come out a little blurred, but the format's still recognizable, and one part of the page managed to come out in decent focus. "We can start reading up tonight" say words written in the margin. "We'll find something we both l-" Glare from an unforgiving fluorescent light erases the rest of the sentence.
"Think about it
if you're ready"
She taped this one to the sliding glass door that leads out to their hotel apartment's teeny tiny concrete balcony. The edges of the panes are no longer frosted these days, and the trees outside are brown and snowless. Not understanding the fundamentals of reflection, her dark outline appears on the door as well, her elbows jutting out as she holds the camera up to her face, a round bump against her right side where her tunic top sash crossed over and tied.
And a last message, taped up where the previous one was. She's holding the camera down in front of her now, looking at the screen rather than through the viewfinder. Her silhouette shows one hand up by her face; shielding her eyes from midday sun, maybe, or keeping her hair out of her face and her vision unobstructed.
"I just wanted you to know" - the words are scrunched up and difficult to read as she runs out of space -
"I love you
and I am"
Quietly watching TV in the bedroom, she smiles and drums impatient fingers on her stomach. After the anniversary she doesn't dare profane with this kind of excitement, flowers left on graves and apologies made for helplessness and another year cheating death, next month, next month they could be back! And then they could look, talk square footage and closet space, and then pick, and... go home.
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