My Sweetheart's Psyche

In The Past

I must have stared at that picture for nearly an hour. I just couldn't believe it. Could it really be Mr. Weston? Could this really be his family?

I never thought much about Mr. Weston's family before. After all, it's not like I knew them myself and he never really talked about them either. However, looking at this picture now, they were all I could think about.

I opened this album wondering how much Mr. Weston's relatives would remind me of him. Well, I got exactly what I wanted. He and his father could pass for brothers. Though he closely resembled his father, there was no doubt that his mother was there too. He had her eyes, her smile, and the same air of gentleness she seemed to give off in this picture.

Looking at his brother was the most heartbreaking thing for me. It wasn't something distinct about him that made me feel this way. It was seeing them together that was hurting me. So many times, children in pictures had forced smiles and eyes that begged for things to be over. A by-product of their parents shoving them together to get that image of the "perfect family."

Mr. Weston and his brother were different though. Their smiles were real, and the way their arms draped across each others' shoulders gave off an air of "best friends" more than "siblings." They must have been very close.

My heart hurt as I looked down at them. To lose someone you loved so much, to lose everyone you loved so much, it must have been unimaginably painful. How did he ever get through it?

The answer was simple. He didn't.

Since he never talked about his family, it was easy for me to forget just how much of an impact their deaths had on him. That the entire reason his illness started was to escape the pain and trauma of what had happened. Since the beginning, I'd known Mr. Weston was sick, but this was the first time I'd ever really stopped to think about why.

These thoughts were interrupted as I noticed water droplets landing on the page. I gasped and looked up, trying to find the leak. However, as I felt the hot liquid stream down my cheeks, I quickly discovered the leak was me. I sighed and wiped my eyes with my sleeve. Why was I getting so emotional over this? It's not like I even knew them.

Maybe that was it though. I didn't know about them. In fact, I barely knew anything about Mr. Weston's past.

It wasn't as if he was hiding it from me. He told me I was free to ask him anything, and I did ask a little on that first night. I just never thought to ask about it after that, and he never brought it up on his own. I think we were both subconsciously trying to avoid the subject. It wasn't like it was a happy subject, after all.

When I felt sure I wouldn't leak onto the pages anymore, I looked at the picture again. This time, I smiled at it a bit. Emotional baggage or not, I was happy to find a photo from his childhood. He looked really happy in it. I wondered how old he was when they took this.

An idea suddenly came to mind. I was nervous to follow through with it though. I wasn't sure if Mr. Weston knew this album was here or not, but either way, I didn't want to run the risk of accidentally ruining one of the last pieces of his family he might have.

I stared at the page a while, trying to decide if my stupid theory was worth the risk. Apparently it was.

I let out a deep sigh and gingerly tugged at one of the corners of the picture. It was an older album. One of the ones with the four metal tabs to hold pictures in place. I just hoped the back wasn't glued down as well.

My heart thumped anxiously as the first corner of the picture popped out of its holder. I wiggled the picture gently. It seemed loose. I gave the picture a few more tentative tugs and wiggles before it finally came free. I let out a sigh of relief as I saw it, undamaged, in my hand. I hoped my stupid theory was worth all this anxiety.