After Life

6

I stretched my sore legs outward along the couch, pulling the blanket further up my body to keep myself covered. I let myself lean back against the pillows behind me, my tired eyes gazing absentmindedly out the window in front of me over the lights of the city and buildings in view. It was dark now, the only lights beyond the warmth of my apartment being those of the street and city outside. It was completely quiet in the living room apart from the gentle hum of the fridge in the kitchen. Sighing to myself, I tilted my head against the back of the couch, crossing my arms over my chest.

I couldn’t ignore the disappointment I felt over the fact I hadn’t been able to find Harry despite my efforts. But what was more, was the embarrassment I felt over the fact I had just spent an entire weekend searching for him. Blatantly and stalkerish, sitting around looking for him in every face I saw. I literally spent the entire weekend at the library hoping to find him, all the while knowing that he had absolutely no interest in having his picture taken.  He was not going to help me with this project, and yet I was unable to accept the notion of finding anything else as my subject. The more I thought about him, the more I saw his face in my mind, the more determined and certain I became.

 Now, sitting alone in my apartment, I felt annoyed and anxious. Annoyed because I had just wasted an entire weekend hunting down this man, who even if I had found him was more than likely going to turn down my request and begging to let me photograph him. The anxiety came partly for the same reason; that I had just spent an entire weekend and a lot of effort on a subject that was probably not going to pan out, rather than seeking out a new one that had much more likely possibilities.

Despite my own personal loathing that increased the longer I laid on the couch like a lump, I still felt certain in my belief that Harry was the ideal subject. Even beyond that one moment, and beyond the look he held in that single image, I was intrigued by him. He was attractive, and enticing. There was something about him that made you want to know more, even beyond that lost expression he had held in his eyes for that short time.

I had spent hours by that point analyzing him, to the point there his face was almost committed to my memory. I didn’t even know him, and yet, I felt like I did.  I didn’t know his last name, or where he was from. I didn’t know if he lived in the city, or was just visiting. I didn’t know what he did for a living, or what he liked, or anything about him at all.

But I knew the curve of his lip. I knew the color of his eyes, a soft green that made me think of fields and summer. I knew the line of his jaw, solid and strong, contrasted with the soft wave of his brown hair.

Pursing my lips, I reached out and pulled my laptop back across my legs. Opening it up, I opened the folder of images I had taken at the library that Thursday afternoon. Scrolling through them with only partial interest, I came across the two I had of Harry. The two pictures that proved I had not imagined him, and that I wasn’t putting all this effort and stalk into something that wasn’t real or a fluke.

My eyes slid over every curve and line of his face, over the fold of his hands on the text in front of him. I dissected the image over and over again before finally looking to his eyes. They were cast downward, and yet, there was just enough of a hint of green to draw you in. And more loss than I had ever seen in such a simple look.

I needed to decide what to do. Either I was going to continue my search for him, which would go more than likely unpleasantly even if I did find him, or I was going to give up and find another subject.