Second Snapshot (Picture This Sequel: Niall Horan)

-Discover your weakness. [Chapter 55]

Now though as I outstretched a shaky finger and enclosed them around the fraying photography I felt something shock through me. It was something forbidden, something forbidden as if it was telling me to drop this photography right now and forget about it. I wasn’t supposed to be touching it, it wasn’t mine to touch. But the thing was, it was my photograph to touch. I was right there in it; it may have been seventeen years ago but nonetheless I was there, that was me, that was my Auntie, this was my photography as much as hers. So why was there this nagging voice telling me to put it down right now and never touch it again? I had no idea. But then I suddenly had this flash. Every year; the beginning of August. We’d made the trip. It was often a trip that started at the crack of dawn. We’d leave London and the busy city rush. Just me and her, just me and Jane. She’d wake me up in the morning, her voice soft as she stroked my hair waking me from slumber and then we’d throw clothes on, scoff down whatever cereal there was and we’d go. Beat up Jeep and all. We’d arrive around midnight, even now I couldn’t remember the exact name of the hills we climbed up to but we did, every year around the beginning of august. But the strange thing was, I never saw anything. It was like she took me to this place and then asked me close my eyes while something, anything, went on around us. And to this day I still had no idea what she was hiding from me. She used to whisper to me: Close your eyes so you don’t see the secret. And I did. It was like the ritual of Santa Clause; if you didn’t keep your eyes shut all night then he wouldn’t leave presents for you. It was black and white and it was stupid. It was so freaking stupid. It was a totally pointless rule that would be so easy to breach, but yet you still did it; you still kept your eyes closed, you still closed your eyes so you didn’t see the secret. And you kept yourself wondering, or for the sake of someone else telling you what to do.

For at least five minutes I just stared at it, at our faces, at the scene in photographic evidence that it ever happened before me. The only proof that she ever existed was photographs. But what got me was that I hadn’t seen this photo before. Ever in my life. And it wasn’t the type of photo you’d forget. I found myself manoeuvring my fingers over the smooth and musky surface of the image and slowly turning it over. I was looking for a caption, some names, some dates, maybe even the person who took it, but what I got instead, was a conversation:

Jane, It said. found this. Will put with rest. Ashley almost found it, when shall we tell her? Thanks.

-Michael.

His handwriting was unmistakable, the little flick on the M of his name undeniably written by him. A million questions flooded through my brain. Tell me what? What is he thanking her for? When did I almost find it and why did it matter if I had? But it didn’t look like I was getting any answers as the reply was briefer than the question.

Never.

-Jane.

And that was it. It was this two way conversation with only one input each. How brief. I thought to myself as I stared down at the ink markings they’d both inflicted onto the back of this photograph in the shapes of letters forming their conversation that clearly only they understood. I furrowed my brow as I ran my fingers over the long dried ink on the crème and stained paperback that was the photograph. It wasn’t ripped; it was just thin, flimsy and tatty. It looked kind of like it had been soaked in tea, that real rustic feel. But it was safe to say I didn’t understand. But maybe I wasn’t meant to, or maybe nobody was meant to. But that didn’t mean I didn’t want to. The curiosity was killing me now. It’s one thing to find a photo you’ve never seen before, but it’s another to find a conversation on the back. As I studied it I realised the small print in the top right hand corner, it was so small, and smudged barely visible. But as I squinted bringing it closer to my eyes I could just make it out.