I couldn't make him out clearly, but I knew it was him. The bright light, backlighting him until all I could make out was his silhouette, the effect magnified by a strange mist that seemed to follow him as he walked slowly towards me. I could see no features of his face, a face I knew much too well for the short time I had known him. I could hear no sound coming from him, or from anywhere else around me, and yet I felt like there was a deafening roar echoing in my mind.
I felt cold, a chill burrowing deep down into my bones, and yet I couldn't tell if I was outside or inside. I pulled my arms closer around myself, trying to block out the feeling, or shield myself from the chill, but it made no difference.
His hair ruffled as if from a wind I could not feel, his stride slow and purposeful towards me. It was an eerie feeling, watching him come towards me so casually, and yet, not being able to make him out at all. I could tell he wore a long sleeved shirt, and his hair a mess, but other than that, I saw no detail. He was nothing more than a black outline surrounded by a blinding white light.
"Harry," I called, trying to get him to communicate with me. I needed him to say something, because although he had been walking towards me for several moments, he hadn't actually gained any ground. I was still too far away from him, still unable to see him or reach him. And for some reason, I felt an uncontrollable need to reach out to him.
He didn't respond to my voice. He made no indication that he had heard me at all. I couldn't even tell if his eyes were on me, since I could see no features of his face. But I knew he was moving towards me, and I moved to meet him half way.
As I tried to move, I felt frozen, my legs bound. Looking down my body, I saw myself standing at a road side, torn jeans, missing one shoe. I was standing on the gravel shoulder, a ditch to my left with tall grass waving gently in a wind I could not feel, highlighted from the light pouring over Harrys shoulder. To my right was the pavement of a road, although my vision did not allow me to see more than a few feet in any direction. The only other thing I was able to see, was him.
I forced my feet to move again, and again, I was denied. I looked at myself, finding no reason for the impediment. I was standing normally, completely unbound, and yet, no amount of effort on my part allowed me to move towards him.
The harder I struggled to reach him, the more panicked I felt. The more panicked I felt, the more helpless I became. Nothing I did, nothing I said, would make my feet move. The only part of me I had control over was my arms, and my voice.
I reached forward, towards him, begging him to finally close the distance that seemed ever present between us. He was still walking, a slow steady pace, and yet had made no ground towards me. I called his name out over and over, begging him to answer me, begging him to help me, and yet he did not respond.
Suddenly, a piercing cry called out, breaking into my senses like a lightening bolt. It was shrill and deafening, and I had no choice but to abandon reaching out for Harry to cover my ears. It lasted only a moment, but just as I removed my hands from my ears, it happened again. And again. I closed my eyes against the sound, shaking my head to try and escape. The sound suddenly dulled as quickly as it had appeared, lowering to a gentle ringing in my ears.
As I opened my eyes, I gasped in shock as I found Harry standing directly in front of me now. His face was blank, pale and expressionless. He was covered in blood.
My body jolted upright out of my bed, the force of my movement, causing my hair to spill forward over my shoulders. I was gasping, breathless and frantic, my tired eyes wide and afraid. I could feel my hands gripping tightly onto the sheets at my sides, my legs tangled mercilessly in the covers, but I couldn't see any of it. All I could see was Harrys face. His green eyes wide, his blood streaked skin.
A shrill ringing from my nightstand broke me from my frantic thoughts, bringing my attention to my phone. I took a few deep breaths, telling myself it was just a dream, before I laid back down onto my side and pulled my phone towards my face.
My eyes widened again, only this time in shock rather than fear, when I took in the name on the screen.
Sliding the answer button, I cleared my throat.
"Hi Harry," I said, trying with all the strength I had left to keep my voice even. I didn't want to have to explain to him why I probably sounded terrified and freaked out.
"Hey," his smooth accent laced voiced called through the line. "Did I wake you?"
"No," I half lied, maybe a little too quickly. "I mean, I woke a few minutes ago. Its fine."
I could hear him snicker through the line, the sound of voices and clattering cups in the background.
"I was wondering if you wanted to get together for lunch today," he asked casually.
Now, I had no doubt the look on my face was comical as I absorbed his question. My mental state had already been a rollercoaster and I had only been awake about thirty seconds. I had gone from fear, to confusion, to surprise all in such a short time frame I wasn't even sure how to deal with anything more than just hiding in my bed for a few more hours at this point.
He was asking to get together? Why? I couldn't help but wonder his reasons, since he had made it quite clear that our relationship was purely professional, or at least casual. He had been slightly tense after our last encounter, where he had been forced to stare down the barrel of my camera for four hours and walk all over the city with me. He had had his moments of relaxed teasing, casual chatter, but overall I could tell he was uncomfortable and anticipating my 'fucking camera' as he had dubbed it by the end of the day. The fact he was now calling me up to get together was a surprise to me.
"You there?" his voice called out again, making me realize several moments had passed and I had yet to respond to him.
"Yeah, I'm here," I said, again, too quickly. "I'm sorry, I'm still half asleep."
Again, he laughed at my expense.
"Well, its almost noon, so you may want to wake up at some point, What better reason than the best soups in the city?"
I smirked at him through the phone. "You want to go to the Soup Kitchen?" I asked, referencing a popular student hang out just off campus. All they had were soups from all over the world, served with toast. Nothing else. No salads, no sandwiches. Just soups. And yet, it was one of the most popular places for the student population of NYU to hang out.
"Its cold as hell outside," he stated firmly. "And I just walked half way across the damn city for my Russian Lit class. I need soup."
I snorted a laugh at him, laying back comfortably in my bed as he continued.
"And I will admit, although if you tell anyone I will harshly deny it, that I am kind of curious how your pictures turned out from the other day."
Again, I found myself reeling thanks to this boy and his mercurial nature. I knew he hated every moment of our session the other day. And other than a text to tell him thank you, I had had no contact from him since. I had no doubt he would want nothing to do with the images other than being forced to pose for them, so for him to now be wanting to get together and actually look at them, it made me uncertain.
Considering his feelings on the subject of having his photo taken, I immediately labeled him as my toughest critic and harshest audience. If I was to show him the images I had taken, the ones I felt were some of the best I had ever produced, and he hated them, I knew I would be crushed. Even thought I knew his biased would be tilted, I couldn't help but hold his opinion to a greater weight than anyone else. This place of honor had been just given to him immediately in the last few moments since he asked to see them, and already I was going over them in my mind, wondering how he would react to each one.
Would he find them intrusive? Would he be tense and angry the longer he looked? Would he change his mind, immediately demanding that I delete them all and find a new subject?
I had no way of knowing the answers to any of these questions. One thing I did know, however, was that I had yet to even write a single line in my project statement with regard to why I chose Harry, and how I planned on portraying him. I knew nothing of his secrets or his reasons for why he felt so strongly about being photographed. I also knew he was not going to tell me. But maybe, just maybe, he would tell me something. Just enough to build on, to use as a launching pad, to be able to write my statement.
But to get that information, I needed to see him. And the more I lay here thinking about him, about his reaction, about his moods and his laugh and his smile, the more I wanted to see him.
The moment the statement slid through my mind, I slapped myself hard, and loudly, on the forehead.
"What was that?" he asked, hearing my epic face palm.
"Nothing," I said quickly. "Sure, I can meet you. What time?" I quickly changed the subject.
"About an hour work for you? I have a bit of work to finish, but I'm not far from the Kitchen now."
"Sounds good." A long silence passed between us before I asked my next question. "Are you sure you want to see your pictures?"
I didn't need to see his face to know he had tensed at the mention of his images. But his voice was even and steady as he answered me. "Surprisingly, I am." He chuckled. "I guess I'm a masochist."
It was now my turn to laugh. "I promise, they look amazing."
He snorted. "I'm sure they do, but because you are amazing, not because of the subject matter."
My breath caught in my throat, and I heard Harry do the same as he registered his own words. Another silence passed, before he spoke up again quickly.
"So I will see you in about an hour okay? I gotta go."
"Okay," I muttered softly, just as I heard the click of the line as he hung up.