After the photograph was taken...

Two photographs, taken a decade apart, almost identical in appearance, although one is in a living room, the other in a pool. The subject: a man and a woman. In both photos, they are gazing upon the other’s lips, lids half-closed, smiles broad, heads slightly tilted, as if leaning towards the other. The man’s right hand is under the woman’s face, index finger under her chin as if gently pulling her closer.

However, even beyond the setting, the differences are profound.

In the first photo, the subjects were unaware of the photographer. The photo was taken as they were joyfully lost in the other. Immediately subsequent to the photo being snapped, perhaps he pulled her forward, perhaps she leaned, without question, they shared an innocent kiss; romance was budding, love was stirring. Marriage and happily ever after were waiting in the wings.

In the second, they were posed, attempting to recapture the image of the first photograph. But everyone knows, nothing stays the same. They leaned, they smiled, but rather than the joy of new love in their eyes, if one looked carefully, one would have seen anger and not a little fear. The picture taken, smiles evaporated and the man flicked the woman’s chin with suppressed violence as they turned away from one another. The photographer promised photos by the end of the day while a child leaped from the side of the pool into the woman’s arms; an innocent witness to things he did not understand but felt instinctually. He wrapped arms and legs around the woman, and they swam to safer waters.

Even now, decades later, just looking at the photographs, the woman has a visceral response: rapture when gazing upon the first, modulated terror with the second.