developing some truths

photography is like stealing,

you rob someone of a moment that exposes

something essential about their character, their soul if you like

― Esther Verhoef

I gaze at the long green sweater laid carefully on the bed. Staring at its elegant round neckline and the pretty, delicate braided pattern stitched against the front, touching the end of its sleeve to feel the material between my fingers. It's soft but also reassuringly thick, like a memory of childhood and safety. As if its warmth could protect you from all possible harm the moment you wear it. Yes, silly notions, but there was something true to it; that lingering feeling that your favorite sweater brought when everything else seemed to fall apart. Like how you would lower down the sleeves to cover your hands almost completely when the parents fought in the other room. Fighting about all the things that you were doing wrong in school and everywhere else; about the truly appalling fact that you weren't meeting all the growing expectations put on you. Trying not to hear it, while hearing it all too clearly, the words drilling into your skull while the fingers played with the soft, slightly worn-out fabric from being worn way too many times. Trying to tell yourself that their shouting and disappointment no longer touched you, that you didn't care anymore. That their words didn't itch you under the skin until you felt like clawing at it until it would start to burn and bleed. And sometimes you did because why not. Not that it made any difference, you were invisible to them anyway; only your mistakes and faults shone brightly and clearly.

I inhale deeper and then shake my head, lifting the sweater high above my arms to the light and watching it cast a shadow on the wall next to the bed. I sigh and put it on over a long-sleeved grey cotton shirt, enjoying the warmth that it brought to my cold bones. Mmm, some things just couldn't be fixed. They always stayed, changing your memories into a hostage situation forever connected to your past. I wrap my arms around myself and smile despite the bitter thoughts that had the tendency to resurface at the most mundane moments. Yes, despite those, it was still good to know someone cared enough to think about me and spend time and money to get me something I might like.

With a lighter mood, I fish out my phone from under the messy covers and send a quick text.

"I love the gifts, you spoil me. Be aware, I will get used to it".

After a moment I hear a beep and look at the screen, smiling brighter.

"I will take the chance".

Then another message comes in.

"Spoil me rotten next week with food and coffee. If the exams won't kill me first. Remember to fill that fat-free body of yours with something. Love ya".

I feel softness spreading somewhere under my cells and inhale deeper as if wanting to savor the moment for longer. Then, I quickly shove the phone into my back pocket and head to the living room to retrieve a brown leather bag from the coffee table. I roam around in it and decide to add a few extra lenses just in case, while my stare wonders out the window, and I nod a few times to myself. There might be a chance for some sun later to grace this poor little mortal - I smirk at the thought, put on my jacket and a pair of black gloves without the fingers, and then wrap a long, thick, light blue scarf around my neck before grabbing the keys. In the last moment of consciousness and rare common sense, I flick through a messy pilled-up coat-rack and manage to miraculously find a dark grey winter hat, probably vegetating there and collecting dust for the last two years or so; if not more. Not that it mattered. As long as it kept its basic purpose and stopped my head from turning into an ice formation, I didn't care much about its current state. You got a sweet, sweet healer on your hands, child. Make sure that you treat him right. The thought comes so abruptly that I stop for a moment, freezing in place, tempted to look back, almost suspecting someone to physically be there, even if I was perfectly aware the words came out of my head. Slowly, I swing the brown leather bag over my shoulder, playing with the keys absentmindedly way longer than I should before snapping out of it, and then quickly get out of the apartment, jumping two steps at a time. Making sure I don't think too much.

Just move, nothing else.

_ _ _ _ _

Carefully, I shift my camera to the left, angling it in just the right position, and causing it to catch multicolored beams of soft flickering light. The colors playing masterfully in the lens, moving beautifully from gold-orange to shades of deep red at one second, only to suddenly shift completely, drifting to both delicate and intense blue hues. Those, I liked the most. It always reminded me of something cosmic and out of this world. I loved to play with the light and shadows, balancing them out until they met my unnamed vision, never really knowing when that would happen, but adoring the process. The focus, the sudden rare peace of mind that wrapped itself around me, causing something magnificent; the pull towards life, the passion for it. At times it felt like a miracle that I was capable of still feeling such notions. Even during my darker days, the camera and the silence connecting with it gave me the strength to move on, to push forward, even if just for a little bit. A healer, darling, something good in your life. How long do you think before he escapes that weak, pathetic grasp of yours?

I inhale sharply and straighten my back, both annoyed and trembling from the sudden feeling of ice in my veins. Get out of it, now. One more deep breath, and then another as I focus myself on my actions again, instead of the way my skin seemed to crawl under the clothes, fully aware that it had nothing to do with the weather outside or the wind in the park that seemed to pick up its force in the last few minutes. With some effort, I square my shoulders and concentrate on the people walking on the pathway, their body language, and the poses they take, gazing at a young couple smiling at each other while discussing something. The man gesticulating with energy as if wanting to make his words wider, more significant, so big that they could swallow any counterarguments, while the girl with long, copper hair waves him off and shakes her head. Both calmly but also with some tenderness for his little quirks. As if she had heard those arguments a million times before. Click, click. I smile and look into the digital screen, judging how the photos came out. I nod once and then gaze up as a dog runs by the girl's legs, holding on to something locked between his jaws with the face of a conqueror; while the girl's expression turns surprised, her hair moving roughly by the wind in all directions, the long skirt swirling around to some unknown dance. Click, click, click. I smirk a little with a satisfied expression and turn around, gazing at a different, all-knowing smile that was so familiar to me.

Stalking innocent people again, honeysuckle? I thought you changed careers by now.

What can I say? To be a good stalker is a true craft, and I do it quite exceptionally. But for now, only a freelancer in the area.

I watch Cara's smile turn more patronizing as golden strands of hair move around her face, delicate crinkles forming in the blue eyes, and somehow, it reminds me of my mother, or all mothers, for that matter, whenever their offsprings say something ridiculous and completely absurd. Cara winks and then starts to stretch her arms and shoulders. Moving them to the sides, then slowly outstretches one leg after another, taking her time, performing every action with preciseness and determination. She's wearing a pair of black thermal leggings, a blouse to match, and a screaming pink puffy vest to keep her warm. I gaze at a pair of still pristine white Nike's and shake my head.

So this is what you do, when you actually have some downtime when your offspring reenacts

The Exorcist at the local daycare?

My eyebrow lifts questioningly, and she just rolls her eyes at me.

Not The Exorcist, darling. That option faded out by itself over time; lately, she has been showing a masterful interpretation of Julie Andrews, singing to everyone in earshot, willing hostage or not. I hear there are a lot of quicker retirements happening around; I'm sure the government will not approve of such a big-scale tax decline.

A smile creeps onto my face, and she responds it.

Well, the girl has a strong pair of lungs for a 2-year-old.

But going on three soon. And yes, this is what I do; it helps me unwind and clear my mind. I'm sure you know how important that can be.

I gaze at her and feel my throat tighten as something prickles my skin. A healer darling, what a treat. You better make it last. Hell is not a pretty place for the likes of you. I steady my breath and nod surprisingly calmly. These thoughts that started today, not long after Charlie told me about his past, seemed to spread to my loud dislike, but the worst thing was that I couldn't with certainty tell if they were my own. They seemed flavored with someone else's voice, making me feel as though my blood had physically thickened, clogging the veins like tar or cement. It was a rather scary thing when your thoughts no longer seemed to belong just to you. I sigh and take a few photos of my best friend while she stretches, looks up smiling, and then waves me away like a pesky fly as soon as she notices what I'm doing.

Stop that, I don't want to be a part of your new exhibition. These delicious yet round thighs do not look good in full resolution and in poster size. Am I making myself clear here?

Oh hush, I will make it in black and white, and cast some shadows on the side. And let's be honest, with legs like that, you put Gal Gadot to shame, and that's high praise.

Cara shakes her head slowly and once again waves me off.

Flattery will get you everywhere but it won't stop time. You've got forty minutes, and then I have to go. Don't you dare take shots while I take my laps around the park. Remember, I know where you live and I'm vengeful.

I nod and take a small bow, and then watch her disappear behind the trees in a blur of limbs and lycra. Click, click, click. Never trust photographers; we are a sordid bunch with a narcissistic streak. I breathe out slowly and inhale deeper, gradually clearing my mind and finally letting the thoughts that were restricted and censored all morning flow back to the surface. Healer. My head shakes slowly in awe while I look around for something that would grab my attention and extend my portfolio. Eventually, after about twenty minutes without not much worth mentioning, I give up and sit on a nearby bench, tilting my head slightly. How much more supernatural was there to take in? I mean, it was obvious that Charlie had something extraordinary about him if he could simply hush my pain and torment away as if with a magic spell. But still, it never crossed my mind to put him into a different category because of it. Maybe in my head, I just explained it to myself like a chemical reaction.

As if whatever was screaming in her insides somehow calmed down in his presence due to his one-of-a-kind touch. Maybe she thought that this only happened for them. One element in nature responding to the other, and creating a reaction that could not be replicated, if it was someone else than her and him.

Yes, maybe that was it. Or perhaps, I just didn't want to think about it, because even with his apparent and unexplainable gift, Charlie was still the sanest thing in my life. I wasn't about to analyze it too deeply after meeting him, too grateful for his presence to scrutinize my luck under a microscope. But maybe now was the time to do it anyway. My body strains in frustration as I get up, annoyed. It didn't matter, he was the way that he was also meant to be, and I was more than okay with that. I feel my head spin a bit and hold my forehead with a free hand, suddenly dizzy and nauseous, as if all of my energy just drained away, my limbs and body seeming to have aged by at least 20 years in merely seconds. Feeling deflated, darling? Maybe ask your dealer for a bigger dosage? I sit back down and put my head between my knees, trying to find more oxygen to breathe with, while the all too familiar hammering under my skull wakes up to life. God, she felt like throwing up; it was so hard being a human being these days.

You okay there, Elle? You look a little green.

I breathe a few more times and then look up at Cara, her cheeks flushed, the lungs doing over time. Out of breath but happy somehow. I can't even remember how that felt. It must have been good.

Yeah, I'm alright. Must have eaten something bad yesterday. Plus, I didn't sleep much. Insomnia is not as amusing as people will try to make you believe.

Cara crosses her arms and gives me a heavy look, but eventually, she just throws her arms in the air.

Fine, you will tell me the actual truth when you're ready. Now let's get you somewhere warm, and maybe feed you so we can change that lovely shade of seaweed of your complexion.

I nod and then slowly get up, making my face calm as the hammering in my head continues, ugly whispers filling the brain, spreading themselves like toxins in my veins. I wish I knew how much poison this body could handle until the damage would be unrepairable; it felt it wouldn't be much longer before I had a chance to find that out. Lately, everything about my state seemed to speed away without control. All I could hope was that I still had a few turns to make before the fog would become too thick to see anything.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

https://theprose.com/post/230936/with-all-my-senses ( the beginning )

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Previous chapters :

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46. https://theprose.com/post/460038/the-shadows-that-still-lurk-under-our-feet

47. https://theprose.com/post/463200/untangling-the-messy-structures-part-1

48. https://theprose.com/post/463202/untangling-the-messy-structures-part-2