I was sitting at my desk looking at the recent batch of photographs I'd shot. It was of a little girl sitting on the sidewalk crying; her pant leg was rolled up exposing a skinned knee that was bleeding. The next shot showed a slightly older boy kneeling in front of her, first he cleaned the knee, blowing on it when it started to sting from the hydrogen peroxide. He opened up a bandaid and quickly covered her wound, sealing it with a kiss. After capturing the photographs I got permission from their parents and went immediately to develop them. I was into analogue photography, granted it was very old, but despite all modern day apps trying to emulate the effects, nothing beats the original. The colors are richer, the saturation is more dramatic and the film grain adds soul and character to the images, evoking nostalgic memories.
I had gotten into photography when my father bought me a Lomo LC-A for Christmas. It was the last happy memory I had of him before he'd lost his job and became an abusive drunk. Long walks and taking pictures was one of the ways I had coped with a tough childhood. Sometimes when i was feeling nostalgic i'd pull out my old camera and walk around town capturing whatever reached out to me. And it paid off, I had recently opened a new Art Gala, and my collection had sold for over a $150,000. It had been in the middle of going through my photos that I'd gotten a call from an old friend, Charles Rudd, an attorney from my home town. My father passed away and he'd left me the house, I sat stunned for several minutes before I was able to respond that I would be on the next flight out.
I convinced myself that worst case scenario, a trip home would get me some shots of the abandoned railroad yard I used to hang out at as a teenager. That was if they hadn't torn it all down. When I arrived at the airport I was greeted by Mr. Rudd, he greeted me with a hug "Guinevere, I am so sorry." I waited for the pain. For that terrifying feeling of loss. My father was dead, he was truly dead; this wasn't a cruel prank or some scheme to get me back in town but he was really gone.
"Has anyone claimed him? Do I have to plan a funeral now? I...I don't know how to plan a funeral." The old man offered me a handkerchief, I hadn't realized I was crying. Why was I crying? Hadn't I laid awake enough at nights praying for his death? Hadn't I tried a few times to kill him myself? Swearing he was never going to touch me again. I started to pant as swirls of emotions raged within me.
"Calm down now, there is no need to panic. Your father had a will, most of the arrangements have already been made. Just some signing of some paperwork, the transfer of the deed to the house. A few minor details. But we'll leave that for tomorrow, I am sure it has been a long flight and you should get some rest. I am having my driver drop you off at your house and call me in the morning to schedule a time to drop by the office." I gave the old man a hug and accepted the keys. After losing the welfare money when I moved to art school, my father had coincidently had an accident in a grocery store that left him with a large sum for his 'pain and suffering'. I hadn't wanted to be rude, I could always call a cab and stay in a hotel if staying under the man's roof proved to be too much. I settled into the back of the car while the driver loaded my bags. When we arrived he even carried them to the door. It took me several tries to unlock the door, the key took a lot of wiggling to finally work. It wasn't what I had expected. It was a mobile home, simple and in the middle of nowhere. My father had always liked his privacy.
I turned on the lights and locked the door behind me. It was a mess, beer bottles littered the floor, covering the table tops, in small groups along the floor of the couch, overfilled ashtrays, empty pizza boxes and take out food. The garbage was over piled to the point it started tipping onto the floor, but instead of taking it out my father had just continued to try and stack more. The smell was like stale mold and sour beer. I opened windows and turned on a few fans I found in a closet. I spent the night going through every cupboard, drawer and hidden space, I found cleaning supplies, most of which had never been opened. I turned on some music and cleaned until the early hours of the morning.
After laying out fresh sheets and taking a shower in a freshly scrubbed shower I found a frozen pizza and ate all but two pieces before passing out on the couch. I awoke to the sound of someone pounding at the front door. When I sat up I felt sore and disoriented, and when I opened the door I felt even more confused.
"Steven?! What are you doing here?" I ran my hand through my hair, trying to tame it into something presentable.
"When you didn't call the office today, my father insisted that one of us stop by and check to make sure you were still alive. Are you alright Gwennie?" I rolled my eyes at the old nickname.
"I'm not 12 anymore, I go by Guinevere now." I replied as I waved him inside.
"Did something die in here?"
"I'm convinced it's in the carpet, it's the only thing I haven't scrubbed yet. Tell Mr. Rudd I'm sorry, this place was a mess and..."
"Say no more, you were up all night cleaning because you couldn't sleep until it was done?" I smiled and folded my arms across my chest the moment I realized I was braless. Steven walked further inside and I shut the door.
"You know me so well."
"How many times did you make us clean my room when we had sleepovers? Mess drives you crazy, I'd be an idiot not to know that." The way he looked at me made my heart race and I cleared my throat as I walked past him and into the kitchen.
"Would you like something to drink?" I asked.
"What are my options?"
"Beer, Jack Daniels or water."
"I'll take a beer," he accepted. There was almost an entire 24 case left in the fridge. Some things never changed. I gave him a beer and opened one of my own, wincing when I glanced at the clock on the microwave.
"Any plans for dinner?" he asked aloud.
"Not unless I am hungry for more beer."
"Good, come out, have dinner with me, catch up. I want to hear all about this Gala of yours."
"Alright, but you're buying, partner," I laughed.
"It's 5 o'clock now, so meet me at Alexander's at 7? Do you mind if I bring someone?"
"Who?"
"Just an old friend," he said casually and I immediately became suspicious.
"No way Steven; I do not want to see him."
"C'mon. It's been ten years Guinevere. Derek's grown up, he's matured. Hell, he made partner before I did. Do you know how embarrassing that was? My father's firm and he made partner before his own son. But he worked really hard, and he wants to see you. He'll behave, I swear it. Or I'll kick him out myself," Steven swore as he took another sip of the beer and turned it around in his hands.
"Promise?" I demanded, holding out my pinky. He chuckled, shook his head then locked pinkies and shook.
"I swear."
~
I adjusted the hem of my dress as I walked through the rotating doors and up to the hostess.
"Reservation?" she asked with a giant smile. Her long blonde hair pulled so tightly it gave the impression she either had a face lift or some botox injections.
"I'm supposed to be meeting some friends; Steven Rudd?" I offered.
"Oh yes, Steven said to expect an exceptionally beautiful woman to walk through the doors tonight. Right this way." I felt my cheeks flush at the compliment as I followed the woman through the dining room and straight to Steven's table. He stood and pulled out my chair, allowing me to keep my dress down as I sat across from Derek. He had grown, Steven hadn't lied about that. The once roundness to his boyish face were now rugged angles. His hair was kept the same length, but it was gelled back, giving him a very professional look.
He looked up at me and the look I saw made my stomach drop. He looked hungry, as though I was something he wanted to devour. I immediately took a sip of the wine that Steven poured for me and forced myself to breathe. I wasn't going to allow him to effect me like this! I wasn't some love struck teenager anymore.
"So, Steven mentioned you own your own Art Gala?" Derek announced, taking another drink from his glass. It held a few ice cubes and a dark amber liquid. Scotch, most likely the same imported stuff Steven used to steal from his dad's liquor cabinet when we all hung out on weekends.
"I do, my last collection sold for over $150,000." I announced proudly.
"I am not surprised, you have always had an artist's eye, Gwennie."
"I go by Guinevere now," I announced as I took another sip of my wine.
"Suddenly too good for an old nickname?" he sneered, slamming his glass down on the table.
"Steven..." He had sworn to me that Derek would behave himself, and I was not in the mood to deal with his attitude.
"C'mon Derek, we haven't seen Gwen in 10 years and she's already dealing with her father's passing." Derek glanced at Steven then back at me before clearing his throat.
"My apologies, seems I have had a tad too much to drink." he excused.
"Some things never change," I spat in disgust. He was an alcoholic, he knew it, I knew it; even Steven knew it. Derek's eyes flashed in challenge as he leaned towards me.
"At least I'm not a cheating whore," Derek snapped in return. I swung to slap him and he caught my wrist, pulling me across the table so quick I had no time to brace myself.
"Do not think for a second I will allow anyone to hit me and get away with it," he growled just low enough for only me to hear. A shudder ran down my spine as his words chilled me to the bone. I met his angry gaze with one of my own.
"You have 3 seconds to release me before I make a *REALLY* ugly scene." I started to countdown.
"This isn't over sweetheart." Derek let go of my wrist and stood. He threw a hundred dollar bill onto the table.
"Steven...Guinevere..." Without another word he turned and left.
"I'm so sorry Gwen, I thought he could handle it. He swore he would act like a gentleman."
"You miss the three amigos, I get it. Somedays, I do too." I confessed.
"Enough about Derek, tell me more about your Gala." Several dishes and a few drinks later Steven was walking me to my car. His tie was loosened and he had his jacket across my shoulders to keep me from the chilly night air.
