Unseen

Unseen 2

Maggie was fading away.

He worked odd jobs when he felt like it or when his wallet was empty and the gas tank was low. He was strong and tall, and construction work came easy to him, though there was no passion in it for him. It was just a day or two out in the sun, tanning his big arms and filling the car back up. A few bosses would ask him to stay on, but he never accepted. There were roads left to travel, stars yet to sleep beneath. He made a few friends along the way, but none would ever stick; it wasn’t worth the effort anyway. He knew he wasn’t good for anything without her, wasn’t someone anyone would want to know. He was just a traveler now, a ghost like her.

The desert was dry and sweat was beading on his chest and brow. He beat the drops away but they came right back, teasing him like some wicked dream. With the sun bright in the distance, he squinted at the road ahead and marveled at the steam coming up from the pavement. Heat lines danced before his eyes and the white lines blurred. His vision was glossy; his eyes were stinging.

Reaching into the backseat, Jake dug into the duffle bag and fished around for a clean shirt. He needed something to wipe the day away, to clear his head once more before the mirage on the side of the road took over.

Fumbling, his fingers chanced upon the canister and Jake recoiled. He never pulled it out, never looked at it lest it disappear forever. His heart was racing, head pounding from the heat. He reached again and the film can slipped into his palm. His fingers closed around it and Jake brought it out for the first time, holding it tight and pressing his fist to his chest.

Maggie was inside, he knew.

Maggie’s gorgeous smile. Her big front teeth and ears that stuck out just a bit too much on the tops. Her freckles, her spirit, her love.

He clutched the can and chewed his lip, biting back the tears, fighting the sweat and pain.

Two towns later he found a place to develop the film and he sat outside on a weather-worn bench, counting down the hour in his mind. The street was like a hundred he’d seen; people milling about under the mid-morning sky, small storefronts crowded together, their colorful awnings shading the sidewalk.

It seemed nice, yet like every other place: empty without her.

When time was up, Jake went back inside, ducking beneath the bells that jingled on the door. He thanked the clerk and held the envelope tight in his hand.

It sat on the passenger's seat as he drove away, unopened, the photos unseen.

It leaned up against the ketchup bottle at the diner as Jake ate his burger, the pictures still a mystery.

Jake stared at the packet as he sipped his coffee, dragging up the will to set the images free. He’d been running from them for so long, from the ache of whatever was inside, he was terrified now to open it. Afraid he would break down when he saw her face, that he would scream at the world around him when her ghost returned, crisp and beautiful, solid in his hands.

He’d been running too long. He was tired.

Jake took a breath and opened the envelope, tipping it over to let the photographs spill out onto the tabletop.

When he looked down, his eyes blurred behind thick tears. Every photo was of him. Every snapshot was a random moment he’d shared with Maggie, but all from her point of view; all an angle of him. His smile, his crooked nose, his shaggy blond hair, his hands, his lips. It was all him.

For so long, he’d been holding onto her, and all along she’d been holding onto him.