I See You

Yours

The month of September was always her favorite moth. It was about the time when the rain was light but the sun laid somber across the city. She liked the city during the gloomiest days. The streets were often crowded, and the only kind of light that anyone could see were the stop lights. The atmosphere was perfect for photos; at least that’s what she thought. Her personal taste was unique, for a lack of a better word. She was never like anyone else, and that sometimes bothered her. But it wasn’t something she planned on changing.

Her favorite shots are of graffiti, or street art, as most would prefer. The city was full of it. Most of the works she’s found so far were of police protest against police brutality and abuse of power. She was always on the lookout for the best ones before the city government would order to have them painted over.

For these, she’d use her least favorite camera just in case it would be confiscated. It was a film camera, a birthday gift from her half-sister who found it for cheap. It was meant to mock her, but little did her sister know that the camera was actually decent.

***

She walked through the streets, carefully choosing shots to take. She had just about five left before she could call it a day. She spots a nice new piece of “f**k the police” graffiti on the side of an old building that was never torn down for at least three decades. She runs across the street, but clumsily stumbles on the sidewalk. Her camera flew from her hands, crashing onto the street’s bike lane. The lens broke and the film came right off, which a boy in a blue bike had accidentally ran over, almost falling off himself.

The boy on the bike stopped to help the girl up and picked up the remains of her camera and apologized. The guitar strapped on his back hit her on the shoulder by accident. He apologized again. She hit him hard on the shoulder. He shrugged it off and smiled. He wasn’t a stranger; a boy from her high school, one school year below her. She knew his brother. They knew each other by face and by name, as everyone did in their relatively small private school. This is the first time they spoke to each other out of school.

She explained how the broken camera was her fault, going on and on about her clumsiness and how it’s put her in the most humiliating situations. He barely spoke a word, explaining how he thinks it’s his fault “just because.” She said he doesn’t talk much. He said she talks too much. They both didn’t mind.

She told him about her love of photography. She had good works, she said. She told him how spotted the “f**k the police” graffiti from across the street and wanted to take a photo. She had a collection of “f**k the police” photos, and this one would be her twentieth.

He told her that he was responsible for that graffiti. It was a dare from one of his band mates. It was the reason he was there. They had their band practices in that old abandoned building. They texted him that practice was cancelled on the last minute. He saw the text the moment when he ran over her camera. He asked if it counted as texting while driving. She said it was technically texting while biking.

He invited her over inside the abandoned building that he calls their “secret hideout.” And just like every secret hideout, there was a secret entrance, which she wasn’t allowed to know. Girls weren’t allowed in, which, he emphasizes, wasn’t his rule. His friends were bitter that they couldn’t get girlfriends. So before he could let her enter, he told her to keep her eyes shut. She told him she had trust issues. But she did anyway.

Her photographer’s eye fell in love instantly with all the mold and spray paint on the walls and dust and spider webs on every corner. There were burnt out cigarette butts on the floor, soaked or deteriorating, some older than others. Some of them were theirs, he said. There were also piles of bottles and broken glass all over the floor. Those weren’t theirs, he said. Liquor was hard to steal from their parents and none of them looked old enough to purchase it. They did, however, throw a couple of bottles against the wall just to watch them break. One time, he aimed for one of the boarded up windows. Some of the glass fell through the cracks of it. One chunk hit someone outside. No one got hurt too bad, he swears.

The old building had a stage, where the band would often practice. There was no electricity, so everything they had was battery powered. His friend brought in a car battery to power their equipment if they were going to use electric guitars. Sometimes they’d use acoustic. He preferred acoustic. It was much lighter to carry on bike.

They sat on the couch that he and his friends bought just for this place from the money they got from their first and only gig so far. They think they’re going to make it. He thinks otherwise. He was their singer, but he didn’t like singing very much, nor did he think he was any good at it. He knows they only got him for a singer because he’s handsome. She said it confuses her how he could be insecure and cocky at the same time. He took that as a compliment.

She laid her broken camera on beside her. It was the third time it broke, she explains. It costs quite a lot to have it repaired. He said he’d do it. She said she had about half of what it costs, she told him that he could just pay half. He said he didn’t mean he was going to pay for it. He meant he could fix it.

She laughed. She said it took a month to have it repaired by professionals. He called her repair guys a joke. He’s fixed almost everything: phones, laptops, amplifiers, and electric guitars. He said he’d have it fixed in less than a week. She bet him six days. He bet her three. They shook on it.

***

Three days later, he came by her classroom. All the other girls waved at him, but he didn’t notice, unintentionally. His eyes were fixed on her, smiling arrogantly. No, you did not, she said repeatedly. He kept nodding. He unveiled his work proudly, even putting a blue bow on it. It was the first time anyone saw him give a gift to a girl. Every girl got jealous of her. Every guy got jealous of him for making all the girls jealous of her. Everyone got jealous. He didn’t know. She didn’t care.

He advised her to buy a strap for it next time. She said he could buy it himself. It’s his now, he can have it, she said. It was his prize for winning. He said he couldn’t. She asked him what he was going to name it. He said he couldn’t possibly take it from her. She explains how all her cameras have names. He insists she takes it back. She ignores him completely.

“Come on. It’s yours,” he said.

“Yours. What a lovely name,” she said.