Photograph

They had struck a truce.

Somewhere along the way, both Dante and Astrid had wordlessly agreed to leave the hell that was the past few weeks behind them. There was no point: Astrid had bigger things to worry about. Her job as a desk clerk at one of the nearby grocery stores was in peril; she went from getting thirty hours a week, to no more than ten. Anxiety gripped her constantly, knotting her stomach up so badly, she feared she would develop an ulcer.

Today, though, today she was going to break out of her little funk.

And so she splurged. She went to the mall, bought herself some new jeans and some new kicks; on the way home, she made a stop at Chris's house for a bag of weed. "Dude," he had said while they passed a bowl between them, "I'm gonna have this bitchin' party next Saturday. You should come -- and bring Dante's lame-ass too, wont'cha? He doesn't call me anymore." I wonder why, Astrid mused to herself as she left the basement, a quarter-ounce bag rolled up tight and stuffed in her pocket. It was not a far trip from Chris' to her parents' place, and before she knew it, she was upstairs in the attic, smoking a joint she rolled with expert fingertips and cleaning out her closet.

In amidst the boxes of old homework and journals, magazine and news paper scrapings, she found several large Zip-lock bags contains piles upon piles of pictures: many of which she had completely forgotten about. Most were from high school - she found pictures of her family's visits to Canada, Sweden, California; her old girlfriends from high school whom she lost touch with; the few friends that did stay in contact; and a stack of pictures of her with Dante, from the first year or so they begun dating.

Setting down the bag, Astrid reached for her cell phone, thumbing her way down to Dante's name and calling him. When she heard him pick up, she cut to the chase: "You should come over here." It was still early enough in the afternoon -- maybe, hopefully, he was still sober at this point. "I found a bunch of shit you gotta see."

Dante squinted at the alarm clock on the floor. "Uh, sure," he grunted. He blinked a couple of times and tried again. "Holy shit, it's after two." He rolled out of bed and fell with a very audible thunk to the floor, laughing. He couldn't remember anything from the night before, though he was pretty sure he had spent it with a bottle of whiskey and way too much weed. No wonder he couldn't afford his bills.

"Yeah, sure, coming over. Where are you, your parents'?" He scanned the room for some kind of pants and, hopefully, a clean tee shirt.

His initial groggy tone tone made her stomach turn over slightly -- was she too late? When he commented on the time and began laughing, she felt a little bit better. The more he talked, the more confident Astrid felt in his sobriety. "Yeah," she said, climbing to her feet to turn the window fan on high. Her parents never came up into the attic: they knew that it was Astrid's space, and thus, gave her full control over it. "Plus, I picked up a bag from Chris. He says hi." She fell back onto her bed, the lit joint still in hand: eyes closing as she took a hit off it. "But you better hurry, 'cause I'm gonna smoke it all."

Twenty-five minutes later, he parked his car outside of Astrid's parents' house and slowly walked up to the door. Were her parents home? Should he ring the bell? Did he smell like Jack Daniels? Did he smell at all?

Shaking his head at himself, he glanced at the driveway. Empty. Which probably meant that they were out. He didn't know why he suddenly didn't want to face them. Astrid had assured him hundreds of times that they liked him, but Dante largely remained unconvinced.

He slowly opened the door and stepped inside, immediately hit with a blast of central air conditioning. Ah, money, he thought as he headed toward the stairs. He wanted to surprise her, even though he knew she knew he was on his way, but he forgot about the old creaky spot on the staircase. It echoed loudly through the big house, and he took the rest of the stairs at an easy jog and burst into her old bedroom.

"Hey babe," he said, leaning down to kiss her. "Smells good in here!" He grinned.

She found the sound of his footfalls on the stairs oddly comforting; a grin curling her lips when she heard him hit the creaky stair. When he popped open her door, Astrid beamed up at him from her cross-legged position in the floor. "I thought you'd approve," she said with a laugh, scootching her butt backward so her back came to rest against the frame of her large, queen sized bed. Another reason why Astrid was loathe to move out of her parents just yet: moving her bed out would be a nightmare.

"Sit down," she said, patting a spot on the floor beside her, reaching for the bag of pictures and another joint - but not before she stole another kiss from him, still smiling happily. It was clear Astrid was quite prone to nostalgia, but it had been a good day for her so far. And now, having him here (and sober!) was the icing on the cake. Handing him a lighter with the joint, she busied herself with fishing out a thick stack of photographs of only them. Selecting one, she held it up aloft, studying it. "Oh my god, that was the night I first took mushrooms with you!" She pointed at her eyes. "Look at how whacked out I am!"

"Oh," he groaned, lighting the joint and then bringing it to his lips. He inhaled deeply before answering. "I didn't know someone was even taking pictures!" Each word was punctuated by a little puff of smoke.

He reached for another photo. "Prom?" Their younger selves stood in front of a large fountain, the dramatic lighting accenting her magenta hair and his lime green suit. "God that suit was terrible." He took another hit from the joint and then passed it to Astrid. "But you look good."

"I think I took the 'shrooms one," Astrid said, taking that picture back and examining it closely, before setting it aside in the makings of a small pile. Her pale cheeks were flushed with pleasure, both from taking the stroll down memory lane, and with him now at her side; warm, coherent, and sober. A surge of joy rushed through her, nearly forgotten when he handed over the prom picture; eyes going wide.

"Oh, my god. That suit!" The sight of his lime green jacket and him beaming proudly beside her, their arms entangled: both grinning widely, so proud of themselves. "Mom was so horrified at the color theme we chose," she giggled, her fingertip tracing the edge of the photo. To say that her mother was horrified was an understatement: she had been somewhat pissed at the pairs' choice in suit and gown. Still, they did make an enviable pair, even in eye-burning colors.

The prom picture was set aside, and her free hand accepted the joint after a moment of thought. Taking a heady toke, she picked up the next picture - one just of her. It was obvious from the posters on the wall that it was his room: she was sitting up in his bed, naked with a sheet clutched to her chest and neon pink hair rumpled; a perfected scowl aimed at the camera as she smoked a cigarette, flipping it off. "I have no idea when this one was from," she said after studying it, giving it to him. "I look gross in it, anyway - destroy it!"

"No!" He snatched it away from her quickly, clutching it to his chest in mock horror. "There's a shortage of pictures left in this world to masturbate to!" He winked at her, then reached for another photo.

"Hmn," he said, the corners of his mouth turning up just slightly. He stood behind her, leaning down with his arms wrapped around her. The red and black plaid flannel jacket he wore indicated that it was fall. They both held bright red party cups. "Wonder whose party this is. Speaking of parties, didn't you say you ran into Chris?"

Astrid wrinkled her nose, coupling it with an eyeroll, but she let him keep the picture; opting to turn her attention to the next picture he picked up.

"I remember this," she grinned, gently taking hold of it and pulling it a little closer so she could see. Judging by how young their faces looked, she guessed it was during senior year - and sure enough, there was Chris in the background, looking confused with a large blunt in his mouth. "Yeah, I picked up from him today. He had some good shit." Belatedly, she remembered the joint smoldering in between her fingertips; hastily sneaking another hit off of it, before passing it back over to him. "I think he misses you. We should swing over sometime, smoke out with him." The idea of going to another one of Chris's parties was almost too much to bear: with Dante's drinking becoming a problem coupled with the general crappiness of Chris's shindigs, she was beginning to lose a little hope. Still, she perked up as she picked the next picture.

"Oh, look! Christmas!" Sure enough, there was Dante with a big, floppy Santa hat on top of his head - his hair almost to his shoulders in unruly waves, and looking quite grumpy. She was in the frame, too, smiling a wide, perfect smile with her chin resting on his shoulder, the other hand holding a bit of mistletoe above their heads. "I can't remember why you were such a poop that day, too."


He held the joint between his thumb and forefinger as he leaned in to look at the picture. "That," he said, pointing to the Santa hat, "is probably why I look so pissed off."

He took a hit and ran a hand through his hair. It was a lot shorter now than in the photo -- it fell to just above his ears -- and he had a lot more facial hair than he'd had back in high school. "Yeah, Chris," he said, smirking a little. "I barely have time to see you, let alone go hang out at one of Chris's lame ass parties." As soon as the lie left his lips, he felt guilty. Of course he had plenty of time. He just chose to spend that time drinking. "Look at this one," he said quickly, pulling a random photo out of the pile. It was torn a little at the edges, as if it had been stapled somewhere once upon a time.

The photo was of a huge bonfire, surrounded by the friends they'd kept up with shortly after graduating. Everyone held beer or blue cups in their hands, and off to the left was a beer pong table. To the right was most of Astrid's face, cut off by Dante's lack of drunken photography skills. Her eyes were glassy and heavy, and she sported a sloppy grin with her tongue hanging out that made the photo that much more comical. "So charming," he said, snorting and holding the photo up for her to see.

(Originally written 08/17/2009-09/09/2009)