This image was different from the others. I’d set my camera up on a tripod the day of this shoot, and I’d walked into the frame. Staring out at the water and using the remote, I’d snapped twenty images. I’d stood still, staring, thinking about Clare, trying to channel her. Part of me hoped my sister was at peace, but my selfish-self wished her spirit were restless, angry, and stalking the earth in search of vengeance.

This picture was the only one in the sequence that had worked. The others on that particular day of shooting either had been out of focus or the lighting was off; however, this image had arrived fully packed with emotion and a shadow echoing my shape that had me wondering if I’d conjured up Clare’s spirit.

I moved into my darkroom, which was the apartment’s windowless closet. I set up three chemical trays, one for the developer, one for the neutralizer, and finally a water bath. I chose the negative from the sleeve in my binder and centered it on the enlarger. After switching on the red light, I closed the door and shut off the bright light. Centering my photographic paper, I tried to remember how I’d created the first image but knew no matter what I did, this wouldn’t be an exact copy. I clicked on the enlarger, burned in the right edge to the count of three, and then clicked the machine off. I slid the paper into the developer and watched the print’s twin slowly appear.

The shadow on the right was darker this time, but the effect felt like it worked. Next the neutralizer stopped the development and then the water bath. After I pinned the print to the small clothesline strung over the workbench, I stepped back and studied it. It felt close to the first.

I’d never stopped to consider whether I should limit the number of prints. But now, as I stared at this one, I knew I’d never re-create it again. It was officially retired, and this copy would belong only to me.

This mystery buyer and I now shared a connection. We both owned this print. Our meeting might be forgotten, but the tethers binding us would always exist.

15 HIM

15

HIM

THEN

Tuesday, November 20, 2008

10:00 a.m.

I stared at the pictures I’d taken of you in the last forty-eight hours. I marveled at the power your face held over me. You were the first woman I saw when I woke up, and you’d be the last before sleep.

Glancing back at my neatly made bed, I imagined the gray sheets twisted around your naked body as you offered me a satiated smile. I wanted you to want me. There needed to be an us.