Page 77 of Awestruck at Dusk
Nathan:I’m stuck in a meeting. We’re having trouble with the clients signing the paperwork we brought for them. They want to make changes. I can’t leave until these papers are signed and everyone’s happy.
Me:But you’ll be here on the 14th, right? I need you here.
It was my mom’s death anniversary, but somehow this year felt heavier with Caleb gone. I knew it would be a tricky day, and I wasn’t on the best terms with my father.
Caleb was the one who usually comforted me on this day. He would come to church and sit beside me because my father never could. Never wanted, I assumed. He blamed it on his busy schedule. And everyone grieves differently, so I tried to be respectful.
This year, my support system was reduced to Nathan. I knew I had friends who would’ve gladly come with me to church if I asked them, but it was such an intimate and vulnerable part of me. Of my past. And even though they all knew that my mother was dead, I hadn’t really opened up myself to everyone about the specifics of my experience.
That’s why I needed Nathan. The only person alive who I’d opened up myself to about my mother other than him was William. And not only was he out of the question but he was gone. Vanished.
I hadn’t seen him or heard from him since my birthday. And I would lie if I told you the ninth floor didn’t feel hollow without him. His presence, even if we both lived our separate lives, was always felt, heard.
In a way, he’d done me a favor by leaving. But I missed him, knowing perfectly well that I shouldn’t have. That’s why I prayed he wouldn’t return. Even when a part of me, as small as it was, hoped he did.
Someday.
He’d been gone for long periods of time when filming, but he always returned, or at least I knew he would. But now, there was no way to know if he would or not, orwhen, if he ever planned to.
He’d told me once how he wished he could spend more time in the cottage. To slow things down with work. And since he was still recovering from his surgery and taking things slow, I guess this was the best opportunity to do so.
I’d be there too most of the time if I were him. That place was next-level amazing.
Nathan:I know, love. I will be there. I promise you. I’ll call you back in 15. I’m so terribly sorry about today. I feel like a proper idiot. I’ll make it up to you.
Me:It’s okay, don’t worry. Call me when you can.
Today, I had my photography exhibit where a committee of professors selected a few pieces from students of all Photography BFA program levels. One of my photographs was chosen. It was a portrait of one of the ballerinas that I took when we went to the New York City Ballet a few weeks ago.
We were all given the allotted time that day to photograph each of the ballerinas. One of them stood out to me the most—Vivienne. Her light brown hair was pulled back into the tightest, most perfect bun ever. Her eyes were like molten amber, almost orange. And they were one of the saddest eyes I’d ever seen aside from mine in a while.
Do you want to reveal someone’s essence? Photograph them.
I could see how the performer in her did a magnificent job hiding whatever it was that troubled her, but pain recognizes pain. Fairly easily. And every move, every look, every position of her slender figure was so ironically fragile and powerful at the same time. Very telling.
Twenty days had passed since the day Caleb died when I photographed Vivienne. And looking into her eyes felt like looking into a mirror, such profound sadness reflected upon them. I would’ve loved to tell her I could see her pain and that I was hurting too. But I focused on photographing her, and the portrait turned out to be stunning. My teachers agreed.
I developed it in black and white, and even so, you could see the fire in her eyes.
Nathan hadn’t seen the photograph yet, and I was excited for him to see it. But he was officially a partner at Chapman & Payne, and the promise Mr. Chapman made about how Nathan wouldn’t be traveling as much after his new promotion wasrubbishafter all. He left the next day after my birthday and stayed in London for five days.
But I was unimpressed because Nathan traveled even more back and forth between London, New York, and Washington, D.C.
I tried to be supportive about it and focused on school, which was always helpful. But the truth is that our situation sucked. I felt like the more he grew in the firm, the less I saw of him. And I wanted him to be happy doing what he loved to do, but it unfortunately reminded me of my father and his work addiction.
Fifteen minutes later, Nathan called me as he said he would. He told me how the meeting hadn’t gone well, how he needed to stay another day in D.C. But he promised to grab the first flight back to New York on the 14th and go to church with me. He said how proud he was of me, of my work being selected for the exhibit.
And I didn’t ask for much. I just wanted him to show up when it mattered.
When I needed him. Just like I always did for him.
My friends arrived on time to show their support at the exhibit. My father promised to be there, but I knew well enough what that meant. He’d show up in the last five minutes before the thing was over and congratulate me with squinty eyes and the biggest smile on his face that would typically disarm and melt me in the process. I would typically excuse him by thinking,well, he’s here, isn’t he?
He didn’t disappoint this time either because it was 8:30 p.m., the event would be over at 9:00 p.m., and he hadn’t arrived yet.
Nolan asked about Nathan’s absence, and I brushed the question off with a somewhat icy tone. He frowned, and I quickly apologized afterward. But I was angry, and as always, I was having trouble hiding it.
I was annoyed about Nathan not being here, about my father letting me down as usual, and because that’s how weird I was around my mother’s death anniversary.
