Through the Lens

8

When we slowed down long enough for me to see the front of a monstrosity of a house, I wanted to pinch myself. Obviously, I was still dreaming.  This house—no, a better term was estate—sat perched far from the street with an expansive lawn that looked freshly cut.  In fact, I could smell the lawn like it was a paper air freshener pressed to my nose.

The estate was built with large gray stones and looked like it was three stories high.  Turning, we followed the long driveway up to an open garage at the side where Ethan pulled to a stop.  My house had a garage large enough for two cars.  This garage had at least enough room for four if not more.

Holding his hand out, I took the hint and got off using his arm for support.

My mouth must have been agape because he stood before me now and said, "It's a bit much, huh?"

Trying to wrap my mind around the fact that Ethan was loaded, I nodded.  "You're just lucky," I said, weakly.

"Definitely not," he muttered and led me up a short flight of stairs and into the immense house.

Not sure what I expected, maybe that the inside would be as dazzling as the outside.  What I got was a hollow feeling.  Even with rubber-soled shoes, it felt like our footsteps echoed along the long hallway.  Nothing was on the walls. Each room we passed seemed just as devoid of anything that would suggest someone even lived in this house  

Ethan stopped and gestured me inside a room.  It was large, just like the rest seemed, but this one had a sofa and large screen TV. 

We sat on the sofa.  With nothing else to say and knowing something needed to be said, I uttered, "So where did everyone go?"  I added a nervous laugh by mistake.

 "The rest is in California with my Mom," he said.  "Do you want something to drink?" 

His question was probably meant to cut off my line of questioning, but no one could say that I was thinking rationally. "Are you moving?" I asked.  His words sent panic through me even though I didn't know this guy.  I could only hope he hadn't caught the alarm in my voice.

"No," he said. "I'm finishing my school year here, then it's off to college." He spoke matter-of-factly.

 "So your Mom just left you here all alone.  How do you eat?  Laundry?" I asked, feeling a self-righteous indignation on his behalf.

Arching an eyebrow, he said, "My Mom leaving was probably for the best." Feeling like a blameless protestor with a cause, I wondered how long had he been living this way?  Were there child safety laws about this?  But he was probably seventeen or eighteen, so I doubted they applied. "As for the rest, I can take care of myself."

Since he didn't really answer me, I left it alone.  It wasn't my business anyway. My silence while I processed his information gave him the opportunity to change the subject.  "Have you finished the roll of film?"

I'd only halfway finished taking pictures.  Feeling like a fraud, I didn't admit that I'd come under false pretenses.  But then again, he had talked me into coming over.

Holding out his hand, he said slyly, "Hand it over, Blondie."

Knowing the jig was up, I swept the thick collar of the strap over my head and slowly handed him what now felt like my most prized possession. 

Standing up, he walked a few steps away, taking a close inspection of the ancient relic that was my Dad's camera.  "Fair is fair," he said, giving me my only warning.

Then without further ado, the camera was pointed at me.  I couldn't help the smile that crept over my face before I could get my hand up to block his shot. Click. I heard the shutter capture me.  My hand now firmly in front of my face, he ducked down faster than a guy as tall as he should.