A Portrait of Madeleine

Prologue: The Day I Met Madeleine

A light chill swept through me at London Bridge. A restlessness burned inside my every nerve. It was like one of those days where I wished I had remained asleep, rather than face the silence and the cold so carefully woven by winter. It was the ominous feeling that something bad was going to happen, but I could not explain it. Imagination caught in a riptide, much like the elusive persistence of a dream. I longed for quiet, but how could I find it when the noise emanated from my own mind in each moment? A hope for a semblance of peace was much the same as hoping for the parting of glass.

I checked my watch for the dozenth time, as if I could summon the train by sheer force of will alone. I tightened my grip on my camera as I reflected on the career-altering opportunity that was only hours away. Point and click, and don't forget to look. An action so simple, yet an expression so infinitely complex. An all-consuming event. Photography was not just an escape from life and all its trepidations, but an escape from myself. A way to hyperfocus on one single object and erase the world and all its noise. The one means I had of making a hundred thoughts lie still, asleep. A familiar envy rose in my gut as I watched the people around me briskly walk with purpose, or with the calm serenity of being surrounded by their loved ones. And once more I felt isolated, on the outskirts of everything.

I raised my camera to once again find my inner peace, and instead found something else.

In the distance, at the edge of the train tracks, was a woman.

She was the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes upon, and yet I could not even see her face. Flowing brown hair that cascaded over her perfect skin, down to the middle of her back. She wore a white dress that was much too thin for the unforgiving cold, and a straw hat as if she were still trapped in the throes of summer. She was caught out of time, out of season. The way she stood, poised, a silhouette of perfect grace; unmoving as if living within a picture frame. Had heaven lost one of its angels, or was she something else that defied explanation?

My lens focused on her, and my heartbeat accelerated, unsteadying my hand. I held my breath and lined up the shot, desperate to take it before the opportunity was lost; forever ghosted by time.

As if she could sense my intrusion, her face turned to me.

In the glimpse of a moment, I took the perfect portrait.

I lowered the camera and gazed into her eyes. Were they green, or was it a trick of the light?

She lifted a finger and beckoned me over with a gentle smile.

My vulnerable heart threatened to rupture from my chest. Thousands of photographs across hundreds of landscapes, and nothing and no being could capture the soft beauty of her.

I smiled back and walked over to her. I was always a confident and open person and yet, as I approached her, I felt disarmed and scrambled in a frenzy of nervousness.

"Did you get a good one?" she asked in a sweet, softspoken voice.

I decided to cut the ice immediately.

"Sorry, my ADHD took over and all my senses focused on you at the expense of my manners."

She laughed, "Well, that was surprisingly honest."

"What are you doing out here?"

"I'm waiting for a train."

I slapped my head with a 'duh' gesture.

"Is that a hobby or a profession?" she said.

I lifted the camera, "Both, I guess."

"May I see my picture?"