Through The Lens | ✓

5

Finlay Thomas, Finlay Thomas, Finlay Thomas.

His name ran through my head over and over again Friday morning as I laid in my bed. My mom was out at the hospital, working her butt off, and my dad was probably out drinking somewhere.

That was the norm for me.

I was usually alone in the morning, and the night. My mom worked long shifts and my dad went out and cheated on my mom at bars, drinking his life away.

I didn't care though, he could do whatever he wanted.

And I could do whatever I wanted.

And what I wanted to do was go take my fifth picture of Mystery Boy a.k.a Finlay Thomas.

❃ ❃ ❃

Bungled up in my warm coat, I pushed open the door to the small cafe on 31st Street. The smell of coffee beans and baked goods greeted me when I entered the warm cafe.

I ordered an iced coffee, with nothing else, and headed to my normal table.

One thing I liked about that cafe was that it was always mostly empty, which meant it was also mostly quiet. All you could hear was some quiet chatter and the calming jazz music they piped out of the speakers.

I settled into my seat and looked towards Finlay's usual table. He was indeed sitting there with a new book, it looked very old.

I took out my camera only to find out that I had stupidly forgotten batteries and it had died.

I mentally slapped myself on the forehead and put my camera on the table.

How could I be so stupid?

But one amazing thing about the human brain was that you could take mental pictures. You really didn't need a camera to take pictures, you only needed your mind, and it was free.

So what if I didn't have a fifth photo of Finlay Thomas?

I stared at Finlay Thomas, who sat with his legs crossed under the table.

And took a mental picture, not knowing that it would actually stay there forever.