Me Too

2

I pretend to read a book, resting my head on Sofia's prominent collarbone as she scrolled through her phone. Her fingernail caught the screen every few seconds and the tap lulled me to close my eyes and lay my book on my breast. I barely felt my heart beat.

I disconnect from my own body for a moment. For a second, I don't feel tied to a physical shell; I'm only tied down by the weight that holds down my soul.

Luckily Sofia's rustling brought me back. She repositioned. More prominent, her heart drummed under my ear.  This is blissful. I needed this; being held, being near her. I've missed her.

Our bed crinkled as she stirred again. I tense and block the horrific sound out. Tangible manifestations of my memories are the hardest things to ignore. "I love you, Sofia," I say loud enough to cover the cacophony. My voice was only a whisper, but it stunned her. Everything stopped for what seemed like an eternity.

She kissed my mouth. The pages in my hands collapsed messily and the book slid off my chest as our lips moved together and I followed her body. I laid myself over her chest and found myself swaying my body against her in rhythm with our mouths. She parted and smiled gently, tucking my wild hairs back. "I love you too."

The living room had become too uncomfortable; there were too many eyes in the windows and the walls had ears. In our bedroom, things are sealed and we can hold one another under all our blankets, a shelter of warmth and protection. We are safe inside these four walls.

This is much more comforting.

Around us in her bedroom, the walls are filled with art work she admires. Three hanging pieces are on her cream back wall, designing the calming serenity of a broken ocean sunset; there is a round mirror above the headboard of the queen bed we try to share; and across from us on her left wall a few feet from the window was a portrait of her and me. Ask her, she'll tell you, that is her favourite thing in this room. The memory of us.

Her hands were both threaded through my loose hair and mine cupping her chin, there was no space between her red blouse and my white dress. Our lips touched as delicately as a flower. It was the perfect moment to capture, the first time we agreed we'd be more than a silent couple.

Cameron took that photo while we were on a nature walk in the empty park. Her best friend snapped it while we weren't paying attention, we were both lost in our own heads. We forgot he was there, and I will never forget that moment when she threw her fear to the side and laid her mouth on mine. It is crystal clear even enlarged. It was not blurry, he was truly a talented man behind a camera.

This is her favourite photo, that's why it is displayed.

Photography is one way to tell a million words, we both believe that. Film and photography mean a lot to us. Cameron gave us an album of shots he took that day.

There were six, and each was so perfect you would swear we paid a professional. In one we have our backs to him, looking into a pond, with her arm around my waist and my head on her shoulder. It perfectly captured our closeness. We were that intimate as friends. In another, she and I were laying in the grass, me curled up to her chest with a wishing flower whisping away, her precious smile still makes my heart flutter as I remember the plea I planted in the weed. The final original Polaroid that Cameron handed over directly to Sofia was the one that we eventually hung above her dresser.

That kiss seals us together.

I was glad so much positivity came out of that nature walk. Cameron proved Sofia's fears wrong. We can be ourselves around the ones we love. Her best friend gave her acceptance, and I can never thank him enough for loving her for who she is. A few people know, and everyone who is in on it seems to support us. At least, to our faces.