Highland Photographs

1. Ruins on a hill

"Finish packing and eat something before you go, Jaimee," The harsh New York accent faded as the red eyed woman backed away, "I have to go now, but call me if you need anything. Or if you change your mind. I'm sure your father won't mind."

"I'll be fine mom. I need the fresh air, and besides I've already told everyone I'm going away for a while. Go to work, I'll call you at the airport."

The door slammed and Jaimee stalked back to her room to stuff some clothes in her suitcase. She probably wouldn't need most of them, but they would keep her prized possession-her Canon camera- safer. She packed, and thought of how her mother had overreacted. She would be back soon. The hugging, crying, patting, reassurances- how bad could one summer with her dad be?

It turned out, the answer was pretty bad.

I called a cab and hopped in, dragging my overstuffed bags behind me. The cab-driver didnt so much as give me a second glance before he shot off to the airport. Once there, I pulled out my phone, trying to work out how to use the digital boarding pass. I looked at the clock and realised I was going to miss the plane if I didn't hurry. It turned out the pass was easier worked than it looked, though I still needed assistance, and I was on the plane in what seemed like no time.

My mom had booked herself flights too but pulled out of the trip months ago. She didn't want to see dad, and he didn't want to see her. The divorce had been hard, and I had barely understood it- although, of course, I do now. I was eleven and just about to go back to school. I ended up taking a week off school and missing my first day back because of my gobsmacked state. I hadn't seen it coming- no one had. There were no late-night fights, no parents storming out of the house at all hours, none of the things that you read about in books, of fights, abuse, affairs, cheating, doubts- I'm not complaining, just confused. I guess, in my young state, I just missed something? Well, In the seven years they were apart, I hadn't seen dad once. Looking back, I'm not sure I should have been so eager to change that fact.

The flight was tranquil, but boring. I begun to wish my mom had came. But the unsettledness which had settled over me was soon banished to the dark realms of my mind which it had surely came from. My plane landed in Inverness, on the 9th of August, 2002. I grabbed a chocolate muffin and a coffee from the coffee shop in the corridor of many other coffee shops, on my way out. The muffin was stale. It went in a trash can outside the door. And the coffee was just what I needed. It was the only thing that kept me awake on the two hour journey to Lochailort.

When I arrived I expected my dad to be waiting for me, to have his arms wide open and to run to me and hoist me up into the air like he did when I was a child, and most of all I wanted him to tell me he loved me. I was left waiting. Even though I texted him fifteen minutes before, he didn't even come to pick me up. Just sent me the directions to his house. The 'house' had two rooms and was two floors up from the ground. 'Flat' seemed more fitting.

When I did find the flat and my dad, I realised I didn't want him to run to me with his arms wide and to lift me into the air. He stank. He stank of whiskey, and of cigarettes. But the smell was nothing compared to what he looked like. His teeth were yellow and vile, on the edge of rotten, and his once neat, gelled-back, slick hair was now cowlicked all over the place, uncombed, unwashed and uncut. His eyes were sunken, bulging and furtive and his eyebrows were thick and bushy. His shirt was unbelievably creased and looked like it had never been washed or ironed, considering he owned neither an ironing board or a washing machine. His trousers were too small and hitched half-way up his legs, and his shoes were dirty and scuffed. He had fading, disturbing tattoos covering the vast majority of his left arm. He was positively disgusting. And maybe these details, which went undiscovered by me, had begun to appear before he left. Maybe they were why he left. Why mom had wanted him to leave.

And the house was no better.  It too, smelt of sweat and ancient cobwebs, not the beautiful gossamer strands which hung lazily about in the meadows round here, but thick, clingy, suffocating spider webs, which gave the impression of some old castle out in the highlands. As I thought this I remembered my eagerness to get out and about and to take a few shots of the surrounding countryside in all its glory. I sidestepped around my dad, not wanting to touch him or go near him, out of the kitchen/living-room/dining-area and into my bedroom/dad's bedroom/bathroom. The bathroom, if you could call it that, had a toilet and a bath; to wash your hands, you had to go to the kitchen and use the sink there- the bath had a certain "only used once every few months" look about it, and I resolved to force my dad to shower at least once a week.

I flung myself onto my bed-blankets, piled on top of each other, lumpy and uncomfortable, and pulled my suitcase up beside me. My eyes welled up; was this all a mistake? I had no friends here, my dad was a pathetic good-for-nothing loser, who lived in a tiny flat and had actual cobwebs, strung all around his house, like realistic Halloween decorations, put up by an eight-year-old, tottering on a stool. He clearly didn't have a job. I should have listened to my mom. What do they say? Mother knows best?

I rubbed my eyes furiously. I was too used to the luxuries of life in New York. I needed to grow up. This was real life. I picked up my camera. It was a canon EOS 750D DSLR camera with 18-135mm STM lens in black. It was also my favourite thing I had ever owned. I had got it two years ago, for my 16th birthday. I remember, at the party, late at night, my mom had taken me out into our back garden. We had had it at my house, seeing as it was fairly large- my mom was a Judge, and, even before dad left, brought in all my family's money. She paid the taxes and bills and debts that my dad ran up. Well, she took me out to our garden, which looked shady but slightly ethereal in the dark. She pointed at our long disused swing set where my camera was sitting, rocking demonically in the breeze.

It was the most breath-taking moment of my entire life. I ran to it and noted its slender frame, its magnificent stature as it sat there, looking almost like a young child. Suddenly I recalled a vivid memory, dug up from the long-buried parts of my mind. I saw David, sitting in that swing, smiling over his little, tiny shoulder at me, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. I doubled over, breath knocked out of me. I sunk to my knees and my mom ran over and picked me up. I started shouting for David, for him to come home, to come back to live and to breathe and to be happy, and I began to cry. Mom picked up my camera and told me he wasn't there but it was too late. Just thinking about him hurt. It hurt to know he was gone and he wasn't coming back. My mom hung the strap around my shoulders and put the camera in my clammy hands. The solidness of the camera calmed me. I turned in to my mom's shoulder and wept. " Thank you" I murmured through tears.

I returned to my conscious self in my bedroom. In Lochailort. In the highlands. In Scotland. Far, far, far away from my hero. My mom. Tears were streaming down my face. Tears were soaking my pillow. I looked at my reflection in my phone. My nose was red and runny and so were my eyes. My hair was everywhere. I blew my nose on my sleeve and wiped away my tears. My eyes ached from the amount of crying I had done since I had got here. I pulled a brush through my rambunctious, untameable hair and gave it up as a lost cause. The Scottish winds would mean I would look like a porcupine when I came back in anyway. I walked back out to my dad, camera in hand.

"Can I go out and take some pictures please?" I asked him gingerly.

"Ah, still the budding photographer then? O' course you can, but be home for dinner 'round about six, m'kay?" There was a hint of a Scottish accent in his voice. I left without replying. I hated being around him, the atmosphere, the smell, the disappointment. "See you soon, Jaimee Ray."

I left the suffocating building like a rock was crushing me. I had to just keep thinking of the pictures. I was so hopelessly depressed about my dad, that I just started to walk. I walked and walked, my legs carrying me around, almost of their own volition. After a long, mind-clearing walk full of lovely unpolluted air, I came upon the eeriest-looking thing I'd ever seen.

It drew me in.

I found myself walking towards it.