Before; After

Photograph

"We keep this love in a photograph / We made these memories for ourselves / Where our eyes are never closing / Hearts are never broken / And time's forever frozen still / So you can keep me / Inside the pocket of your ripped jeans / Holding me closer 'til our eyes meet / You won't ever be alone, wait for me to come home"

—Ed Sheeran, "Photograph"

1

"On three. One, two, three... Got it."

For a brief moment, the argument was forgotten. The warmth returned as we touched shoulders. For the moment, we were happy, smiling, glad to be in each other's presence. The picture, later shared on multiple social media platforms, would tell our lie: We are happy.

It's tiring work, keeping up appearances. Even my sister didn't know. We were supposed to keep problems private, according to my husband. I didn't really agree, but it was easier to agree. The peace must be maintained.

What did we fight about that morning? I don't really remember. I rarely do. Most of our arguments feel like pointless exercises. Anger expressed but never diffused. Nothing ever feels solved. Neither of us ever feels satisfied.

Sure, my husband says he's fine. But his moods and actions say otherwise. Words and actions seem to have parted company where he's concerned.

Me? I'm confused as ever. That's my only constant, a continual state of unreality.

My nephew enjoys himself in the park. He loves water, and the park's fountains offer plenty of rapturous giggles. We laugh along. His joy infectious. Even I, perpetually depress though I am, cannot help but do everything I can to make him laugh. Getting a child to laugh seems like the simplest form of love. Could it really be that easy? Unfortunately not. Not anymore. History will do that. The more we share our history with another, the more complex everything becomes. The more likely we are to use our weapons.

Our argument was probably the usual: I didn't feel like I was very important in his life anymore.

He's been going out a lot more recently. At my urging, strangely enough though it may seem to some, but I still haven't felt like he likes me much, more like he is merely tolerating my presence. How can you convince someone that they aren't present in your life when you spend so much time together in your apartment watching TV? Not talking much beyond greetings, discussions of household maintenance, and food.

We've been sharing the same couch, the same bed, the same space, but we've been on separate planets. Without even the intimacy of love letters to sustain us. Nothing. Empty love. The motions, yet no feeling. As I said, unreal.

How can I make it real again? What made it real in the first place? Maybe it's in the pictures we've taken together.

My sister, husband, and nephew play just a few feet away. I pull my phone out of my pocket, acting like I'd just received a message. And I started scrolling through my photos, looking for the earliest photo of us, looking for a happy past of some kind. Some clue that will bring us back to our previous happiness again. If that's possible, that is. Lately, I haven't been sure it will be, but I keep trying.

2

"Hold on. We should switch places. That way, the light will be behind me."

We switched places, which was more difficult than you'd think. We were standing on a snow-covered mountain, at the top of the ski slope, and our skis were making simple movements like "Switch places" a bit more difficult. And so, we penguin-waddled into our new positions.