Polaroids

Kandace sat on the edge of the bed.

Itchy black tights kept her legs from losing all of their heat, her black skirt too short to do the job. The collar of her black turtle neck sweater strangled her just a bit too much. But she wasn’t worried about that. She looked down at the old camera in her hands. The precious piece of photography history had been given to her by the one person she truly loved in a non-platonic way.

Keane.

She would miss his gorgeous face. His piercing blue grey eyes.

Why he had to do what he did was unbeknownst to her.
He was always smiling. And always happy. And always her wing man.

To him she was just a friend. But he was so much more to her. She secretly loved him.

If he would ever know was a question that Keane himself answered.

They found him. On the floor. His camera thrown on the bed haphazardly. Like he was in a rush.

Kandace could only wonder if that split moment before he pulled the cock back and pulled the trigger if he thought about anything. If his conscience was screaming at him or if it silent watched the situation unfold.

She sat on the edge of his bed to his dorm. The wall was covered in Polaroids.

Of him.
Of her.
Of them both.
Of the snow, pure and white.
Of the snow, dirty and grey.
Of the sky. Of the campus.

Every inch was covered in Polaroids.
All left to her.

Kandace didn’t want them though.

She wanted him.

She wanted his arm slung around her shoulder. She wanted him and his long dark brown curls. She wanted his artistic perspective on the little things in life.

How he could make a cloudy sky so very gorgeous and rare.

She wanted his bleak outlook on society, his scorn on politics and his uneasiness in federal buildings.

Would she ever find a friend who would march down the streets of Chicago and ask for equal rights?
Would she ever find the one person so very free?
Would she ever allow herself to let them slip straight through her fingers?

Just as she let Keane slip through hers, like powdery snow.

Would she ever find someone who so honestly pointed out her flaws and made her embrace them?

Her slightly crooked nose, her rather large ears.

Kandace didn’t want to think about those things. Because the police were taping up the entrance to his dorm room. The bright yellow invading his powder blue.

The mirror was shattered but still holding together, splatters of his blood, luscious red tinting the glass.

She would have an artistic outlook on the disturbing beauty of it.

She sat on the edge of his bed, right in front of the chalk outline.

They drew on his favorite dresser.

They dumped out his things, spewed them out on the bed, the floor.

The slips of crumpled paper containing the phone numbers of girls who thought that they could get lucky, the tube of cherry red lipstick he stole from me so he could use it to write on the mirror, rolls upon rolls of film, and Polaroids that came out dark.

All this he wanted Kandace to keep.

His acceptance letter to college. His diploma.
Memories.
He wanted her to keep.

But she wasn’t sure she wanted them. Because they burned the hole deeper. Like his pack of Marlboro that he left for her.

She could remember so vividly the way he would light them up as they walked home from the movies in the dark.

The way his hair felt when he gave her piggy back rides in the rain.
The way he scratched the tattoo of a four leaf clover on the inside of his wrist when he was nervous.

God, she could remember every moment she wanted to kiss him.

Every moment when his utter genius left her speechless.

Every moment when she wanted to be wrapped in his arms.

Every night when she would just try to linger around his dorm, just barely able to leave his very presence.

But she wasn’t sure if she wanted to forget or not. Because those memories hurt.

She sat on the edge of his bed, looking at the wall.
Cover in dots of red. His letter beside her.

"Sorry I made such a mess. Hope you’re able to salvage the Polaroids." his memory whispered in her ear.

"Sorry I never got to tell you that I loved you." Kandace whispered.

Her white stilettos clicked against the dark mahogany floor as she tip toed over the police tape.