The Picture of My Ex

My boyfriend and I were having the most wonderful second year anniversary. We had gone to the park where we met and he had given me the cliche dozen roses; but I loved him so that they just tickled me to death. It was early December, so as night fell Christmas lights in the trees along the winding path lit up like warm stars. As we laughed and talked, kissed and held gloved hands we came upon an old woman standing off the path. She was fiddling with the largest, oldest camera I'd ever seen. It didn't look old or dusty; it glowed as brightly as any brand new digital camera in the store, but the design was ancient like it was centuries old.

"Oh look at you two! Lighting up the night with those beautiful smiles!" she said in a very soothing and calm grandma voice." Reminds me of my late husband. Here, come let me take a picture of you two together."

The elderly woman gestured with her bony wrinkled hand to the mystifying machine on it's three long legs. I fussed with my hair, but my boyfriend just laughed and handed me back my flowers, telling me not to worry about how I looked and some corny love talk I can't even recall. We stood in front of the device's wide staring eye, my hands clasped around the gorgeous flowers, holding them under my face. His arms wrapped around my shoulders, I could feel him emanating warmth. The crooked-boned old lady gave us a "three, two, one...Smile!" and shot the brightest camera flash in our faces. Both of us recoiled instantly, rubbing our eyes. I could feel the sting of the light claw its way through my eyes and tear up my brain. I was still seeing spots as the old woman took out the eight by ten picture of us.

As the dots stopped dancing on my eyes I could see the picture clearly. Way too clearly. It's hard to explain how no other picture could compare in how real we looked. Everything was there, from the thread work of my sweater to the hairs on our heads. It was like seeing us through real eyes, not a mechanical lens. I was just glad the camera didn't catch us writhing in pain after the flash, we were smiling and happy, a perfect portrait from the mid-chest up. I could feel it just by looking at us. It might as well have been a video, I could have sworn I saw us moving and breathing. But no, that's ridiculous. It was a simple picture taken by an ordinary camera.

A few months later my boyfriend broke up with me. Out of nowhere. He didn't give me any reasons and I was devastated. When I got home, tears streaking down my face, the first thing I did was rip open the wooden box I had kept all the rose petals from our second year anniversary in. By then they had dried out into potpourri. I threw them in my kitchen sink and burned them with my mothers lighter. The smell of burning roses was odd, but I didn't want to appreciate it. As I wandered around my house, heartbroken, looking for other things that reminded me of him I saw the picture the elderly woman took of us a few months before. I had framed it and set it on my nightstand. I grabbed the frame and threw it to the ground, breaking it into pieces. I took the picture out of the broken heap and went to find some scissors. I made one hasty cut between us. Still crying I examined the two halves of the picture. I wasn't satisfied, he had hurt me far too much. So I scratched out his eyes. Those hyper realistic eyes that I'd so loved to look at every night before going to sleep. I scratched them out with the tip of the scissors. I felt a little better, but didn't stop crying until I severed his head and threw the pieces in the trash to try and forget about.

The next day I settled down in my couch with a pint of vanilla ice cream, watching the news. The anchorwoman whose never heard of "Au natural" was talking about some new murder investigation. I didn't really listen until the face of my ex-boyfriend came on screen. I about swallowed my spoon before turning it all the way up with the remote.

"-was found dead last night in his apartment dumpster. His head and left arm severed from his body at a startlingly clean cut. His eyes, that seemed to have been ripped from his head, have yet to be found."

I couldn't move. I didn't want to acknowledge it. I threw up my ice cream in the sink. I hadn't even noticed myself get up but somehow I did. As I sat in the kitchen, shaking and on the verge of hysteria, I saw tiny curled pieces of paper on the floor.