Picture Perfect

“Do I know you from somewhere? You have a strange resemblance to my Uncle Bruce.”

“Hey, Ems, isn’t your father’s name Bruce?”

These statements would potentially change everything.

“Yes,” I replied, “his name is Bruce.”

Bobby looked thoughtful, “That’s strange.”

We gazed at one another for a moment. I recognized him, and I knew that he recognized me, but neither one of us could place the other directly. I looked like his Uncle Bruce, and my father’s name is Bruce. What’s the connection? Oh, yeah. My jerk father. Well, technically we don’t know that for a fact, so I can’t say either way for sure. If we’re correct, however, that means that this guy, whom I never recall meeting before in my life, is my cousin.

Melanie than had a wondrous idea, “Let’s go to Emily’s house and snoop through all the photo albums! There’s bound to be something!”

Bobby and I reluctantly agreed to her crazy idea.

- - - - -

We got to my house at about the same time, Bobby and Melanie following close behind in his nice shiny car, to which I did not know the make or model.

They got out of his car and walked with me up to the door, not one of us saying a word. Luckily, as usual, my father was out, probably getting some more booze, since he drank the rest of the 24-pack this morning that he only got last night. I was thankful that he was always out when I brought people over. Especially the time that I brought William here… Oh, how I missed William. But this is not the time to discuss or think about William, or any of his attributes.

“Emily, may I see your family photo albums?” Bobby asked, ever so politely. You’d swear he was too good to be true with the way he was speaking. Then again, I wasn’t used to men speaking in such kind ways, without demands or threats.

“Yes, you may,” I replied just as kindly as he had asked. I guided him towards where we kept our albums.

He and Melanie looked through an album together, I’m not certain which. I casually opened one as well. I started looking through it, ever so leisurely. As soon as I opened it, I remembered something. In all of the photos, my mother and I had fake smiles plastered on our faces. Except this picture. In this one, I seemed to have a real smile on my face.

I was about ten years old in this photo. There was a boy with me in the photo. Who was this boy, and why couldn’t I remember it? I should remember things that happened when I was ten. Shouldn’t I? Why can’t I remember?

The boy, who had distinctive eyes, seemed to be glancing towards the ten-year-old me. I recognized these eyes. Whose were they? My mind began to spiral towards a point of no-return.

Melanie giggled and Bobby hushed her.

“What?” I asked, looking up. Bobby’s eyes hit me. They were his. The eyes in the photo were his. Why couldn’t I remember him?

“Look,” Melanie’s voice interrupted my thoughts. She pointed at a photo, in which I was wearing some crazy Halloween costume. It seemed I was dressed as a mini Marilyn Monroe. I had a copy of her famous beauty mark on my face. My mother had put it on with her eye liner. Why did I remember that and not other things?

“Oh, my God.”

“I knew you’d agree. You look so adorable, though.”

“Thanks,” I told her. “Hey, Bobby, you should check out this picture.”

Bobby walked over and glanced at the photo. His exact words: “Oh. My. Fucking. God.”

Periods inserted for his pauses, and some emphasis.

“Why don’t I remember that?”