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In the Dark
By Windy Tanner
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The gold-embossed eight by ten picture frame held their last family
photograph. The mother, in her favorite blue floral dress, wore
her hair in a bun with a smile painted on her lips. The father
stood at her side, wearing a new navy pinstripe suit purchased
by his beloved. Below them, sitting on a wicker love seat, were
their children. The girl, in her early teens, wore a satin white
blouse and a black skirt. Her brother, only a few years older,
sat to her left, wearing his favorite plaid shirt and khakis.
It was his reflection, somewhat older and more mature now, that
shown in the glass of the frame.
A door slam startled Stephen into the present. He lingered a few
more moments in the past, remembering high school days of baseball
and friendships he thought would never end.
When he walked into the kitchen, lemon-scented Lysol burned his
nostrils. His mother, just returned from the grocery store, was
pacing from paper Piggly-Wiggly sacks on the breakfast table to
the pantry across the room. Virginia mumbled through her daily
list of things that had to be accomplished, still unaware of her
son's presence. She cradled several silver cans of LeSeur English
peas and carried them across the tile floor. Stephen stood astonished
at her level of energy. "Hey, Mom. How's the grocery store?"
Virginia jumped in response, then stated, "Busy. When'd you
get here?"
"Not that long ago. I was just on my way home and thought
I'd come by. Where's Cara? I haven't seen her around lately."
"I'm not sure. She should have left a note around here somewhere."
Virginia began looking for her daughter's handwriting on pieces
of newsprint and the backs of envelopes that were laying on the
table. "She used to be so good about that; now she always
claims that she forgot." She fumbled with a yellow note pad
beside the phone, but the note she found there was an old one.
Virginia tore off the top piece of paper and placed it on yesterday's
front page of the newspaper.
"Has she made some new friends? Met a guy?" Stephen
braced his arms on the back of a chair at the table.
"Not any that she's told me about. Why? Have you seen her
with some new people?" Virginia scanned the refrigerator,
lifting homemade magnets in hopes of redeeming her daughter.
"No, she's just never around anymore."
Virginia seemed to give up and began collecting the papers from
the table, throwing them in the trashcan under the sink. "Are
you staying for dinner?" She hurried back over to the refrigerator
and pulled the freezer door open. A whole cut-up chicken slid
out and fell to the floor. Virginia jumped back a few inches;
the bird landed just in front of her feet.
"Now do you think he knew that I need him tonight,"
she giggled. "Did you say if you were staying, Stevie?"
"No ma'am. I need to get some things done before dark. I
might be by later, though."
Stephen ambled toward his mother who was now setting the chicken
in the microwave to defrost. He kissed her on the cheek, whispering,
"Love you," in her ear. Loose hairs from her bun tickled
his nose, causing a grin to spread across his face.
Stephen walked out the door and climbed into his truck. The Chevrolet,
a hand-me-down from his grandfather, was a faded red and coated
with a thick layer of dust. Putting it in reverse, he backed out
of the concrete driveway.
He drove through town, passing the boarded windows of the pharmacy,
and remembered the old man who owned it. On many afternoons, Stephen
went there after school. Mr. Avery would give him free jawbreakers
if the young boy could tell him two good grades he had made that
week. The store closed less than a year after mass manufacturing
stores made their mark in Langely. Shaking his head, Stephen said
aloud, "It's a Wal-Mart world."
He turned right at the intersection and saw a UPS truck outside
of Harrington's Hardware, owned by his father. His grandfather,
the store's previous owner, was signing for the shipment; Stephen
threw up his hand as he drove by.
Driving on, Stephen reminisced about running the cash register
at the hardware store when he was younger. He would take the money
and make change while Cara placed the purchased items in bags.
When the store was empty, one would pretend to buy PVC pipe joints
and ratchets while the other typed prices into an old adding machine
that their father had reserved solely for them. Stephen laughed,
making a turn onto a dirt road.
He heard a dog bark, but when he looked into the rearview mirror,
the only thing to be seen was a cloud of reddish-brown dust. It
was always the same dog anyway. The chocolate lab had been there
for as long as Stephen could remember, though he never could place
the dog with a near-by home.
The road descended into a steep hill. Stephen followed it to its
level bottom, just beside the lake. The spot of water was closer
to being the size of a pond, but the city's inhabitants insisted
that it was not. He climbed out of the truck, carrying a black
duffle bag.
Stephen walked around the water for a few moments, looking for
the perfect spot. He saw three wood ducks across the lake. Placing
the bag on the ground and kneeling beside it, Stephen continued
to glimpse back at the ducks. He pulled out a camera and affixed
a three hundred-millimeter lens. The experienced photographer
wrapped the strap around his right hand, with which he held the
camera; rested the lens in his left palm; and pressed both arms
against his chest.
Stephen leaned against a dead tree and looked once again at the
ducks. He adjusted the aperture ring until he could perfectly
see the birds bobbing their heads into the water. He pushed took
several pictures of the three of them and then turned his attention
to the inanimate objects around him. Photographing cattails at
the water's edge, the sun setting behind the few clouds in the
sky, and a cat that had just spied his web-footed subjects, Stephen
was truly content. He changed from various long focal lenses to
short and back again, snapping shots until the film began to rewind.
Squatting down beside the bag again, he unzipped an outside pocket
and searched for another roll of film. "Damn," he said
as he pulled out his last roll, a twelve-exposure freebee. "Oh
well."
As he stood, he saw two people at the far end of the water's edge,
near the ducks' fishing spot. They were standing close to each
other, but the distance was too great to see anything further.
Stephen took the lens off the camera and searched for his three
hundred millimeter. Finding it, he tightened the lens in place.
He straightened his legs and carefully positioned the camera,
adjusting the aperture ring and shutter together in a perfect
partnership. Staring at the couple through the lens, Stephen felt
intrusive; but this didn't keep him from following through. The
first photo he took was of the man holding the woman in an embrace.
He could not see either of their faces. The back of the man's
head was in front of the woman's face. He had short blonde hair
and was dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. The longhaired lady
had her fingers in her lover's hair, with her other hand in the
small of his back. Stephen concluded that they were probably both
married to other people; this was their private spot, the only
place they could be together and not be forced to hide their feelings.
The woman's head was now resting on the man's chest, her arms
around his neck.
Stephen tried to get a better angle, stepping over a few feet.
He braced the camera and pressed the button, just before the woman
spun around. The film began to rewind but Stephen did not move,
staring at her face for a moment before realizing that this woman
was his sister. Sitting down in the grass beside the cattails,
he still watched her through the lens. The man took Cara's hand
and turned to face Stephen. He lowered the camera for a second,
then steadied it at eye level once more. The man was a woman,
too.
Stephen sprung to his feet and looked away from them. He hurried
back to the truck, and climbed inside, still holding the camera.
Sitting there, gazing at the water, he tried to piece together
what he had just witnessed. Then he saw it lying in the grass.
"My bag." Stephen opened the door of the truck and ran
back to the ground where he was previously sitting. He looked
around for Cara, but she was gone. Scaling the steep hill for
the last time, he sauntered back to the truck.
The drive home was blurred. Stephen knew the route well, which
left his mind to roam back to his only sibling and her . . . "her
lover," he said aloud. He saw them kissing over and over
again, remembering how in love he thought this man and woman were.
Why had he spied on them anyway?
He turned the truck back onto the paved road. A car drove past
him; the driver waved. But Stephen stared straight ahead. His
stomach churned. He felt hot, then suddenly nauseous. Taking deep
breaths, he fought it off as he ran a stop sign and turned in
to Forest Hill, the apartment complex where he lived. His speed
slowed and the Chevy bounced over a speed bump. Stephen drove
past the four bedroom apartments, then the three bedrooms, the
twos, and parked in front of the three one-bedroom apartments
at the end of the road. Grabbing his duffle bag, Stephen stepped
down from the truck. Sliding the key into the dead bolt and turning
it, he pushed the door open and walked inside.
Vacuum lines could be seen on the cream-colored carpet. The ottoman
was in place, a few inches from the only chair in the room. A
thirteen-inch television sat on an old coffee table across the
room. The only thing on the floor was a basket of clean laundry.
Stephen went directly into the bathroom, carrying the bag. Two
layers of black felt were stapled to the window, shutting out
all sunlight. He placed the bag on the toilet seat and turned
to face the metal storage cabinet that was positioned between
the sink and the tub. It was crowded with packs of solutions,
trays, beakers, and smaller items, such as a photographic thermometer
and blunt-edged scissors.
Stephen removed from the top shelf five gallon-sized storage containers,
all labeled. He poured developer into a beaker with a felt tip
marker ink reading "DEVELOPER", adding water to the
appropriate red line, then poured stop bath and fixer into labeled
beakers. Turning on the water in the sink, Stephen held the thermometer
under the water. Once at sixty-eight degrees, he placed a pan
in the sink, filling it almost to the brim. He put the labeled
beakers in the water, then sat on the side of the tub, staring
at the duffle bag. He thought about the process of loading the
film and placing it in the tank, shaking it for several minutes,
just to develop pictures that he didn't even want to think about.
"I'll do it tomorrow. After dinner," he said, and began
pouring the chemicals into their proper containers and placing
them on the shelves. Stephen sighed, washed his hands, and left
the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
The next day was Sunday. The entire family met at Virginia and
Clayton Harrington's house for lunch after church. Stephen pulled
into the drive behind his sister's blue Neon, and got out. Before
he closed the truck door, Cara was on the porch. "Hey, big
brother, got any new pictures for me to see?" Stephen marveled
at how much she had grown in the past year. She's a grown woman
now, he thought. The image from the day before crept into his
mind, her kissing that woman, that lesbian. He couldn't seem to
shake it.
"No, not this week. Where've you been hiding lately?"
They walked inside and stood in the living room.
"I've just been staying after school a lot, working on some
projects. High school's pretty tough, remember?" Cara crossed
her arms and looked up at her brother. "What's wrong?"
Stephen forced a smile and said, "Nothing." He gently
poked her in the ribs, causing Cara to flinch. "Why do you
always worry so much about me?"
His sister tugged on Stephen's arm, forcing him to sit on the
couch. "Somebody needs to, and I haven't yet found the perfect
woman who'll take over for me."
Stephen's mind wandered back to the stolen kiss that he witnessed.
He thought he heard his sister say, "I haven't found the
perfect woman for me." When he came out of his daze and studied
her concerned face, he knew that he had misunderstood her words.
Virginia stood in the doorway that led to the kitchen. "Dinner's
ready. Y'all come eat."
Brother and sister stood, following their mother into the dining
room where the rest of the family waited. The father, Clayton,
was in his usual seat beside the mashed potato bowl. T.C., Clayton's
father, was sawing roast beef when Stephen came in behind Cara.
"Hey, boy. I was beginning to think you weren't coming. What
kind of stories you got this week? You make any pictures?"
On any other Sunday, nobody would say a word about photography,
Stephen thought to himself. "Actually, I was kind of busy
this week with work. I didn't have much time for anything else."
Virginia walked around the table, refilling everyone's glass with
tea. "Did you get your stuff done last night?"
"Yes, ma'am. I just had to call some people about jobs. The
McKenzie's want me to be the photographer at the daughter's wedding.
Did she tell you?" Stephen spooned green beans onto his plate.
"Margaret told me that this morning. Your first paying job
as a photographer." Virginia hustled back into the kitchen,
putting the tea into the refrigerator and removing biscuits from
the oven. She walked back into the dining room carrying the cookie
sheet and dropped steaming biscuits on everyone's plate.
"Mom," Cara said, "Why don't you sit down and eat?"
Virginia was turning to leave the room once more. "Oh, I
will. I just need to get everything settled first," she said
without stopping.
Cara looked at Stephen. They shared a private snicker before Virginia
was back again.
Soon plates were cleared and replaced with saucers filled with
apple cobbler, Stephen's favorite dessert. He was the first to
finish, and left the table, taking his plate into the kitchen
where Virginia was washing dishes. On the counter beside used
casserole dishes and pots was their stack of dirty plates. Stephen
set his saucer on top and his fork in a bowl filled with water
and other silverware.
"Great meal, Mom. I enjoyed it."
Virginia turned around. Suds covered her left hand. "Are
you leaving?"
"I think I'm going to head on out. I need to spend some time
in the dark room today." He leaned over and kissed his mother
on the cheek.
In the other room, Stephen said his good-byes and made Cara promise
to call him later.
Once Stephen was at home, his nausea returned; and a full stomach
wasn't helping. He sat down in his chair, his elbows on his knees,
hands holding his head. Stephen's body moved with deep breaths.
His brown hair between his fingers, he clenched his fist and said,
"Why can't I stop seeing them?"
Stephen released his hair from its bondage and looked up from
the floor. Standing, he felt slightly dizzy. Once this subsided,
he went back into the bathroom and picked up the duffle bag that
was now lying on the floor.
Taking out his camera and removing the film, Stephen recalled
every step he had made and every photo he had taken. He sat the
film on the edge of the sink and walked over to the shelves, looking
in a plastic basket for his film cassette opener. He pulled out
a tool that was identical to a bottle opener, and picked up the
yellow roll. Opening and unwinding it, he exposed the film to
the bathroom light. He wadded the film into a tangled ball and
left his makeshift dark room. Stephen, with long strides, walked
into the kitchen, pushing the film down into the trash can.
He stared down at the white trash bag. He could no longer see the brown mess that he believed he created. "It's done."
