Page 52 of Bad Influence
“Yeah, but we can still keep playing the game when we’re together.”
I turn around, walking back where I came from. I get there before Caroline and when I don’t see her, I panic a little.
“You know how to get back right?” I confirm.
I can almost hear her eye roll. “No, Killian, I’ve gotten on the train and I’m heading to the city.”
“I’m just trying to confirm that you’re not lost,” I say.
“I’m not lost,” her whisper comes in my ear. I turn around and she’s standing right behind me, a soft smile on her face. The wind whips her hair around, making her laugh quietly.
I disconnect the call and slip my phone back into my pocket.
Caroline raises an eyebrow. “Did you just hang up on me? Rude.”
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
She nods. “Starving.”
I take her to a Greek restaurant that’s no more than an alley, just big enough for the counter, a long table along the window, and standing room only. Someone is leaving as soon as we walk in and Caroline grabs a spot at the table while I order.
While I wait for our gyros, I glance behind me at Caroline. She has her elbow resting on the table as she watches the world outside. And I want to paint her like this too, a part of the world, but completely away from it.
“Thank you,” she says, when I set her food in front of her. “Did you manage to get a lot of good pictures?”
I nod, taking a bite. Setting down my Gyro, I take my phone out and unlock it, setting it on the table between us.
Caroline swipes through all the photos I took, humming quietly to herself. I can’t tell if she’s impressed or disappointed.
“My medium of art is paint, not photography,” I say.
Looking at me, Caroline says, “These are really good. Not that I’m a photographer. This one is my favorite.”
She turns the phone slightly towards me so I can see which photo she’s viewing. It’s an old poster that’s been ripped and under it you can see faded paint that was once red. It’s so uninteresting I can’t understand why it’s her favorite.
“Why this one?” I ask. “Why not the flowers? Or the awning?
“Something about this one just reminds me of forgotten days,” she says softly. “Like no matter how hard we try to cover it up there are some things which linger long past their time and can never be erased.”
When she looks up at me, I see the reflection of those forgotten days in her eyes. Days when she was just Caroline and I was just Killian. When we could still dream of something else. Maybe she’s right. Maybe those days can never be erased and have become a part of our souls. No matter how much we try to cover them up with something else they will always be there.
“Maybe some things aren’t meant to be forgotten,” I say. “Maybe they are meant to be relived and reimagined in ways we never thought possible.”
“I really hope that’s true,” she whispers. Slowly, she lowers her eyes. “Can you send me this photo, please?”
I send the photo to her, happy that she will have a little reminder of our afternoon. Finally, she sets her phone on the counter between us for me to swipe through.
She took a lot more photos than I did, clearly more interested in the game than me. It was a chance for her to explore a part of Brooklyn by herself and I can see her excitement in her photos.There’s an old ribbon tied to someone’s bike. The door of a bodega. Rides at a playground. A photo of the sky so blue it hurts to even look at it.
Immediately, I can see the difference between her photos and mine. I looked forthings. She looked forlife. I stop at a photo of graffiti done entirely in blue. It’s a woman with a scarf wrapped around her head, her face in profile as she laughs at something. It’s a moment captured in time.
“I thought you’d like that one,” Caroline says. “Isn’t the artwork amazing?”
The artist did an incredible job of highlighting the small details. You can almost feel the joy of the painting.
“You took a lot of good photos,” I say. “Maybe you’re the one with the artistic eye.”
Caroline just laughs, shaking her head. “I can’t even draw a straight line. I’ve seen your artwork, remember? I can’t do what you do.”
