I let myself begin to drift off, thinking Poppy had too, when she murmured, “What do you think heaven’s like, Rune?”
I tensed, but Poppy’s hands began to circle over my chest, ridding my body of the heaviness her question brought back.
“I don’t know,” I said. Poppy didn’t offer anything, just stayed exactly where she was. Shifting slightly to bring her tighter into my arms, I said, “Somewhere beautiful. Somewhere peaceful. Somewhere where I’d see you again.”
I felt Poppy smile against my shirt. “Me too,” she agreed softly and turned to kiss my chest.
This time I was sure Poppy slept. I looked across the sand and watched as an old couple sat down near us. Their hands were clasped tightly. Before the woman could sit, the man spread a blanket on the sand. He kissed her cheek before helping her to sit down.
A pang of jealousy shot through me. Because we would never have that.
Poppy and I would never grow old together. Never have kids. Never have a wedding. Nothing. But as I glanced down at Poppy’s thick brown hair and her delicate hands splayed on my chest, I let myself be grateful that at least I had her now. I didn’t know what lay ahead. But I had hernow.
I’d had her since I was five.
I now realized why I had loved her so hard from being so young—so I had this time with her. Poppy believed her spirit always knew she’d die young. I was starting to think that maybe mine did too.
Over an hour passed. Poppy was still sleeping. I gently lifted her from my chest and sat up. The sun had moved; waves lapped the shore.
Feeling thirsty, I opened the picnic basket and pulled out one of the bottles of water Poppy had packed. As I drank, my eyes rested on the backpack Poppy had carried from the trunk.
Wondering what was inside, I hauled it over and gently opened the zipper. At first all I saw was another black bag. This bag was padded. I pulled it out and my heart kicked into a sprint when I realized what I was holding.
I sighed and closed my eyes.
I lowered the bag to the blanket and rubbed my hands over my face. When I lifted my head, I opened my eyes and blankly stared out over the water. I watched the boats in the distance, Poppy’s words filtering into my mind…
I think they’re leaving it all behind. I think they woke up one day and decided there’s more to life. I think they decided—a couple in love, a boy and a girl—that they wanted to explore the world. They sold their possessions and bought a boat … She loves to play music, and he loves to capture moments on film…
My eyes left the camera bag that I knew so well. I understood where she got her theory about the boats.
He loves to capture moments on film…
I tried to be angry with her. I gave up taking pictures two years ago; it wasn’t who I was anymore. It was no longer my dream. NYU wasn’t in my plans. I didn’t want to pick the camera back up. But my fingers began to twitch, and, despite being pissed at myself, I lifted the lid off the case and peered inside.
The old black-and-chrome vintage Canon that I had treasured stared up at me. I felt my face blanch, the blood moving to rush through to my heart, which slammed against my ribs. I had thrown this camera away. I had discarded it and all that it meant.
I had no idea how the hell Poppy had gotten hold of it. I wondered if she’d tracked down another and bought it. I lifted it from the bag and turned it over. There, scratched into the back, was my name. I had scraped it there on my thirteenth birthday, when my mamma and pappa gave me this camera.
It was the exact one.
Poppy had found my camera.
Flipping the back, I saw a full roll of film inside. In the bag lay the lenses. The ones I knew so well. Despite the years, I still instinctively knew which one would work best for any given shot—landscape, portrait, nighttime, daylight, natural setting, studio…
Hearing a soft rustle from behind me, I glanced over my shoulder. Poppy was sitting, watching me. Her eyes fell to the camera. Nervously inching forward, she said, “I asked your pappa about it. Where it had gone. He told me that you threw it away.” Poppy’s head tilted to the side. “You never knew, and he never told you, but he found it. He saw you had thrown it away. You had broken parts of it. The lenses were cracked, and other things.” I was clenching my jaw so tightly it ached.
Poppy’s finger traced the back of my hand that was resting in the blanket. “He had it repaired without you knowing. He’s kept it safe for the past couple of years. He’s kept up hope that you would find your way back to photography. He knew how much you loved it. He also blames himself for the fact that you gave it up.”
My instinct was to open my mouth and hiss out that it was his fault. Everything was. But I didn’t. For some reason the twist in my stomach kept my mouth shut.
Poppy’s eyes glistened. “You should have seen him last night, when I asked him about it. He was so emotional, Rune. Even your mamma didn’t know he’d kept it. He even had reels of film ready. Just in case you ever wanted it back.”
I averted my gaze from Poppy’s, instead re-focusing on the camera. I didn’t know how to feel about all that. I tried for angry. But, to my surprise, anger refused to come. For some reason I couldn’t get the image from my head, of my pappa cleaning the camera and getting it fixed, on his own.
“He even has the darkroom ready and waiting for you, at your house.” I closed my eyes when Poppy added the last part. I was silent. Completely silent in response. My head was racing with too many thoughts, too many images. And I was conflicted. I had vowed never to take another picture.
But vowing it had been one thing. Holding the object of my addiction in my hands compromised everything I had sworn to fight against. To rebel against. To throw away, just like my pappa had cast aside my feelings when he chose to return to Oslo. The pit of heat in my stomach began to spread. This was the anger I anticipated. This was the blast of fire I was expecting.