Good Lord, it’s hot.
Why is it so hot?
Why are the lights so bright?
How did I get on stage?
“You ready?” Sandra asks.
I nod. Then, “Oh my God,” I mouth. I sign to Sandra, “My speech is in my purse at the table.” Before I finish signing the last word, Josh is already jogging toward me, my purse held tightly in his grasp. He jumps on stage, ignoring the steps on either side of it. “Here you go, baby,” he says, handing me the purse and kissing my cheek. Then he faces the audience. “She’s my girlfriend,” he says, his shoulders square. The room fills with light chuckles. “Isn’t she cute when she’s nervous?”
I wait until he’s off the stage before getting the speech from my purse and unfolding the paper. I look over at Josh and my dad, the only two people in the room who are on their feet. Josh taps his nose, and then his chest, his cheesy grin causing me to do the same. I nod at Sandra who translates into the microphone, “That was my boyfriend. Isn’t he cute when he’s saving me?”
The laughter that comes eases some of the tension, and I refocus on my task, on the words scrawled in front of me. I look over at Josh and my dad one more time, both of them smiling, the pride in their eyes giving me the encouragement I need.
“I fell in love with photography when I was fourteen, when a simple image I’d taken had captured my breath and captured my heart. I remember sitting there, looking at the screen, at this one image, and knowing for certain that life had so much more to offer than what we all chose to see through shielded eyes and shielded minds. It became my task—to capture moments that made me question the world, question my life, question everything.
After seventeen years of living a life in fear, in darkness, I thought I’d accept my fate.
By eighteen, I began to question it again.
Because it was at that point that I met my grandmother, the woman in the center of this photograph. My grandmother believed in fate, believed in faith and in God, and even though she believed in His purpose, that didn’t mean she didn’t question it. And that, in turn, made me see things through her lens. Through her eyes. Eyes that have experienced sadness and loss and joy and elation.
My grandmother was a nurse.
A teacher.
A green thumb.
An artist.
A hell raiser.
And a poet.
But above all those things, my grandmother loved.
This was the last photograph I took of her before she passed away. Before she was laid to rest and there was nothing left to question. But she taught me better than that. So on the night she passed, I stared at this image, stared at her tiny hands, stared at her smile, stared at her dark, soul-filled eyes. It wasn’t the first time I’d thought about it—how it should be impossible that so much light, so much hope, could come from such darkness…
…but here I stand, proof that anything is possible.”
40
—Becca—
“Becca, I love you. A lot. And your speech was phenomenal. Truly. And this night is all about you,” Josh says, “All. About. You. But seriously, I can’t go on that roof again. I just can’t. And you may love me less, and you might see me as less of a man, but for real, I had nightmares for days after the last time. Those damn birds were everywhere. And in my dreams—Becca!”—he tugs on my hand as I lead him up the staircase and toward the rooftop of Say Something—“In my dreams, they were crows and they were eating my eyeballs while I was still alive!” My head throws back with laughter. “No birds this time,” I sign.
“Promise me.”
I laugh harder.
“Becca, I’m serious! Promise me!”
“I promise,” I mouth.
* * *
I grab the lantern as well as a blanket I’d prepared earlier and walk to the middle of the rooftop, Josh following closely behind me. After laying the blanket down, I sit on it, pulling Josh’s tuxedo jacket tighter around me. It’s colder now than it was the last time we were here, and though I haven’t been up here since, I thought it’d be the perfect place to talk to him about something that’s been on my mind since Grams passed and I realized that life’s too damn short not to be living it to the fullest.
“That really was a great speech, Becs,” he says. “And in case I haven’t told you, I’m really proud of you.”
“You’ve told me,” I sign. “But I love hearing it.”
“Good. So what’s up?”
“Nothing.” I shrug.
“Liar,” he says, poking my knee. “I can tell you want to talk. I know you.”
“You think you ‘see’ me, huh?” I sign.
“Yeah.” He nods, looking directly in my eyes, wistfulness in his stare as if my eyes hold all his memories of us. Maybe for him, they do. His smile holds all of mine. “I see you, Becs.”
I sit up straighter, yanking up my sleeves so he can see my hands clearer. “I do want to talk to you.”
“Okay…”
I sign, “I realized after the internship over the summer that I was going down—”
“Okay, stop,” he cuts in, covering my hands. “I’m sorry, I can’t… maybe go a little slower or…”
I reach for my phone.
“No, we can try signing, it’s just…”
“It’s okay,” I mouth.
“I’m really sorry, babe. It’s just hard for me to try to find the time to practice and learn—”
I wave my hand between us. “Stop it,” I mouth. Then kiss him quickly. “You’ve already learned so much in so little time,” I sign. Then have Cordy say, “I love and appreciate it, but some things are easier for me to type anyway.”
He nods, but he’s still unsure.
“Seriously, Josh. Even I would’ve struggled with signing.”
He nods again. “Go ahead.”
“So…”
“So…?” he asks.
“Okay. Here goes…”
“Uh oh.”
“It’s not bad.”
“Then why am I nervous?” he says. “You’re making me nervous. Just say it.”
I blow out a breath.
“You know what?” He moves behind me until I’m settled between his legs and his arms are around my waist. He rests his chin on my shoulder and says, “Just type it and I’ll watch. This way you can’t delete anything without me seeing.”
I kiss his cheek and refocus on my phone. What I wanted to say was that after the internship over the summer, I realized that I was going down the wrong path…
“Yeah? Too much journalism and not enough photography, right?”
I nod.
“I was wondering if you’d think that.”
You did?
“You just didn’t seem happy when I asked you about it, that’s all.”
You do see me!
He squeezes me once. “Of course I do. So where’s your head at now?
I’m not really sure. I just know that I want to photograph anything and everything. I don’t want to have to write about it, though. I want the photograph to speak for itself, you know? And I don’t want to just do it here. I want to do it all over the world.
Why is it so hot?
Why are the lights so bright?
How did I get on stage?
“You ready?” Sandra asks.
I nod. Then, “Oh my God,” I mouth. I sign to Sandra, “My speech is in my purse at the table.” Before I finish signing the last word, Josh is already jogging toward me, my purse held tightly in his grasp. He jumps on stage, ignoring the steps on either side of it. “Here you go, baby,” he says, handing me the purse and kissing my cheek. Then he faces the audience. “She’s my girlfriend,” he says, his shoulders square. The room fills with light chuckles. “Isn’t she cute when she’s nervous?”
I wait until he’s off the stage before getting the speech from my purse and unfolding the paper. I look over at Josh and my dad, the only two people in the room who are on their feet. Josh taps his nose, and then his chest, his cheesy grin causing me to do the same. I nod at Sandra who translates into the microphone, “That was my boyfriend. Isn’t he cute when he’s saving me?”
The laughter that comes eases some of the tension, and I refocus on my task, on the words scrawled in front of me. I look over at Josh and my dad one more time, both of them smiling, the pride in their eyes giving me the encouragement I need.
“I fell in love with photography when I was fourteen, when a simple image I’d taken had captured my breath and captured my heart. I remember sitting there, looking at the screen, at this one image, and knowing for certain that life had so much more to offer than what we all chose to see through shielded eyes and shielded minds. It became my task—to capture moments that made me question the world, question my life, question everything.
After seventeen years of living a life in fear, in darkness, I thought I’d accept my fate.
By eighteen, I began to question it again.
Because it was at that point that I met my grandmother, the woman in the center of this photograph. My grandmother believed in fate, believed in faith and in God, and even though she believed in His purpose, that didn’t mean she didn’t question it. And that, in turn, made me see things through her lens. Through her eyes. Eyes that have experienced sadness and loss and joy and elation.
My grandmother was a nurse.
A teacher.
A green thumb.
An artist.
A hell raiser.
And a poet.
But above all those things, my grandmother loved.
This was the last photograph I took of her before she passed away. Before she was laid to rest and there was nothing left to question. But she taught me better than that. So on the night she passed, I stared at this image, stared at her tiny hands, stared at her smile, stared at her dark, soul-filled eyes. It wasn’t the first time I’d thought about it—how it should be impossible that so much light, so much hope, could come from such darkness…
…but here I stand, proof that anything is possible.”
40
—Becca—
“Becca, I love you. A lot. And your speech was phenomenal. Truly. And this night is all about you,” Josh says, “All. About. You. But seriously, I can’t go on that roof again. I just can’t. And you may love me less, and you might see me as less of a man, but for real, I had nightmares for days after the last time. Those damn birds were everywhere. And in my dreams—Becca!”—he tugs on my hand as I lead him up the staircase and toward the rooftop of Say Something—“In my dreams, they were crows and they were eating my eyeballs while I was still alive!” My head throws back with laughter. “No birds this time,” I sign.
“Promise me.”
I laugh harder.
“Becca, I’m serious! Promise me!”
“I promise,” I mouth.
* * *
I grab the lantern as well as a blanket I’d prepared earlier and walk to the middle of the rooftop, Josh following closely behind me. After laying the blanket down, I sit on it, pulling Josh’s tuxedo jacket tighter around me. It’s colder now than it was the last time we were here, and though I haven’t been up here since, I thought it’d be the perfect place to talk to him about something that’s been on my mind since Grams passed and I realized that life’s too damn short not to be living it to the fullest.
“That really was a great speech, Becs,” he says. “And in case I haven’t told you, I’m really proud of you.”
“You’ve told me,” I sign. “But I love hearing it.”
“Good. So what’s up?”
“Nothing.” I shrug.
“Liar,” he says, poking my knee. “I can tell you want to talk. I know you.”
“You think you ‘see’ me, huh?” I sign.
“Yeah.” He nods, looking directly in my eyes, wistfulness in his stare as if my eyes hold all his memories of us. Maybe for him, they do. His smile holds all of mine. “I see you, Becs.”
I sit up straighter, yanking up my sleeves so he can see my hands clearer. “I do want to talk to you.”
“Okay…”
I sign, “I realized after the internship over the summer that I was going down—”
“Okay, stop,” he cuts in, covering my hands. “I’m sorry, I can’t… maybe go a little slower or…”
I reach for my phone.
“No, we can try signing, it’s just…”
“It’s okay,” I mouth.
“I’m really sorry, babe. It’s just hard for me to try to find the time to practice and learn—”
I wave my hand between us. “Stop it,” I mouth. Then kiss him quickly. “You’ve already learned so much in so little time,” I sign. Then have Cordy say, “I love and appreciate it, but some things are easier for me to type anyway.”
He nods, but he’s still unsure.
“Seriously, Josh. Even I would’ve struggled with signing.”
He nods again. “Go ahead.”
“So…”
“So…?” he asks.
“Okay. Here goes…”
“Uh oh.”
“It’s not bad.”
“Then why am I nervous?” he says. “You’re making me nervous. Just say it.”
I blow out a breath.
“You know what?” He moves behind me until I’m settled between his legs and his arms are around my waist. He rests his chin on my shoulder and says, “Just type it and I’ll watch. This way you can’t delete anything without me seeing.”
I kiss his cheek and refocus on my phone. What I wanted to say was that after the internship over the summer, I realized that I was going down the wrong path…
“Yeah? Too much journalism and not enough photography, right?”
I nod.
“I was wondering if you’d think that.”
You did?
“You just didn’t seem happy when I asked you about it, that’s all.”
You do see me!
He squeezes me once. “Of course I do. So where’s your head at now?
I’m not really sure. I just know that I want to photograph anything and everything. I don’t want to have to write about it, though. I want the photograph to speak for itself, you know? And I don’t want to just do it here. I want to do it all over the world.
