Please Just Take These Photos From My Hands (Hisao)

Please Just Take These Photos From My Hands


I drink in the words printed on the yellowing pages of the book in my hands. It's an old favorite, one that I'd forgotten I even still had. But then again, the attic seems to be the place for digging up forgotten things. I skip back and forth across the story, the tiny snippets of events playing out just as I remember. That's right, this is one of the books I'd had when I was in the hospital, ten thousand lifetimes ago. It had been my best and only friend at one time, and now it sits here, shunted off in some dark corner. It feels like a necessary tragedy, after having one child and with another on the way, there simply isn't room downstairs for things like this.

I snap the book shut, the far away world contained within sealed off in an instant. I could sit here all day, sifting through boxes and stacks of memories and momentoes, pieces of the past that jump out and greet me like old friends. But I came here for a reason... even if I've forgotten it all of the sudden. Huh.

I set the book down somewhere and turn towards the stairs that lead back down to the rest of the house. I just might have to ask my wife to refresh my memory as to why I came up here in the first place. She'll say something about me getting old no doubt, but I blame the gray hairs that have begun to lurk in the mirror on our daughter's entrance into middle school. I swear, if my medications hadn't improved over the years I'd been taking them, that girl would have given me a heart attack ten times over by now.

I take careful, measured steps towards the stairs, as if I were wading through a minefield. I might as well be with some of the stuff strewn around this attic, geez, do we ever throw anything away? I almost trip over an old vacuum cleaner, and end up sticking out my hand in order to maintain my balance. This of course, has the effect of knocking something off one of the dusty shelves. For every action, equal but opposite reaction, etc. After ten years of teaching science, I know the words by more than heart.

Tiny particles of dust glitter in the thin rays of light that pierce the air. I squint to make out the object newly displaced onto the floor. At first glance it looks like a large book, but as I pick it up, closer inspection reveals it to be a photo album.

My curiosity is piqued, rediscovering my purpose up here will have to wait. I look around for a box that looks stable enough to sit on, and then do just that. The photo album lets out a leathery creak as I open it to the first page, and thirty pairs of eyes stare back at me. It's one of my old class photos from middle school, I can't remember the teacher's name and I can barely recall who any of my friends were back then. I have to squint and search for my own face... there, near the bottom right. I almost don't recognize the boy that looks back at me, but the slightly unkempt hair and that stupid cowlick...

I instinctively reach towards my own head, feeling with my hand. Yeah. Still there...

The boy in the picture isn't really smiling. I remember that, I was never very good at smiling for photos, I guess it seemed cheesy. Maybe back then I thought that photos should be an accurate representation of who you are at the time, and I just didn't smile a lot. I don't know, it's more than a little fuzzy now. Maybe I am getting old after all.

I flip through the next couple pages, some of the photos here are so old that they were in color once, but you almost can't tell now. Those are my grandparents, they're gone now. There, that's my uncle, I think he's still around... junior high graduation, man, that was an awkward day. And then, there's almost nothing from my first two years of high school, as if I had stopped doing anything worth taking a picture of. Even if that wasn't the case, I was getting too old to be hounded by my parents to pose for a photograph, and they were so busy those days that I barely saw them.

I make a mental note to call my parents later and do some catching up, and then turn the page. It's blank. So is the page after that, and that. Huh. Well that was a nice little trip down memory lane, I wonder if I should put this album somewhere safer. On a whim, I flip one more page just to make sure there isn't anything else further on in the book.

There is. A lot, actually.

 The first picture is of my old science and homeroom teacher from Yamaku. Mutou. Akio Mutou, damn... I can't remember the name of really any of my teachers from my old high school, but somehow, I can still recall the names of every one I had at Yamaku, even after all this time.

Mutou is staring at the camera, frowning slightly and looking uncomfortable. At the very edge of the picture is a familiar face framed in pink drills, grinning widely. A hand is extended above Misha's head, two fingers forming a V--or in this case, bunny ears.

Damn. Damn, that's right. Some time about halfway through the year, the staff had distributed cameras to all the students, just cheap little disposable ones. They'd given some speech about using them to make memories of our last year in high school, I think it was a fad going around in the education system at that point, and even Yamaku isn't immune to some things like that. Haha, it was kind of a joke at first, I had shrugged and taken that picture right after I had gotten my camera, hence Mutou's awkward expression. But then again... yeah, he always looked like that. I grin at the memories that slowly begin to float upwards from somewhere deep inside my head.

Shizune and Misha, the two of them were so excited that day. Shizune gave us a quick lecture about using the cameras responsibly and not wasting film, since the school was only going to provide us with one or two rolls a piece. But the whole time, she had this glint in her eyes, and I could tell she was doing everything in her power to keep the childlike grin from her face. I'm pretty sure she had spent an entire roll of film photographing the Student Council room... and then somehow still had plenty left the rest of the school year. Curious, that.

I turn the page, and a splash of brilliant blue sky leaps out at me. I had been eating lunch on the roof that day with Emi and Rin, and had managed to sneak my camera out of my bag and into position, just waiting for the right moment to strike. My patience had been rewarded, and now I gaze at the sight of Emi, a few grains of rice stuck to her chin as she inhales her lunch like a black hole. She had looked up at the last second, and her expression is absolutely priceless, like a deer caught in headlights. Next to her, Rin stares at the camera with her faint smile, she had never really been interested in them and hadn't even bothered to try operating one with her feet. But anyway. Yeah, if I recall correctly, I think I had run for my life at that point, even though there was no way in hell I was going to escape from Emi.

Below that picture is another, and then another, and another. Lilly smiling brightly although she would never be able to see the final photo. A snapshot of a hallway at an odd angle, as if I had stuck my hand out a door to take the picture. I can make out Hanako's silhouette, one leg in the air as if she were hopping across the floor. Oh damn, the tilehopping game, I'd forgotten all about that.

I'd forgotten about a lot, apparently. I continue flipping through the pages of the photo album. I'm smiling, laughing, sometimes cringing, but the further I go, the deeper some hole inside of me seems to open up. Molly at her violin recital. Taro, squinting as he takes a picture of me while I take a picture of him. Rin in a moment of rare disapproval, I had snuck up on her while she was in deep thought mid-painting. I had only wanted to try to capture her in all the glory of the creative process, but she had complained about how, if talking about a work in progress was bad luck, taking a picture of one was even worse. Two wrongs must have made a right though, because I remember that painting coming out great. I think. I couldn't really tell.

I hadn't realized just how big this photo album was, all the old pictures of my life before Yamaku only seem to have taken up the first quarter of the pages, and the rest is crammed full of memories in vivid color. Misha in front of a massive parfait... and then a second picture of an empty bowl and a queasy looking girl, her expression somewhere between satiation and deep regret. Shizune, crossing her arms and making her pouty war face, after I had asked her to say cheese. In hindsight, that wasn't a very bright idea, but at least I got a good photo out of it. Here's one of the school nurse, his hands thrust in his pockets looking like he's in mid lecture. Behind him stands Rika, her expression completely empty and deadpan, hands at her skirt, mimicking the nurse. I crack a wide grin. Damn, damn, it's been so long.

I almost want to stop, I almost want to close the photo album, but I can't. Every picture brings back a torrent of memories now, not just of a moment but of a feeling, of the way my life was like back then. Man. I was so confused at times, still getting my grip on living with my condition, not to mention living in general. I was an asshole sometimes, back then. As if to prove it, here's a picture that someone else must have taken, thrust between the pages. Taro, good old bulky Taro, stands between me and Takashi, the two of us raising our fists and ready to go. I don't even remember what we were arguing about that day, maybe we didn't need a reason. Hell, maybe it was just to impress the girls, I did my fair share of stupid things that year.

Another photo, this one of Kenji, slightly blurred with how fast he's moving. Saki had caught him trying to install cameras in the girls' dormitory--where he had got them from was a mystery, but he claimed he was doing it with the people's best interest at heart rather than anything perverted. Either way, Saki had never even raised her voice, all it took were a few of her razor sharp, honey-sweet words and Kenji had bolted. I don't think he came out of his room for at least a week after that.

That had been a pretty nice week, as I recall.

That melancholy feeling in my chest only deepens as I continue flipping through pages after pages of memories. We had treated the cameras as a joke at first, no one really took them seriously, but it had caught on. And as the year had begun to wind down, a sense of urgency had started going around. “Hey, that's cool, let me get a photo” turned into “Can I get your contact info?” and “Hold still, this might be our last chance”, and even worse, “Let's all go out and do something tonight that we'll never forget!”. Even the faintest impression of that panic, that desperate urge to hold on to something that's slipping through your fingers, is enough to set me on edge. God, my god, I had begun that school year cursing my misfortune, and by the time it was over I was wishing it would never end. I find myself clenching my teeth as I continue through the photos. Emi at the track, leaving the entire world in her dust, wearing that expression of bliss. A sleeping Lilly, and a terrified, awkward Hanako desperately trying to fend off a wickedly grinning Shizune armed with a marker. Miki grinning brightly while waving at the camera, a passed out Suzu draped across her back. Yuuko, looking stricken instead of smiling as we'd requested, wringing her hands. Shizune and Misha, standing proudly before the assembled students and delivering the valedictorian speech--oh god, that one's from graduation, how'd that get there? I was not ready for that.

Graduation. No, I can't even think about it, I don't think I could take it. I silently offer a prayer of thanks that nothing in college had ever come close to that, the world of credits and transfers and cohorts was completely different from high school. I'm sure there are some memories of my time at university somewhere further in the back, but for now, I don't know how much more of this I can take. I steal a peek at one of the later pages, I can barely make out one of the photos, everything is blindingly lit by the flash. I think it's... oh yeah, it's from that trip to the woods, everyone was gathered around trying to start a campfire and failing miserably at it. Shizune is standing in the center, trying her best to educate the rest of us on proper fire-building technique, but her signing was useless in the dark of night and it frustrated her to no end. The smoldering expression in her face is matched by her hands in midair, but everyone else is wincing from the glare of the flash at night, I think I got called more than a few rude names after taking that picture.

Feeling my resolve begin to weaken, I slowly turn a few more pages. Here's a copy of the class photo from our yearbook. Heh, Misha's disability is that she's on the student council. All these memories, I can feel myself beginning to be crushed under the weight of them. My life now is wonderful, I wouldn't trade it for anything, but there's something about these pictures of times and friends long gone, some siren song that calls out to me and draws me forward, even as it softly says you can't get this back. You can't get this back.

And it's true. I can't go back to those days. God, I wish I could sometimes, to be young and stupid and have no commitments and worries aside from remembering to take my pills and do my homework. Life was simple. Life was easy. But here I am now, I'm all grown up, and I haven't seen these people in years and years. I resolve to find my yearbook next, begin calling old numbers and seeing if they still work. Maybe I can get some of the old gang together, the last time I heard from Kenji was in the form of a box in the mail. It had contained a stainless-steel flask, engraved with the words “don't believe her lies”. A fitting wedding present, I suppose. I need to track that old bastard down, see what he's up to.

Just as I'm about to gently set the photo album aside, I come across one last picture. There she is. The face of my future wife smiles back at me, that brilliant, beautiful smile that I have the honor of enjoying every single day now. I sit there, in the attic, drenched in memories. I bask in the warmth of that smile, and remember our first date, our first kiss. I remember graduation together, each of us struggling to hold the other together during college. I remember the wedding ceremony. Here she is, the only thing I've still been able to hold onto after all the time that's passed since Yamaku.

I return that smile, and then softly close the book. I hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and a small face appears, squinting through the dust.

“Daaad.” The girl says. “Dinner's ready.”

I think I can smell it now. “Your mother actually pulled that recipe off, huh?”

My daughter, our daughter, flashes a bright grin. “Well, I helped a lot. Come on, it's getting cold!”

“Fine fine, I'm on my way.” I giver her a smile, and she retreats back down the staircase. I stand up, and hold the photo album tightly in my arms. I can't carry something like this around with me everywhere I go, you just can't live like that, constantly weighed down with memories, be they good or bad. But there's a time and a place for remembering, that place was here, that time was now. And it will be again, but after dinner. I can't wait to share this with the lovely chef downstairs.






“Please Just Take These Photos From My Hands” is a song by Snow Patrol.