Empty Photos

Empty Photos

Thick clouds of dust filled the air as I pulled a book from the towering stack before me. I swatted at air with my free hand, spluttering and coughing loudly. The attic was a small confined square, there were no windows, and the bulb that lit the room was fading rapidly. To make things worse I had seemingly completely engulfed the area in a suffocating mist. Necessity to breath forced my hand in quickly fleeing the space and I stumbled down the ladder in a loud clumsy manner. Coming to rest on the bottom wrungs, I sat for a moment, regaining my breath and composure. Once I could manage a breath and form coherent thought again I eyed the photo album in my hands with a sense of satisfaction. I hadn’t looked through the book in some time, and I could see my careless placement of the item in the attic had done it no favours. Each corner was bent and frayed, and as I opened the front page various photos dropped out, their protective covering having come lose. Cursing myself I placed the album aside and lent down to retrieve the scattered images, collecting them into a neat pile. I smiled as I looked at the image I had placed on top, a photo of me as a child, no more than two or three, inside a bright red toy car. The photo made me smirk as I recalled the warm summer days in which I had frolicked carefree in our small garden, whilst my parents encouraged my eager play. It was as I placed this photo back into the album and looked at the next in the pile that I felt a twinge in my chest. Their lay a photo of myself and my friend Alex, back in happier days, smiling away together.

I remember being sat in Spanish class when Alex had first come to my attention. He had always been slightly odd, and our first interaction was no different. Sat daydreaming in the classroom, (for in truth I was awful at languages and still am to this day), my silent paradise was shattered by the intrusion of a hand reaching over my shoulder. This small, boney orifice had proceeded to snatch my water bottle from in front of me and quickly recede back to the owner. Somewhat bemused, I had sat there for a moment, confused as to if I had just conjured up the event. Sure enough when I had turned to face the thief, there sat Alex, a smug self satisfied look on his face. Alex had a strange smile, it seemed to curve sharply up on the right, producing an effect upon which his cheeks would become puffed out and his eyes thin and squinted. I often wondered if he could see when pulling this awkward face, yet I never once broached the subject. I digress, I without saying a word had promptly taken back my water and spun around, without so much as a word, so not to cause a scene. Being shy I did not want any unnecessary attention brought upon myself. Alex had not said anything else to me for the remainder of the class and I intended to confront him at the end of the lesson, when out of earshot of my peers. However, once the bell had rang he had scampered away before I had the chance to catch him. I had searched for him at break, yet I couldn’t see him anywhere across the playground and gave up on my fruitless search, knowing we would inevitably see each other in the next Spanish lesson.

After this I had taken precautions, storing my water inside my bag so that the same incident did not occur again. I took my seat in the classroom a couple of days later and found Alex’s seat empty. He only appeared as the class began and murmured an apology I couldn’t hear from my seat. Keeping his eyes trained on the ground he hurried to his seat and buried his head in the textbook to avoid the confused gazes of the class. I sat cautiously as the lesson proceeded, keeping myself bolt upright and alert as the minutes slowly ticked by. It was not until near the end of the lesson that the wandering hand loomed over me again, this time snatching my pen from in beside my book. I turned more angrily this time, and the expression on my face seemed to shock Alex who quickly handed the item back to me. Bizarrely, this became a routine for about two weeks, Alex would take whatever item he could lay his hand upon and I would in turn, reach for it. However over time, and growing used to this odd behaviour, it became almost like a game. It wasn’t until the end of the second week of this oddball comedy sketch that I finally spoke to Alex. He had taken my entire pencil case this time, seemingly emboldened by the previous attempts. I as per our usual arrangement turned expectingly and he passed the item back to me. His curved smile was plastered upon his gormless face and as the class were mid discussion I decided to finally verbally confront him. In hushed tones I asked him what his game was taking my things every lesson. Sheepishly I recall him replying:

‘It’s just a bit of fun’.

Taking a moment to process that answer, I think I knew in that split moment if I indulged him he would be stuck with me. Yet, almost taking pity upon him, as his face seemed to be one of questioning desperation. I had responded that it was fun and killed the time in the boring lesson. Alex had grinned, satisfied with that answer and returned to his work without another word. From that moment on, with each lesson, we chatted idly more and more, about the class, the school, classmates, games, films, the list went on. By the end of the year we were hanging around as friends.

He had introduced me to his other friends; William and Ben, yet they seemed to tolerate his presence at best, bully him at worst, with relentless jibes thrown his way. Alex did not seem to openly care, as when they poked fun at his expense he would pull his usual smirking face, however I noted a tinge of sadness in his eyes, that were unrecognised by the others and ignored by myself. Seemingly, their relationship existed as Alex was just happy to have people take notice of him and to sit with him. I then learnt that they sat in the library and played cards, hence why I had never been able to find him on the playground at break or lunch time and I too became embroiled in this routine. At first I would only spend a short amount of time playing with them, before returning to my other friends and engaging in football. Yet, I was never very good at football, and thus the card games became longer and more frequent until it was all I did come every break. Spending more time with the trio, I came to adopt a similar attitude toward Alex as William and Ben, poking fun at his expense, yet never wanting to hurt him.

During this time Alex and I met often outside of school and away from the others I found myself to be much kinder and less sarcastic. I would listen to Alex and his issues, and find they often reflected my own. We were both unsuccessful with women for a start, we shared much common ground in our fruitless attempts to get girlfriends, in equal part due to our social awkwardness and our own inner fears of the inevitable flirtations from the objects of our desire. Still for a time we were content, willing away the hours playing videogames, idly and somewhat chauvinistically discussing the girls who were at our school and also attempting to actually receive decent grades in our classes. During school time however I found Alex’s oddities to be irksome, for while he had few friends to call his own, I mingled between groups, having been friends with some of the ‘in’ crowd from Primary school. They viewed Alex with revulsion, which began to cause cracks in our relationship.

A photo can be described as a moment in time, frozen and captured, preserving a certain feeling or mood. Gazing upon it years later I knew from the outside we both appeared happy, the perfect picture of friendship. However, beneath the surface, beneath that idyllic image lay the cold hard truth, and the eve on which that photo was taken was one of sorrow and bitterness.

It had been the night of a girl in our class’s birthday, (her name escapes me now). I had been lucky enough to be invited, purely due to association with the popular group, yet I had somehow managed to wrangle for Alex to be let in too, provided he brought his own alcohol, which obligingly, he did. I hadn’t informed him of this, not wanting to burst his naïve excitement of thinking he had been invited of his own accord. Nonetheless he accompanied me to the party, a fancy dress affair, (which I loathed, yet still partook in). Alex had taken the event seriously, dressing as a 118 man, whilst I, cheaply, had dressed in smart clothes, proclaiming I was a nerd. Donning my glasses, we had headed out into the night, a sense of shared anticipation and dread between us, as seen through the nervous glances and twitches of the pair of us. Having arrived at the party all was going well, we had been there for no more than ten minutes when Alex had wanted a photo taken of us. I had allowed one of the girls to take the picture, she said we looked cute and I smiled awkwardly at the compliment while Alex blushed. Promptly, William, who had arrived before us called out crudely:

‘Look at you two twats!’

I laughed heartily, taking it as an innocent joke, knowing I did look foolish. I turned to Alex, whose smiles had suddenly changed, a blank and vacant look had washed across his face and the colour in his cheeks had drained rapidly. In the low light of the room he almost looked grey. I went to ask if he was alright but he brushed me aside and had fled the room. Feeling a few intense looks in my direction I had headed over to William and a gathering group of my peers to cover the melodramatic moment which I had embarrassingly been a part of. William had asked me about Alex, but I had fallen into old routine, taking sarcastic pot-shots at my close friend to save face. Some five minutes had passed when Alex suddenly reappeared behind me, shocking me as he tugged upon my arm, proclaiming:

‘I’m going home’.

 I was confused and questioned his actions, yet in response he simply thrust his pack of beers into my arms, saying I could have them before leaving the party. Bewildered, a little tipsy, and now the centre of attention yet again I had happily shared the booze around, rejoicing in the false popularity this gained me. Few people even remember Alex or my presence at that party, as was often the case, yet I remember attempting to broach the subject with him and the same vacant look taking hold of my friend. He would say nothing, remaining staunchly silent on the subject for as long as I knew him.

I tossed the photo aside, before routing through the album and removing the other pictures of myself and Alex. I saw that night as the moment in which our friendship began to fracture, an event which I blamed on my own callousness and shallowness. There were only three photos of us in total, the first being the party, the second our sixth form prom and the final image a photo of us playing golf together.

The sixth form prom had been another night of bewildering moments. At the time I had been foolishly attempting to court an ex-flame, (she did not return my advances, but that is a story for another time), and as such had little concern for my friend. We had arrived together in unspectacular fashion, being the first pair to arrive. In fact, we had got to the venue so early it wasn’t even open, meaning we stood awkwardly chatting until others appeared. Alex had suggested we get a photo in front of the venue and as we did, (somewhat inevitably), the girl I was trying to make moves upon appeared, asking us why we were so early, and we attempted to divert the conversation away from our stupidity. Stumbling and mumbling excuses over one another until, to our relief, the doors were opened and we were able to divert her attention. Having finally been allowed in we headed straight for the bar, hoping to wash away the already uncomfortable atmosphere with alcohol. We both toasted to our years at secondary school, although in a regretful manner, but hoped the future would be positive. I had left Alex to attempt conversation with the object of my desire, yet she was soon distracted by her other friends and brushed me off. Rebutted, I headed over to find Alex, William and Ben who had gathered at the far end of the large hall. They poked fun at my failed attempts, which I shrugged off, solemnly. I took a hearty swig of my drink and bought William and Ben another pint of beer. Alex had yet to finish his first and was sipping it timidly. William leant away from him and said loudly:

‘Bet after half he’ll feel sick and go home. Remember that party?’

I smirked, uncomfortable with myself for finding this funny. Looking up I saw Alex looking at me, as if I had not only broken his heart but proceeded to stamp upon it until it was ground into dirt. Promptly, in a pitiful act of defiance he slammed his glass upon the bar and headed outside. I wanted to give chase but felt the others would laugh at me. We already looked like spatting lovers and I did not want that to be the impression people got of me. Thus, I lingered, hoping that Alex would return, but I was not surprised that he didn’t. The night proceeded in an unspectacular fashion, being particularly unmemorable. My romantic intentions went no further, and I was left with a sense of guilt for the way Alex had left.

It was some weeks before we spoke again, prompted mainly by the fact I was leaving for university, while he remained in our hometown, doing an apprenticeship with his Father. I had said we would meet often, and that I would return home and he could visit me. All of these promises were paper thin. They were words, and words mean nothing. I felt Alex knew this, but still feeling guilty about our previous encounters I made sure to message him every couple of weeks, enquiring as to how he was and what he was up to.

We continued correspondence for the time I was away and he would often ask to come and visit, yet I would make excuses shamefully, not wanting to risk my friendship with my newfound flatmates by introducing them to Alex. We only met one time after this, when the photo was taken upon the golf course. I had forgotten we had entered a contest together before I left for university, something I was reminded of by a message from Alex a day before the event. I had scrambled home that night and the next morning, in a rather hazy and heinous mood I had joined him on the course. We played mostly in silence, making the occasional empty comment upon one another’s shots or technique. After the round we had parted without fanfare and it was not until a few days later I was messaged by Alex. The manner of message shocked me at first, he was asking why I did not want to see him, why I ignored him and seemed cold and indifferent to his presence. In my time knowing Alex he had never been so confrontational, yet perhaps behind the computer screen, away from a personal face to face debate he felt a form of confidence he could not conjure in person. I had attempted to play the fool, stating excuses such as a busy workload and lack of money to travel back. I had hoped he wouldn’t pursue the issue, yet with newfound vigour he did. It was as if a year’s supressed anger was suddenly set free, unhinged and crazed. He angrily confronted me upon my sarcastic jibes, how I had not stuck up for him at the party or the prom and how I was just like William and Ben. The last comment stung, as I had always (perhaps smugly) seen myself as above them, yet I found I could not deny his claims and could offer little excuse for them. I attempted a half-hearted apology yet was met with resistance and rejection.

Alex and I had not spoken for three years since that fallout, and in the space of his friendship I had found hollow memories, ones which I gleamed little enjoyment from, yet felt little remorse for. Sitting now, with the photos atop my lap I gazed on them as fragments of a former self. It was as if I was looking at two complete strangers, for I hardly recognised the man who stood next to Alex in the images. I had new friends, a new home far away from the old one and a newfound career path. I was tempted to discard the photos, throw them away, burn them, and do whatever I could to destroy the past. Yet in the end I just sat still; gazing upon them. As much as the past repulsed me, I could not bring myself to be rid of the images, after all, the past had made me who I was today. That’s the thing with losing friends, it leaves behind a blank empty space, one which can’t be filled, a piece of you is missing, forever. However, in that short time, no matter how short a period it was, life was enriched by knowing that person. I placed the photos back into the album with some care, taking one final look at them, after all, they showcased a part of my life, albeit if their meaning was now empty.