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I muttered the word pictures to him.
That was all I had. A lifetime of vocabulary reduced to one simple word.
“Let’s see what the old man has around here then,” Henry said.
He took charge, walking to my grandfather’s desk and dresser.
“You know, what if I open one of these drawers and find some dirty magazines or something?” Henry asked.
I smiled and cringed. “Please don’t put that image in my head.”
“Do you know where he has photo albums?”
“We don’t have to do this, Henry. I’m ruining the night.”
Henry turned toward me and touched my face. “Sage, what do you think this is? You’re allowed to grieve the way you want. It comes in waves. It will for some time too.”
“Being in this room is enough for now,” I said. “I promise.”
Henry moved his eyes and then smiled. “No way.”
He walked by me and swiped a picture frame off a shelf.
I gasped and jumped onto his back.
Henry ran out of the room, me on his back.
“No!” I yelled at him. “No, Henry! No!”
“I can’t believe he had this framed and out for the world to see,” Henry said. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it this morning when I got changed in there.”
I slid off his back.
Henry admired the picture in his hands, smiling ear to ear.
“You know what? Fine. Whatever. Big deal.”
“Cheerleader,” he said. “With those braces on your teeth…”
“My smile is pretty damn perfect now, isn’t it?”
I smiled.
Henry nodded. “True. But this picture… look at you…”
The worst picture of my life.
Not an exaggeration either.
Everyone has a picture like this one.
Right around the time in life when puberty decides to smack you across the face.
My face was dotted with pimples as though I had a bout of chickenpox.
Yes, I had braces too.
The metal was bigger than my mouth.
