This is What Goodbye Looks Like

by Olivia Rivers

  “Yeah.” He gives a curt nod. “Let’s go.”

  The gate is on the complete opposite side of the library, and as we head outside, the wind surrounds us with prickling cold and the crisp scent of snow. By the time we’re close to the small courtyard in front of the West Gate, my hair is half-frozen to my neck, and I can’t stop shivering. The only part of me that’s not cold is my knee, which throbs hotly with each step I take, but I bite back the urge to complain.

  Seth strides a few yards ahead of me, Koda trotting to keep up with his pace. He keeps stopping abruptly and waiting for me to catch up, fidgeting until his boots leave crunched prints in the snow. He lets Koda guide him over to the gate, and he leans against the wrought iron, not even flinching when a chunk of snow dislodges and tumbles onto his shoulder.

  The sun pokes through the cloud-cover then, lighting his hair in a momentary halo. Seth tilts his chin up, his shoulders relaxing as the sunlight warms him. He looks unearthly, like a living, breathing snow angel. Wind cuts through the open space of the courtyard, an icy whip against my skin, but it doesn’t seem to bother him.

  Before I can stop myself, I raise my camera and snap a photo of him. He flinches at the sound of the shutter clicking and turns to me, a frown on his cold-reddened lips. But I can’t bring myself to feel guilty. A surge of excitement hits me as I stare at my camera’s screen and see the picture load onto the new memory card. After months of not doing any photography, the sight is enough to make me feel almost giddy.

  “Did you just take a picture of me?” Seth demands.

  “Sorry,” I say, stepping closer to him. “You just looked so...”

  He raises an eyebrow. “What?”

  “Peaceful,” I say, knowing it sounds ridiculous the moment the word escapes.

  He lets out a low chuckle. “You’re sure you’re the one who can see?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he says with a shrug, but his relaxed expression is officially gone, and his usual solemn one replaces it. “This weather reminds me of him. Parker. When it got cold like this, we’d spend the whole day in the attic, just hanging out and playing cards. My dad bought me a Braille deck when I was really little, and that’s how I learned my numbers. Playing Go Fish with Parker.”

  “That’s sweet,” I say, but the words feel numb on my lips.

  He shakes his head, as if warding off the memory. “Anyway. I’m rambling again. You have a bad habit of making me do that, you know.”

  “Sorry,” I murmur.

  “And you also have a bad habit of apologizing too much.” He offers me the smallest of smiles and then asks, “Do you want me to give you some space while you set up your camera? I know Parker always hated people focusing on him when he was adjusting the settings.”

  Honestly, yeah, my heart is hammering knowing Seth’s going to be hovering nearby while I’m taking the first pictures. The beginning shots of a series are always terrible, and it’s strangely nerve-wracking having people around while I fumble with the settings to figure out lighting and framing.

  But I guess Seth won’t technically be watching. And even if he could see me work, I wouldn’t have the heart to send him away. With Parker gone, this project belongs to Seth now, even if I’m the one taking the photos.

  “It’s fine,” I say. “You can stick around.”

  We lapse into silence as I tug off my mittens and flip a few switches on my camera, getting it ready. At first, I take pictures of things that will never end up in the final project—a frost-coated fence post, a sparrow perched at the top of the gate, an ivy leaf with a dollop of snow clinging to its veins. The glare of the snow makes it hard to read my digital screen, but adjusting the settings is second nature. Lower the ISO a bit, change the exposure mode, tweak the focus points. I keep the white balance and zoom mode on their automatic settings, since I have faith in Camille’s camera. It’s always served me well.

  After a few minutes, I have the settings perfected for the atmosphere, and my heart has slowed to a strong, steady beat. With my mittens off, my hands are already chilled to the bone, but I feel a sort of energy I haven’t experienced in months. I’d forgotten how invigorating it is to capture a part of nature, to lock away a piece of time in an image.

  “You’re good at this,” Seth says.

  His words startle me as they break the silence, and my voice is tight as I ask, “What do you mean?”

  “Photography. You’re good at it.” He steps away from the fence post he’s been leaning on, and the sparrow takes flight from the top of the gate, flitting away to a nearby tree. Seth cocks his head at the sound of rushing wings, and then turns back to me.

  “You take pictures just like Parker did. Slow and quiet. Most people are so loud when they do photography, always moving around stuff, talking about what’s wrong with the setting. But you just take your time and make the photo pretty, not the setting.”

  I lower my camera, letting it hang loosely from the strap around my neck. The plastic case is cold and hard against my skin, but the sensation is familiar, and it’s the most comfortable thing I’ve felt in months. “I think that’s why I always prefer taking pictures of people,” I admit.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Because people can make themselves look pretty without you having to interfere?”

  “No,” I say. “Because they always try to make themselves look pretty, and then it’s even more of a challenge to make the pictures beautiful. And I like challenges.”

  “Maybe it’s because I’m blind, or maybe I just suck at reading the dictionary,” Seth says. “But last I checked, there’s not much difference between something pretty and something beautiful.”

  I trail my finger along the edge of my camera’s viewfinder, struggling to find the right words to explain. “Something is pretty if you can forgive its flaws,” I finally say. “But if it’s beautiful, it makes you embrace its flaws. So I think that’s the ultimate goal for most photographers. To be able to convince people that the things they consider pretty are actually beautiful.”

  Seth nods slowly and the very corner of his mouth curls up in an expression that’s too broken to be a true smile. “Parker could do that,” he says quietly.

  “Yeah,” I say, thinking back to the photos Parker took before he died. “He was really talented. Honestly, it’s going to be hard to match his skill.”

  Seth holds out his arms, like he’s a martyr embracing his fate. “Well, are you ready to give it a shot?”

  I tap my camera. “This sort of shooting is painless, I promise.”

  “Doubtful,” he says, but he offers me a small smile anyway.

  I walk up to him and gently tug on his sleeve, guiding him toward the gate and the patch of snow there. “Come on,” I say, and he follows obediently, although his steps are stiff. I stop a few yards from the gate and peer around carefully. The snow here is fresh, without a single footstep marring the pure white that fell overnight.

  “Are you okay taking your sunglasses off for a bit?” I ask.

  He nods and slips them off, tucking them in his pocket. The color of his eyes seems even more striking out here, the green clashing against our stark white and grey surroundings. I quickly look away, trying not to stare, even though I know he won’t notice.

  “Keep walking forward,” I tell Seth. “But first take three steps to the left.”

  “Should I keep Koda with me?” he asks, gesturing to her. She wags her tail and looks over her shoulder at me, as if wondering the same.

  “It’s supposed to look natural. And I’m pretty sure Koda is more attached to you than your shadow, so yeah, keep her.”

  “Good point.” Seth ruffles his dog’s ears, not even bothering to reprimand her when she licks at his fingers.

  He follows my directions then, stepping to the left before walking forward. It takes him right along the edge of the open gate, so as he steps through it, the main patch of snow is left undisturbed. His footsteps are mostly hidden by the shadows of the bushe
s that border the gate, and the gate looks just as untouched as it did when we first got here.

  Crossing the threshold. It’s the fifth step in the Hero’s Journey, when the main character steps out of his ordinary life and into adventure. We all agreed that Seth starting school at Harting qualified as the beginning of his adventure, and Brie and I decided this gate would be the best setting to represent it.

  “Keep going,” I tell him, and then when he’s about fifteen feet away, I call out, “Stop.” I lift my camera and adjust the settings one more time, making sure I have everything set perfectly. “Okay, now turn around and come back. But first take like three steps to the right, so you’ll be walking straight through the middle of the gate and breaking the snow there.”

  Seth tilts his head, and he sounds completely uncomfortable as he asks, “Are you going to take a picture of me now?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “But don’t worry about it. I promise to make you look good.”

  Even from this distance, I can see his smirk. “What, I don’t already look good?”

  “I think we both know the answer to that one.”

  “Hmm, I’m not sure. So, please, do share your thoughts.” He smiles exaggeratedly, and I realize this is payback. I make him uncomfortable with a camera, he makes me uncomfortable by asking my opinion on his looks.

  “You like it when people tell the truth, right?” I ask.

  “The truth is great, but I can’t say I’ve ever been averse to flattery.”

  I roll my eyes. “Okay, well the truth is you could be a model, if you really wanted to.”

  Seth smirks. “Then I’ll make sure to shake my hips accordingly.” He strikes an exaggerated modeling pose, jutting his hips to the left and holding his hands daintily by his sides. Then he struts forward a couple steps, spins around like he’s turning on a catwalk, and walks back.

  A small laugh escapes me before I can stop it. Seth smiles—one that actually looks real this time, not sad or pitying. He lets the pose drop, relaxing back into his usual confident stance.

  “Okay, let me correct myself,” I say. “You could be a model for a pigeon farm. Who taught you that’s how models walk?”

  His cheeks flush a little. “I think it was Landon, and it definitely involved a dorm party and way too many drinks.”

  “Well, remind me to thank Landon for providing the morning’s entertainment.”

  His eyes widen. “You didn’t take a picture of me doing that, did you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Oh, hell. Erase it now!”

  “I’m joking, Seth,” I say, not bothering to rein in my smile. “Relax. Your secret life as a pigeon model is still safely under wraps.”

  He suddenly laughs, and the sound shocks me so much, I flinch back. But it instantly makes me understand why Brie’s so sad she doesn’t get to hear him do this anymore. His laugh is like improvised music, deep and beautiful and just a little wild, all its different notes coming together and begging me to join in on his amusement.

  “I forgot how dangerous cameras can be to my reputation,” he says, shaking his head.

  He’s the dangerous one, not the camera. Although, it’s not like I could ever explain that to him. Seth would never understand the way he makes me want to throw caution and morals and common sense out the window. Hell, even I don’t get it.

  My urge to laugh shrivels in my throat, leaving it dry and scratchy. “Okay,” I say more quietly. “Walk back for real this time. No strutting.”

  Seth sticks his tongue out at me, a move that’s so juvenile and so cute, it shocks me out of my despair for a second. Before I realize what I’m doing, I raise my camera and snap a picture of him. He freezes at the sound of the shutter, his tongue still half-extended. Then his face gets all flushed again.

  “You took a picture that time, didn’t you?”

  “Yup,” I say with a smirk. “And everyone’s going to see it if you don’t start behaving.”

  “You’re a brat,” he says with another small laugh. “But a cute one.”

  It’s my turn to blush. “Okay, but seriously, walk back to me. Slowly, so your tracks in the snow are clear.”

  Seth sighs dramatically, but does as he’s told and makes his way toward me. His strides are sure and powerful, and it’s strangely mesmerizing knowing he can look so confident when he can’t even see what’s right in front of him. Koda follows at his side, four of her steps matching each of his two.

  It’s not until he’s standing right in front of me that I realize I’m looking at him through my viewfinder. I slowly lower my camera and blink a few times, surprised to see a little “23” flashing in the corner of the LCD screen. Twenty-three pictures loaded on my new memory card. Twenty-three pictures I just took while hardly realizing it, the action so natural it’s like breathing.

  Seth raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

  My heart pounds, the sound filling my ears, and my words are a little shaky as I say, “I got some good shots, I think.”

  “So we’re done?”

  “No,” I say, the word rushing out of me. “No, definitely not.”

  I look around the courtyard, suddenly noticing little shadows and stones and snow patches I hadn’t before, suddenly desperate to photograph them all, to capture every detail around me. My finger itches on the trigger of the camera, wanting to snap a million pictures at once.

  Nine months without taking a single photo. That’s a lot to make up for.

  I nod toward the gate. “I’m going to go out there, but you stay here in the courtyard. I want to get you from a bunch of different angles.”

  He tilts his head and considers me, not realizing that he’s staring at the ivy next to my shoulder and not actually my face. From this angle, he doesn’t look quite so intense, and I’m able to see the fragile glimmer of affection in his expression, spidery lines of it weaving through his sadness.

  “You know, I really didn’t think I’d ever find anyone to pull off this project,” he says. “ But if anyone can get close to replicating Parker’s work, I’m pretty sure it’s you.”

  I raise my camera and take one more picture of him, this one a reminder for myself. A way to remember that even the most broken things can be beautiful.

  His frown deepens at the sound of the shutter. “What was that one for?”

  “Um, I was just taking a picture of a bird over there,” I say, hating how easily the lie comes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

  He shrugs, but the way he lets out a small breath makes me think he’s more relieved than annoyed by my sudden change of topic. “No problem. Were you going to take the rest of those pictures now?”

  The rest of the shots are surprisingly easy—Brie and I mapped out the photos pretty thoroughly yesterday, and I just mentally run through our notes as I take pictures. Calmness washes back over me as soon as I start clicking away. The process is ingrained in me, just like it’s been for years—examine the area, find the right angle, adjust the settings, focus, click, shoot. Repeat.

  My knee is on fire right from the beginning, and it only takes a few minutes for me to regret leaving my cane. But even with my wobbly leg, it’s easier than I expected to fall back into the rhythm of snapping photos at various angles. A few minutes later, Seth starts stamping his feet from the cold, and I realize I’d better wrap up the shoot before both of us end up with frostbite.

  “I’m done,” I call as I limp back into the courtyard. The gates loom over me for a second, casting a shadow, but it feels more welcoming than menacing.

  Seth’s phone starts ringing, shattering the peacefulness of the courtyard, and I recognize the ringtone he’s programmed in for his mom. Apparently, the events of our last meeting are enough to make him wary of answering, because he just takes it out and holds it in his palm. The ringtone cuts out, but a few moments later, a voicemail alert chirps. Seth curses and shoves his phone back in his pocket, only to have it start ringing again a few seconds later.

  “That’s
your mom?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “I was supposed to go home this morning. Landon’s going into town, and my house is only like thirty minutes away. So, yeah, he’s giving me a ride.”

  “I thought you weren’t going back to your house this weekend?”

  He smiles bitterly. “My mom can be persuasive.”

  “She’s grieving,” I remind him gently. “I... I don’t think she’s thinking straight.”

  “I’m grieving, too,” he mutters. “And I don’t go around making everyone’s life miserable because of it.”

  I bite my lip and absently flick at a snowflake that lands on my arm. “I’m sorry. I should stay out of your business.”

  He lets out a long, pained sigh. “No, it’s just...I’m sorry, okay? I’m not good at talking about this sort of stuff.” He scuffs his foot against the snow, sending a cloud of powder flying. “I need to go. Landon’s going to be pissed if he has to wait around much longer for me.”

  “Does anyone ever actually get pissed at you for being late?”

  He smirks, but he at least has the courtesy to look a little sheepish. “No, not really.”

  A gust of wind whistles through the gates. I cross my arms to ward off the cold, but Seth just leans into the wind and breathes deeply. He seems soothed by the chill, which I almost understand. It can be comforting to know something out there is colder than the gnawing feeling in your gut.

  “We should get inside,” he says as the wind settles back to a whisper. “This storm is going to pick up soon. You got the pictures you need, right?”

  “Yeah. I’ll have to look them all over later, but I’m pretty sure I got some good ones. It shouldn’t be too hard to pick one to use for the fifth step of the project.”

  He nods sharply and then says to his dog, “Dorm, Koda. Go to the dorm.” Koda leaps to her feet and starts trotting toward the main buildings, just as the wind picks up again. Snow swirls down around us, thick and glimmering, and Seth calls over his shoulder, “You coming?”