Photograph

When someone completely disappears from your life, you sometimes wonder if the person was ever there to begin with. That disappearance is so stark, so sudden, that it leaves you with the feeling that maybe you hallicinated that entire experience, that entire portion of your life involving that person, and that person altogether.

But once in a while, you rummage through your closet for a book or a pen, and you happen to see an old photo of that person. With you. And you remember, yes, there was one point where you and this person co-existed. Happy even. But the picture looks so foreign, so aged, that you wonder if it's fake, or if this is someone else's photo you're looking at.

You recall distinct memories. Specific meals with bad food. The inverted umbrella at the corner of 53rd and Third. The debate on why Healthy Choice was more cardboard-tasting than Lean Cuisine.

Yes, these events had to have happened. They're in your memory. You see them, can close your eyes and relive them, the words coming from your mouth, the sound of the person's voice, the bumpy ride in the car as you rode alongside in the passenger side, your forearm warm beneath the outdoor sun. You assure yourself, you remind yourself, yes, this person used to be here. He may be gone, but he's still here.