Authors: Katrina Penaflor
Ren huffs out
a nervous breath. He takes a few more bites of his food, staring at his plate
the entire time.
“
Done.
” He pushes
his plate away. “This has been an idea of mine for months now, and over the last
few weeks I’ve put it together. It’s still a work in progress, but I’ve gotten
three different stories together, and I put my favorite one up in the studio.”
I’m curious
what he means by stories. It makes me think of some of the older pictures he’s
shown me. How he would mention the “story” behind them.
He takes my
hand and guides me back to the studio. “Close your eyes.”
I oblige. I
take more careful steps as we near the back of the house. Just as I think we’re
almost there, Ren moves his hands to cover my eyes.
“Just to make
sure you don’t peek.”
He tells me. I can tell how nervous he is
by the sound of his voice.
I cover his
hands with my own, hoping to reassure him. I don’t normally see Ren this
nervous, and it’s rubbing off on me, even though I know I’m going to love his
work.
“Okay, we’re
here.”
I take my
hands away, but Ren keeps his over my eyes. “Don’t be so nervous. I know this
is going to be amazing.”
“Just…can you
please…look around for a minute, then try to understand the story, and I want to
know what you think.”
“Got it. Now
please move your hands away, the anticipation is killing me.”
Ren uncovers
my eyes. I take a second to adjust to the light, but once I do, I’m almost in
shock by the way Ren’s changed the space. All the camera equipment,
freestanding lights, and stools that were previously in the room are gone. The
space now looks like a miniature gallery—all white walls and photos hung up. I
count seven in total, maybe ten by twelve in size. All are equally spaced apart
on the center of the walls, running in a straight light through the room.
“Start here,”
Ren points to the picture on the wall to the left of where the
door is located. The title is “Day 1, Charlie.”
“Who’s
Charlie?”
I ask.
“Nah, ah. Look
first, then I’ll explain if you need help following along. But my hope is that
you won’t need me to explain much.”
I make a
motion of zipping my mouth shut.
I go back to
the first photo and trail along, getting a quick glimpse at each one. From what
I gather there’s the same man, who I’m now concluding is Charlie, in every
picture.
I start back
at the beginning again. Charlie is standing by a fish stand. He’s smiling and
showing a customer the catches he has to offer. He has on a grey beanie and a
brown apron over his corded sweater. He looks to be in his forties, and has a
thick, dark beard.
I follow the
pictures to the next, “Day 2, Charlie.”
This one is
much different from the first. Charlie is no longer looking cheerful, but
stressed. He’s sitting on a stoop somewhere, perhaps in front of where he
lives, or a local apartment building. He’s staring at his phone and the beanie
is gone. One hand is on the back of his neck and the other is gripping his
phone like a lifeline. A deep
v
is formed between his brows, adding to
the other wrinkles on his face, and no other person shares the photo with him.
I go through
two more, both showing Charlie in his everyday life. One shows him driving his
car, and I realize Ren had to be sitting in the front seat next to him to take
it. It’s early in the morning, the color of the sky is just starting to
lighten. The other shows Charlie sitting at a bar with friends, drinking a
beer. The poor man still looks exhausted.
The fifth
picture in the lineup is of course labeled, “Day 5, Charlie.”
This one is different from the rest because Charlie is actually
smiling. The picture was taken from outside of a window, while Charlie and his
family sit at a table eating dinner inside the house. I don’t know if Ren was
known to be taking the picture, but I find it to be like a drawn back curtain
of Charlie’s life. He’s sitting with a woman and three kids. Ages ranging from
around two to twelve or so years for the only boy sitting at the table. The
family looks so happy, and I briefly wonder what it would feel like to sit at a
table with four other people who all love me
—
like Charlie is with his
family. I now find this picture to be the saddest of them all—and for selfish
reasons. Because I’ve never had what Charlie has in the photo, and I envy him
in this moment.
I want to sit
at that dinner table. I want to smile and talk to my parents about my day.
Listen to a brother tell jokes. Why did I never deserve to have that?
I stop my
thoughts as I feel a tear slip down my cheek. Ren has been watching my
reactions carefully, keeping a short distance from me so I can soak in his
work.
If he was
looking to draw emotions from people, he’s definitely achieved that with me.
The sixth
picture shows Charlie in the pouring rain. He’s carrying a large fishing net on
his shoulder. Pieces of it are dragging on the ground next to him, and the rain
causes his clothes to stick to his body. His expression is pained, and it’s
difficult to make out fine details of the photo due to the heavy rain.
The final one
makes me want to cry all over again. Charlie is laying on a small patch of
grass in front of a house. He’s on his back and raised above him, in his hands,
is his youngest daughter. She’s wearing a pink onesie and has a flower headband
in her hair. Her smile is huge, matching Charlie’s. They both look so carefree
and Charlie shows none of his worries or pain from the previous photos. It’s as
if all of it vanished when he held his daughter in his arms.
I find myself
crying again.
Ren’s work,
all seven photos, show so much of Charlie’s life. Seven days. That’s all it
took for me to see the pain, the love, the life of a man. It’
s
beautiful
, it
’s candid, and it’
s
honest
.
And even
though it makes me jealous, and it makes me sad, and it makes me happy
—
I love it, because it makes me
feel
. And if I get these
reactions off the photos, I know so many other people will too.
“What do you
call it?”
I ask. “The show, the display. Do you have a name?”
I wipe the final tear with my knuckle.
“‘Charlie.’
I debated calling it ‘My week with Charlie,’
but it just didn’t sound right to me. I liked the simplicity of
using only his name. And I think it speaks to the show. Each one telling the
viewer more and more about his life. You learn so much from only seven
pictures…or at least, I hope people do.”
“Ren, it’s so
perfect. And I do. As a viewer I mean, I feel like I know so much about him
now. How did you get these pictures?”
“I took the
first one of Charlie at the fish market a few weeks ago. There was something
about him. Something about his look that made me want to photograph him again.
I’ve been wanting to do this project for a while now, and I thought he would be
perfect for it. So I went back; I saw Charlie again and I asked him if he would
be interested in being a part of my project. He was hesitant. He didn’t like
the idea of me following him around. I tried to explain that I’m careful to be
as noninvasive as possible when I do these shots, but he didn’t buy it. I left
him with my number and told him to call me if he changed his mind. Two days
later he called me. Said his wife convinced him to change his mind. We set up a
schedule. He always knew when I was taking pictures, some of these shots were
done in one day, but I liked splitting it up like this. Creatively it felt like
the perfect set up.”
“Have you
done this with other people? Followed them around and captured their lives?”
“I have. But
none of it translated like Charlie’s. Also I didn’t get enough shots, or spend
enough time with other people for me to put together seven good photographs.
None of them spoke to me like these did. That’s why I wanted to show them to
you. I thought you would appreciate them like I do. So…what do you think?”
“I love them.
They’re perfect. They made me emotional, and you’re right, they tell a story. I
can’t believe how much can be told from each picture. I see such a realness in
them—it’s almost scary. Almost like the world wasn’t meant to open their eyes
and see this. But that’s something that makes it special. That makes it interesting.
We’re all peeping Toms, and Charlie, so bravely is the target.”
A look of
relief falls over Ren. His shoulders drop and the tension he was holding inside
of himself is gone.
“You should
sell these,” I tell him. Everything he has looks so professional. All matted
and framed. And the work, without question, is remarkable.
“I was
actually hoping I could. If someone wants to buy them. I uh…what I really want
is for these to show in a gallery somewhere. If I can get the space. That’s my
overall goal. But finding a place that
actually
wants to showcase my
work and give me a chance is going to be nearly impossible.”
“Have you
tried that before? Getting into a gallery I mean.”
“Yeah, when I
was younger I tried to get into places, but it never worked out. I’ve had some
of my pictures sold to small, and I mean really small, places. Like local shops
and things, but never have I had an actual showing.”
This makes me
wonder something.
“Do you ever
regret not studying photography as your major?”
I know he said
after his mom passed away all of his schooling went downhill. He thought he
took the smart, and safe root out—studying business instead of photography. But
now I know Ren is smart enough to combine the two. He can use his business
knowledge to help grow his work as a photographer.
Ren looks
intently at the fifth picture in the room. “Every single day.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ren
“Will you please calm down? If your leg
shakes anymore you’re going to drive us off the road.”
Emmy’s giving
me a death look. Or I assume she is. It’s hard to tell behind the jumbo
sunglasses she’s wearing. She said they were an impulse buy when she was
shopping with Noel. Some store marked down the shades to five dollars, and she
told me she just “couldn’t resist the steal.”
“I’
m as calm as I
’m
ever going to be,”
I tell
Emmy. I
’m driving us to my dad’s house. Tonight is the night I’m meeting
his girlfriend, Ellie. His
girlfriend
. It’s so weird to think that. He’s been inviting me to go meet
her for that last few weeks, ever since I took Emmy to see my photography
project. That was almost two weeks ago.
It took Emmy
responding to a text message my dad sent me, replying
yes
, for me to get
swindled into this situation. I left my room for two minutes to go to the
bathroom and I come back to find my phone in her hands. She immediately dropped
it to the bed, caught in the act, but the damage was already done. She said I
needed the extra push in this situation, and I guess I’ll find out tonight if
she was right.
“Ren, think
about this. If your dad truly didn’t believe you would get along with his
girlfriend, he wouldn’t have invited you out.”
“But he kept
her a secret for so long.”
“You know the
reason why he did that. Plus, you need to look past that now. Go into this with
an open mind. I’m here for support—and I sort of want to meet Ellie too. She
has to be something special if Richard thinks so.”
“
So it
’s
Richard
now?”
I ask. I briefly turn to look at Emmy, but of course those damn
glasses are obstructing her eyes and expression.
“He keeps
insisting I call him that. The last time I talked to him he said and I quote:
‘Stop calling me Mr. Warren, it makes me feel old. Richard works, or even hey
man over there. Anything but Mr. Warren.’”
“He’s going
through some kind of midlife crisis. Always reminding me that he’s feeling old
or that things I say make him feel old. That’s why I keep calling him Pops. He
hates it, but I love calling him that.”
“Yes, I know
you’re the person to give someone a nickname and stick with it because
you
like it, not because the person you’ve decided to rename likes it.”
“What? There
is no way you’re talking about me calling you Emmy. No way.”
I will turn
this car around if she says yes.
On second
thought. Turning this car around is not a bad idea. Gives me a reason to not go
to my dad’s house.
I signal to
turn into a parking lot of a supermarket we’re passing.
“Where are we
going?”
“I’m turning
around.”
“No you’re
not!”
She yells to me.
“Yes, we are.
You just bashed my nickname for you. This constitutes a fight, so now we need
to go home and argue, talk about our problems, and then have makeup sex. No
time to go see my dad and Ellie.”
“You have
actually lost your mind, Ren. Get back on the road. This isn’t a fight, but now
I feel like you’re almost trying to make it one. I wasn’t bashing your nickname
for me. I love that you call me Emmy. I was only kidding.”
I let out a
frustrated breath of air. She’s right.
Of course she’s right.
I pull back
onto the road and continue to my dad’s house in silence. I’m nervous as all
hell to meet Ellie. Will she look similar to my mom? Will she act like her?
Talk like her? I keep making the comparisons, even though I know that’s wrong.
I’m not far from
Newport, and this is probably the only time I wished my hometown was further
away from where I go to school.
When I arrive
at the house I park my truck in the driveway. I turn off my car and sit in
silence. Emmy didn’t say a word the rest of the way back.
“Hey,”
Emmy says while grabbing my hand. She pushes her large sunglasses
off her face. Now I can finally see her eyes. “If you’re uncomfortable, or
nervous, just look to me. I’ll help you in there. But go into this with an open
mind. Don’t try judging her off the bat. That will only make this more
difficult.”
I squeeze her
hand as I stare at the bench seat in my car. “
I don
’t want her
to be like my mom.”
I say, giving her a piece of honesty that
I haven’t fully admitted to myself yet.
“I know you
don’t. She’s not going to be a replacement, Ren. Your dad wouldn’t do that to
himself, and he certainly wouldn’t do that to you.”
I nod. “Let’s
go.”
I get out and
open Emmy’s door. She steps out of the truck and grabs the plate of brownies
she made for the occasion.
I tried
telling her she didn’t need to make anything, but she insisted. She said it was
a nice thing to do for someone who’s invited to dinner.
Emmy takes my
hand on the short walk up the driveway. I decide to knock. Not my usual choice
when coming home, but it feels appropriate at the moment. It will give my dad a
moment to know that I’m here.
I breathe
easy when my dad is the one who opens the door. He’s dressed in a cream-colored
sweater and dark jeans. It’s his usual around-the-house wear.
“Son, I’m
glad you’re finally here.”
He gives me a hug, patting my
back as he does so. He embraces Emmy next, telling her he’s happy we came for
dinner.
Emmy holds up
her plate of brownies to my dad.
“Oh, Emmy,
you shouldn’t have. These look great. They’ll be perfect for dessert.”
She shrugs
off his compliment. “I wanted to bring something. You always do the cooking, it
was the least I could do.”
Dad smiles at us.
“I’ll take
these in the kitchen. Ellie is there, she’s finishing up the food.”
Ellie. He
says her name with such levity.
Emmy and I
both exchange looks of nerves as we follow my dad into the kitchen.
“Ren, Emmy,
I’d like you to meet Ellie.”
Now is the
time we finally meet. Suddenly I don’t feel like a twenty-three-year-old man. I
feel like a child. Scared to upset his father. Scared of meeting a new person.
“Ren,”
she greets me. I shake her hand. She has light auburn hair—a far
contrast to my mom’s which was black—that rests in a low braid. She’s shorter
than me, and a little shorter than Emmy. She has on a white long sleeve T-shirt
with a thick, burnt orange scarf on top. Her eyes are blue and they have the
faintest wrinkles at the edges.
“It’s good to
finally meet you,”
I tell
her.
“I’m happy I get
to meet you too. I’ve been looking forward to this. Richard has told me so much
about you.”
We’re still
shaking hands and I bring up Emmy because I don’t know what else to say to
Ellie at the moment.
“Ellie, this
is Emmy, my girlfriend.”
We still
haven
’t put labels on each other yet. This is the first time I’ve
called Emmy my girlfriend out loud. She doesn’t balk or object, just smiles at
me before giving her attention back to Ellie.
“Emmy, it’s
so nice to meet you. Richard told me Ren was bringing you, and I was excited to
see the girl who’s been making Ren so happy.”
“It’s good to
meet you too, Ellie. Mmm and whatever you’re cooking smells good. What is it?”
The kitchen
smells like garlic and fresh herbs and bacon. All the best scents of the world
fused into one.
“We’ve
serving roasted chicken wrapped in bacon on a bed of potatoes. I was just about
to slice up some bread to go with it.”
“Yum. I can’t
wait.”
Emmy tells
Ellie
.
“Did you help make it?”
“Um, I wouldn’t
really say help. I made the cooking process more difficult because I kept
messing up the recipe. I think that’s why I was demoted to bread duty.”
Emmy makes a
tsking
sound.
“Richard, making Ellie slice the bread. That wasn’t very nice.”
Emmy’s tone is playful.
“She dropped
the first chicken,”
he says.
I laugh at
the image. The shock of his words are hilarious. “The whole chicken?”
I ask.
“Yes,”
Dad says while trying to conceal his amusement. “We had to go back
to the store to buy another one. I was fine with all the other mistakes she
made, it was no problem. But the chicken on the floor, that was the last straw.
No wait, Ellie,”
he turns to her. “When you tried to wash
it off,
with soap
—that was the last straw.”
Ellie looks
slightly embarrassed, but waves off my dad with a laugh. “I never said I was a
good cook. And that poor wasted, dirty chicken is evidence. Just be sure you’re
the one to take the dish out of the oven. If I drop the main course for the
second time today, I know nobody in this room will let me live it down.”
My dad looks
so amused by what she’s saying. He almost hangs on to each word she says, and
their attention is on one another when they speak.
We hear the
oven beep. Ellie puts the knife she was using to cut the bread down on the
counter. She holds her hands up as if saying, “I’m not getting that.”
My dad puts
on two oven mitts and pulls the food out of the oven. The smell in the room
becomes even stronger and more delicious.
The sound of
the crisp bacon on top of the chicken is crackling, and the scent of lemon is
added to the room.
“Dad, you’ve
done it again.”
He puts the
pan of chicken on the stove and inhales the scent himself.
“Ren, Emmy,
can you two set the table for me, please?”
My dad asks.
“On it,”
replies Emmy. She starts pulling out plates from one of the
cabinets. I grab the silverware and napkins.
I start
setting four places at the kitchen table.
“So,”
Emmy whispers to me. “What do you think?”
“She seems
nice. It still feels weird though. Like I’m not used to seeing my dad with a
woman. It’s just been so long.”
I keep my voice low.
“That’s
understandable. They both look really happy though. And nervous. I think your
dad and Ellie are both trying to see what you think.”
I haven’t
quite decided yet what I think. I’m still soaking it all in, but truthfully I
don’t have a bad impression of her.
“Alright,
here we are. Chicken and potatoes are served.”
My dad puts
the dish in the center of the table. He arranged it on a large oval plate, the
chicken cut up and sliced on top of the cubed potatoes.
“And the
bread and wine,”
Ellie says.
We all take
our seats. My dad at the head of the table, where he always sits, with Ellie to
his left and me to his right. Emmy sits next to me as well. We all serve up our
plates and pour glasses of red wine. My dad picked out one of his good bottles,
constituting a special occasion. Helping me to realize how important tonight is
to him.
The
conversation is casual throughout dinner. Nothing too serious comes up and I
catch my dad holding Ellie’s hand off and on. Ellie still has that bashful look
on her face whenever my dad gives her a compliment. She looks younger than my
father, but not by any more than ten years. I think that’s the only part
striking me as odd.
“Hold old are
you, Ellie?”
I know I shouldn’t have blurted that out, but I couldn’t help
myself.
“Ren.”
My dad gives me a stern look, obviously not happy with the
question I just asked his girlfriend.
“
It’s
okay, Richard.”
She puts her hand on his
arm. “And I’m forty-three, Ren.”
Eight years
younger than my dad.
“Maybe it’s
time to settle down on the wine, son.”
He says to me quietly.
Now I feel bad for asking Ellie what many would consider an inappropriate
question. Okay, what
is
an inappropriate
question.
“Sorry,”
I say to him.
“Ren, your
dad tells me that you’
ve
just
completed a new project. He said it’s
pretty amazing.”
She’s
referring to “Charlie.”
“I did. I
want to make it into a collection, but I’m happy with the results of what I
have now. Have you seen it yet?”
She shakes
her head. “I was hoping tonight I could see it? Richard’s been raving about it.
Talking about all the galleries in Newport that should show it.”