ASHES

KAITLYN JIANG

Photo #1: A gir l in a school unifor m, head thrown back in laughter. An empty photogr aphy room.

plastic br ackets. Dust suspended in sunlight shining in through the window lands on the black leather

“Is this r ight?” I ask you.

“No, it’s not, silly,” you say, taking the camer a

“This way, you can take one extr a picture .

“What are you, a par rot?” You smile faintly I dissolve into giggles.

Snap. I look up, seeing you lower the camer a from your face , smiling.

Photo #2: A group of high school students, one motioning to someone .

It’s the end of our senior year You’re hiding your gr ieving under a br ight smile .

“Hey, don’t just stand there! Let’s take a picture!” I yell to you, throwing my ar ms around our fr iends. You’re hiding a worr ied expression beneath your placid face as you hold your

Come and join us, I say, motioning with my hands, squinting in the sun. You refuse with a soft smile . Snap.

After you take the picture , you come up to me . Our fr iends look at you weirdly, like you’re talking to your self. You ask if I’m okay.

“Yeah!” I say with a little too much enthusiasm in six year s, since senior year. You went to community college . I went to Pr inceton. We eat inple of people from a booth next to us look at you like you ’ re cr azy. wrong? I must be tired. You still have your camer a. “Let’s take a picture ,” you say. Snap.

Photo #3: A gir l, disheveled and tired, smiling faintly. An empty cafe booth. You’re sitting at a booth in our favor ite cafe , waiting for me . You check your watch; I’m thir ty minutes late . I’m never late . The bell attached to the front door r ings, and you see me step in, hair disheveled and mascar a streaked across my face in clean lines, like I never even bothered to wipe my eyes.

The door to your apar tment swings open and slams against the wall. You don’t have a doorstop.

“This place smells disgusting ” It’s your dad’s voice “How long has it been since you stepped foot out of this room, huh?”

“She’s gone ,” You choke on sobs. He asks you who you’re talking about. You’re talking about me , you tell him, you’re sure he camer a, but I’m not there . It’s like I’ve disappeared from the face of the ear th. He stor ms out, mutter ing to himself, wonder ing why he even tr ied to help you You’ve always been a hopeless child.

Later, you look at the photos again. I’m not in any of them. The one you swore you took of me in the photogr aphy room is a haphazard picture of the window. The one you took of me and our fr iends has a gap where I was. The one you took of me in the cafe is a picture of an empty cafe booth.

The weird looks you’ve gotten from people when you talk to me , and why our high school fr iends don’t remember me It all makes sense now I was never there

You’re angr y; angr y at me for not being real, angr y at your self for believing. You take a lighter

Snap. All that’s left of my existence is now ashes.

So there’s this circular thing called a clock Its got:

A bunch of little lines equidistant from each other along the outside