The Girl in the Photograph

I’ve lost track of time; It was already midnight. The bright lettering of the late hour restaurants and businesses had been lit up at this point. On the other side of my window, laid a murky shape of the steep decline into the river adorned with trees of the same long distance apart from one another. They all blended together in the dark. The streetlight illuminating the bridge over that river tried to illuminate the barely indistinguishable surroundings, but it was seemingly futile. It had been a while since they were last replaced.

As much as I didn’t want to, I had already fallen into the habit of distracting myself with my environment. I couldn’t fall asleep. My mind wanted to sort itself out before I’d get the greenlight. Even when I believed I had resolved a large part of what was on my mind a while ago, that remaining portion seemed to taunt my mind and erratically urge it into thought.

I assumed it was this. Perhaps my mind had wanted to be sure of everything before I could sleep. But this was something that I couldn’t even comprehend in its entirety, especially not the state I’m in. I couldn’t think clearly about this and knew I needed to save this train of thought for another time, preferably when I’m not sleep deprived.

If it had been daybreak or the later morning, it’d probably would’ve brought me back from the dreamlike impression I felt since that phone call. My body demanded sleep, yet found itself forced wide awake by my mind. This contention between my mind and body only made everything far more difficult. I felt my thoughts become restless, while my body became miserly. If there was no hope to resolve this conflict, then I’d have to pretend that it wasn’t happening.

Though, my thoughts did gradually lessen. My mind probably realized what I had come to realize a long time ago. It was pointless to think if the mere act of thinking was ridiculously strenuous, much more so when it found itself finding an answer without any aim. But even with this aimlessness, I knew what I was thinking still needed answers, even if I wasn’t capable of understanding them at my current state.

I nitpicked between my mother’s words and examined them with what I knew. But there were more questions than answers. I only began to question more. When did she disappear? Why didn’t she bother to communicate? Did she know about what happened to me? If she did, then did that explain why I hadn’t known about her? Did she even want me to contact her?

I couldn’t answer any of these questions—at least not now. I had to find out in due time. I still wondered what she might’ve looked like. These were all questions tied to a name and not a person. I couldn’t get a sense of who she was solely from answering these never-ending questions. I had to find some ground to tie all of these questions to. But as to how, I didn’t even know where to begin.

Maybe there was a clue here somewhere. I looked all over my bedroom. I gave my attention towards a sight that I don’t often acknowledge. It was a space that was occupied by a high shelf with several photo frames. I hadn’t bothered to do much ever since I moved into my room. They’ve been there since I can first recall. But I’ve had a strange feeling when looking at those photos.

I didn’t know what it was, but there was something off these photos. I couldn’t put my finger on it. It could even help me to find a glimpse of Ichiko’s identity. I snuck out of the room to locate my other pictures. I obviously knew what the photos looked like, but seeing them up close might just help me. The photos were scattered throughout the house. To see them, I needed to be absolutely quiet.

I headed to the kitchen to see the few photos on the fridge and on board above the countertop. I managed to worm my way into the kitchen and paid close attention to the photos. They still weren’t sitting right with me. I saw my dinner in front of me. I had forgotten to eat it, but I really didn’t experience any hunger. I was only hungry for the remaining photos.

The last place I knew photos were hiding was the living room. One wrong step and I’d alert Eiko and Yosuke. They probably wouldn’t wake up to the floor creaking, but I didn’t want to test that theory. I looked around the walls of the living room and still felt that uneasiness. Something was not was not right about these photos. They were perfectly normal photos mind you, but something about their nature suggested that.

I stared at one photo in particular. I was well dressed and stood outside of a modern building. Next to me was a tree that poured its shadow over me. There were people in the background walking, but was the only one who the photo focused on. But I think I began to notice something as I compared this to the other photos I had. I moved the one beside it and noticed that I was far older. But I also stood by my lonesome in this photo.

There was no one else present in those photos. On the other hand, my siblings did have photos with each other and my mother at times. Even stranger, their photos weren’t discrete as mine were. I could track them as they aged. Something was amiss, and surely some reason behind those discrepancies. My recent past hadn’t been up for display even though there were photos. I was sure of it. I had a feeling that if I wanted to give Ichiko a face, I’d have to rummage for these old photos.

I’m sure that a photo of her was stored somewhere secret. I didn’t know where to start and I was certain that it would be difficult to find a single photograph. There had to be one. If she was important to me, I surely would have urged my mother to photograph us at least once. If she had meant something to me, then surely she would’ve meant a lot to my mother as well. She wouldn’t discard a photo of us together, I’m sure of it.

I looked through the closet between the kitchen and living room and examined it in pitch black. It was one of the few places I could possibly find something sentimental. The box of several old keepsakes was missing from the closet. It was strange. It hadn’t been moved in a while. Something was definitely going on. I looked on the top part of the closet to make sure that it hadn’t been moved there, but there was no trace of it.

It had to be somewhere secretive. If it had to be anywhere else it was likely in my mother’s bedroom. I moved slowly towards the end of the hall and approached the half opened door. It creaked far more than I had expected, so much so that I jumped and made a noticeable thump. I rushed into the room to hide my embarrassment, although I knew someone probably wouldn't have noticed anything.

My mother’s room was incredibly dark. There was no bright light outside to illuminate her room. During the day, the natural lighting that did come in was obscured by the apartment complex situated beside the window. It made it difficult to look for what I was looking for and resorted to my sense of touch to rummage for what I was looking for. I had to start somewhere and felt that the bed was a good place to start.

I crouched to investigate underneath the bed and took out the several boxes one by one. I was rushing while doing so since those boxes made a surprising amount of noise as they slid across the carpet. All of these boxes were labeled, nothing with what I was looking for. I knew what was inside of them anyhow. I didn’t manage to find anything and tucked all those boxes back into place.

If they weren’t there, that box was probably in the closet. That box contained my only hope to find a photo of her. As I turned around, something had gotten my attention. I dropped what I was looking for and walked towards it. It was a strange piece of paper only recently placed on top of my mother’s drawer. If it was what I hoped it was, it looked like the back of a photo. I turned it over and found an answer to it all.

It was a photo of me and a seemingly random girl on a playground bench. I had placed my textbook down on my lap, and was seemingly overjoyed of having my photo taken with this girl. Something about this girl struck me with a tremendous force. Her excitement at having the photo taken was immeasurable, almost suggesting that it was her idea to have it taken in the first place. I was somehow stuck observing her. It probably wasn’t hard since she had pink hair and had a curious hairpiece. It had made her stick out and her expression suggested that she was more than fine with that.

I looked at the photo for some time. I don’t know how long I was staring at it. I only put my focus on the minute details of the photo. But one in particular was the fact that this was taken at some kind of playground. I seemed to focus on the fact that this was taken at a playground. If what my mother said was true, then this could’ve been Ichiko. It seemed to align perfectly. Someone so stuck beside me so enthusiastically couldn’t have been anyone else in my mind.

Her desire for a photo transcending the bounds of the photo seemed to confirm what I adamantly believed. This was only a person I learned of recently, but was so critical in my past that I actively sought her out. I couldn’t believe my eyes that I actually managed to find proof of her existence. I had finally found what tied my thoughts with each other. I don’t recall the rest of how I felt that night, but I had soothed all of my worries.

I put the photo back where it was. It emerged the same day I had found out about Ichiko, and the timing seemed related enough to not be considered a coincidence. My mother had probably planned on wanting to tell me for the longest time. No one decides to move abruptly. It seemed that she had wanted to tell in a way that I could understand in my current capacity. This information was a long time in the making, and I only got it now.

This was enough playing detective. I wanted to sleep. I’m sure that I had answered my mind’s query. I slowly and quietly returned to my room. I took my time as my mind began to ease itself into sleep. It was already 1 AM. I paced myself towards my bed and fell promptly onto it. Without much warning, I closed my eyes and drifted into sleep. That night I had a vivid dream. I knew because I had remembered that particular dream.