photo girl

she met him in japan for a few reasons. one was that she had always dreamed of going there. two was that she knew that she would never go there without him. because even if she did go there without him, the question of him would be there, and would show up everywhere. three was that she was kind of in the neighborhood, in bali, when he asked her. he was already in japan, with his family. and he said, come, and she said, are you sure? and he said, please come, and so she said, say you want me to come, and so he said, i want you to come.

he got her from the airport like he always did. any time she went somewhere he would take her there, as far as he could go with her, to the last door of the train or whatever. she liked how unyielding he was. how he followed everything, even to the end.

when he found her in the arrivals he kissed her. she kissed him back but it was always hard for her, to kiss in public.

from there they went through the metro, on the train, to the streets, towards the airbnb. he carried everything. he watched her face from every angle. he was doing all the watching and walking and mapping and talking. so that she could exist so deeply.

the edges of the buildings were sharp. she thought she might bleed if she touched them.

he took her through the lobby and the elevator and into the room. where there was a big white bed looking like a cloud. she took off all her clothes and got in it.

this was how they were the best. when he was feeling every leaf turn, noting every bend and sway and shake and she was completely unthinking, unflinching and biting like a dolphin.

when she woke he had washed her clothes and he had a chicken sandwich from the konbini that was wrapped in a parcel of wax. and then he had been sitting there waiting for her to wake up, to give her the sandwich, waiting and watching her sleep with his headphones in.

she put the whole sandwich in her mouth.

when she was ready they left for the part of the town that sold used books.

he kissed her shoulder on the metro. he kissed it so often. that she would feel cruelty flicker when he didn’t.

after three bookstores it was getting late outside. and he was getting jumpy, or nervous. he wanted to sit in the dark and smoke. i don’t know how to look at books, he said. i only know how to read them.

one more, she said, feeling her way to it. just this last one.

this last one was lit up like a church. it had that reverence and hush, like it was a quiet place. it smelled of metal bookshelves and office binders and paper piles.

all of them were photos, of one girl.

some of the pictures were hentai style. some had her boobs looking as big as balloons. but most of them she just looked pretty in. posed wearing school clothes, a nurse’s outfit, a party dress against a backdrop. laughing by the water fountain with her friends.

what do they like about this one? she asked him, pointing to the water fountain. he said, maybe they like when she’s happy.

fifty thousand photos of her for sale in there. pictures too of the baby hairs on her neck. a close up on the soft part of her arm. her eyelids. her fingers and toes. and one picture just of her pubic hair. the size to fit in a wallet. the back of it said life size.

every costume, and photo shoot in the world. for a girl with a secret past, and secret future.

as she fell asleep on him that night she had a feeling like she was falling, falling.

talking in japan