Straight No Chaser

Variable

like it or not, you are the wildcard.

i developed some last-minute picture today, shots from shreveport and from homecoming 2004, all those months ago. there were, as usual, only two or three halfway decent ones of us, and lots of mediocre ones--like the one krystle took at the convention center, black fading into black, a dip and a kiss, both sets of eyes on the camera because we were angry at each other. because everyone was accusing everyone else of turning invisible in the crowd, and somehow you and i were at fault. we were so angry we barely heard chris ask to take our picture, and when we did, you couldn't even manage a smile, but i did, a huge fake one, plus the aforementioned dipkiss. i was going to rip that picture up, but meg asked for it. she doesn't share that humid memory, so it's better off with her.

another from later that night, of the two of us at sean's place, was slightly better. we were stil wearing the dress and the suit, and you'd just pulled me into your lap, both of us unaware of being watched, and then sean yelled and snapped the picture, catching us with those weird delirious smiles. we'd long since made up by then, and we look considerably happier, despite my overdone gray makeup and the postdance sheen covering us both. even later that night, though we didn't know it yet, we were going to have our first self-control moment, on a bench between our respective dorms.

then there's the one good shreveport one, that i insisted on taking right before i boarded the plane, where it's just our faces because i had to hit the shutter myself. not a pimple on either of us, nice clear skin for once, and you still had your new haircut, just like i had what was left of my eighty-dollar touchup. you were biting your lip, maybe because of the spot you'd found to rest your hand. i'm going to put that in a glass frame, and stick it on my desk. and you're not going to ruin this year for me.

you photogenic wildcard you.