Watching Elijah Fall, Page 4

  Chapter 4

  When I showed up to the first Wednesday photo lab I was a little surprised at the crowd. Most of the students filled the adjacent studio, observing, assisting, or setting up shots of their own. I couldn’t help but watch Elijah for a moment as he moved between the three wall-separated enclosures, helping to adjust lighting, read meters, and answer a barrage of questions about this and that. Forcing myself to turn away, I headed in the direction of the darkroom. I had spent an unusually long day in the studio, and though mine was far less claustrophobic, one you could easily pull a van into, I had no real interest in spending my night in one as well.

  At the moment, I was more interested in the binder I held in my hand.

  After the Monday night class, I had lain in bed, my thoughts drifting to my new instructor and to the photograph of the aging couple, when inspiration had hit. Two in the morning found me digging through boxes in my closet until I found a binder full of negatives salvaged from my grandparents’ house after they had both passed away. I had always planned to scan the negatives, still did, but I loved the idea of making prints directly from them.

  It took me a moment to find a medium-format negative holder for the enlarger, since the majority of the photos had been shot in 120mm, but after that, it was easy, the chemicals already mixed and the trays already set up.

  The only other students in the room seemed to be wrapping up for the evening, a rush project at work having kept me late and causing me to miss most of the lab. Anyone else who might have been there appeared to have already called it a night. I was a little disappointed that Elizabeth was not there to keep me company and wondered if she had already come and gone. I made a mental note to text her, having exchanged numbers that first evening.

  Looking through the negatives, I found the one I wanted. It was of my grandmother as a woman in her late twenties sitting on my grandfather’s lap. He sat on one of the same painted white metal chairs that still sat on my grandparents’ porch the day I had gone off to school. My grandmother laughing, a hand up to playfully bat away the one taking the photo, my grandfather, a wolfish grin on his face.

  I had to stumble through making three test strips, a test print in which the image is exposed to photographic paper in narrow strips, each exposure increasing in length, before I was able to determine the best time for the final print. When I had finally submerged my first true print in the developer, the others had gone, and I was blessedly alone, relieved not to feel the need to rein in my excitement.

  I stared at the sheet, bouncing slightly on the balls of my feet, waiting to see the first shadow of the image start to darken its surface. It was like every seventies private detective show I had ever seen.

  “I feel like James Garner.” The quiet laughter from the direction of the door told me I was no longer as alone as I had thought. I didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

  I should have been embarrassed, but when I looked over to see Elijah smiling as he approached, I could only grin back. Today he wore a black tie with dark trousers and a vest over a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up. He looked tired and slightly rumpled, and I found him more appealing in his imperfection than I had two nights before.

  “You look tired,” I said, speaking the thought before I could think to hold it back. The words seemed too intimate somehow for a near stranger.

  He only laughed, running both hands through his hair. “Exhausted.”

  He studied me for a few heartbeats before lowering his hands and gesturing with one toward the tray. “Do you mind?”

  “Of course not.” He took a place across from me, standing on the other side of the island sink, just as I lifted the print out of the developer to deposit it into the stop-bath.

  He leaned down to study it for a moment before asking how long the exposure had been. The question confusing me at first, the man’s proximity making it hard for me to think.

  “Twenty-seven seconds.” I finally managed to get out before the gap between question and answer became too awkward. “They’re my grandparents.”

  He smiled then, looking up at me. “It’s wonderful. Do you have many more?”

  “A whole binder.” I couldn’t hide my excitement.

  “And why did you choose to print this image first?” he asked and met my eyes again when I didn’t answer right away. There was something about the way he seemed to study me that gave me the feeling that my answer had meaning far above the sum of its words. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

  I didn’t mind, of course, but I didn’t want to give him a pat answer that would have normally slipped from my lips. I wanted to give him the real one.

  “When I was young, my grandfather kept a copy of this photo hidden in the top drawer of his desk.”

  Elijah squinted at me, confused. “Hidden?”

  “Yes.” I laughed. “He kept it hidden in his desk drawer because my grandmother absolutely hated it. Said she looked fat.” I used the tongs to indicate my grandmother’s stomach. “ See? She was four months pregnant with my mother and was just starting to show.”

  He smiled. “I think she looks absolutely beautiful.”

  I used the tongs to lift the photograph out of the stop-bath, letting it drip a moment before placing it into the fixer. “I think so too.”

  “You look a lot like her.” The logical side of my brain knew, just knew, that this man was not flirting with me, even as I felt my pulse pick up.

  I cleared my throat. “I’ve always thought I looked like my grandfather.”

  He looked back down to study the photograph again. “I guess I’d need to see you with a woman on your lap.”

  I threw my head back and laughed, and Elijah pushed away from the sink with a grin. “Ten more minutes before lights on,” he told me, walking backwards, still grinning, hands shoved into his pockets, “then I’m kicking you out.”

  When I got home that night, I found myself restless. I turned on the television, flipping through the channels to find nothing on but a Law and Order rerun I had seen twice before. The husband with Alzheimer’s did it.

  Turning it off again, I grabbed my phone to text Elizabeth to exact a promise that she would be at the lab on Friday. That done, I took a deep breath and, before I could talk myself out of it, called Robert’s cell.

  “Hey Jacob.”

  “Hi, Rob. Can I speak with Evan?” There was a shuffling sound and some muffled voices before I heard Evan speak.

  “Hey, Jacob. Is everything okay?” The slight confusion in his voice and the genuine concern there made me feel terrible.

  I am such an asshole.

  I asked him to lunch the following day, and after only a moment’s hesitation, he agreed.

  We made plans, me promising to pick him up at their house just before noon, finally asking for and programing Evan’s cell number into my own phone.

  After I ended the call, I undressed and climbed into bed. I laid there for a long while, finally rolling over to study the photograph of my grandparents that I had placed on my nightstand. I was unable to hold back a smile. I loved the image, loved the class and was starting to like Elijah Fall, no doubt, a little too much.