Camera Ready

When Blue got sick this time, I put my camera down. I found I didn't have the heart to take pictures. She fussed at me for this, reminding me that despite cancer and all the overwhelming losses we face, life goes on.

“Listen,” she scolded, “You have a gift. You can't stop just because I'm dying.”

I hated hearing her say it, hated the truth of it and her calmness when saying it. There have been times these past few days when her acceptance has scalded me. Worst of all, I hated that she was right. She knew it and I knew it. Reluctantly, I dragged out my small point and shoot and aimed it at her. I wasn't at all sure my hands were steady enough for it.

“How do you want me?” she asked.

“Doesn't matter,” I said but it was a reflex reply and I knew it the second I said it. “Put your hand on the guitar here,” I instructed, “Just rest your chin on your hand and look at me.”

“With or without oxygen?” she wanted to know.

I hesitated but only for a second. “With,” I told her, “You're nothing if not real.” There was a suggestion of a smile, more in those soulful brown eyes than her mouth, and I snapped the shutter before I could think about what was happening. The idea that it could be the last picture I would take of her was flitting like a moth around the edges of my mind and I wanted it gone.

“Good?” she asked, putting aside the guitar and sinking back into a nest of pillows.

“Good,” I assured her although I had no idea whether it would be or not, “I'll pretty you up a little and then show you tomorrow.”

She nodded, closed her eyes and fell asleep and another precious day was behind us.