It’s faded, worn at the edges and deeply lined as if it’s been folded and refolded a million times. Link found it in a box of his things from college that had long remained unopened in the garage. It had lain at the bottom of the box—under diplomas and yearbooks, under notebooks full of notes he’d never read again and old t-shirts full of holes—for at least 15 years. It was displaced, probably slipped out from a shoebox of photographs that had since been moved into photo albums or thrown away.
Link peels it from the bottom of the box and wipes away the years of dust that have collected on its surface. Peering up at him from the tattered photo is him and Rhett, goofy smiles plastered across their faces. Their heads are angled so they both fit in the frame, just barely touching. They’re at the river and the Carolina sun peeks out from behind Rhett’s head, overexposing the film, flaring out of frame.
Link remembers the night it was taken well. How could he not? It was the night before Rhett got married. He remembers the sound of the screen door slamming closed as Rhett stomped into his house unannounced, begging him to cut his hair; he’d made a last minute decision that he wanted it buzzed for the wedding.
Link complied, of course, when did he ever deny Rhett anything? His fingers remember the soft fuzz of Rhett’s hair after the last of his curls had fallen away. It feels like just yesterday that they had stood in that little bathroom, eyes meeting in the mirror, grinning at each other like idiots.
Rhett hadn’t wanted much in terms of a bachelor party, so instead he proposed taking a long drive down to the river, just him and Link and a bottle of whiskey. Link told him he should probably go home and get some sleep, but Rhett was too keyed up, too full of nervous energy. So Link followed him out to his car, sang along to the music he blasted from the radio, and meandered with him down the little path that led to the river’s edge.
After they’d passed the bottle back and forth a few times, Rhett said they needed to commemorate his freshly buzzed hair and his last night as a single man. He ran back to the Dynasty and pulled out a disposable camera buried in the back of his trunk.
They snapped the picture and within five seconds of the shutter flipping open and closed Rhett kissed Link for the first and last time. Their lips met for a quiet, breathtaking moment and then it was over.
Rhett stumbled over an apology and sprinted back to the car, Link running to keep up. The tires of Rhett’s car kicked dust into the air behind them as they sped away, leaving all traces of what happened between them on the bank of the river.
Now, Link holds the photograph to his chest, reliving a memory he’d buried deep in his heart so many years ago.
He takes the picture inside and the next day buys a little frame for it. When Rhett comes into work the following morning, he finds it sitting among the other pictures collected on his desk.
Stuck to it is a little yellow post-it which reads:
I remember. Love, Link.