Page 57 of Rootbound
In no particular order:
1. Watching SPCA commercials on a loop.
2. Filling out those “I’m not a robot” picture grids online, when the traffic light/bicycle/crosswalk has a tiny corner in another square and you can’t tell if it counts or not.
3. Your car forever stuck next to a bad parker in the lot (apparently this ishugefor Henry and happens a lot with his size. He often has to crawl through the passenger side).
4. Mosquito bites. Self-explanatory. An itch that can’t be scratched is theworstkind of torture, after all.
5. Autocorrect and “ducking” (it is NEVER ducking).
6. Forever getting the feeling of needing to sneeze, butlosing it right before. This was my proudest contribution. He agreed this would be the most hellish misery we could come up with within these guidelines.
Honorable Mentions:
A) Ill-fitting shirts. Apparently, it’s hard for him to find shirts that are long enough, while wide enough on the shoulders, but not TOO wide for his trunk area. I think this is a Henry problem and not list-worthy.(Yes, yes… I did let loose a crack about how he could just go without, which earned me a wink that made me need to cross my legs aggressively.)
B) Working up the courage to kill a spider, only to miss it. Henry was disappointed in my fear of spiders, but promised to come relocate the beasts should I find any at my place during my stay.
At times, the questions turn more serious. He tells me about his mother’s passing and his dad’s incarceration—something he doesn’t seem to have much, if any, resentment about. When I comment on that, he says, “Why would I? I got to grow up here. I’ve had more opportunities and privileges than most people get in their entire lifetime.”
I want to remind him that letting go or setting aside something when he’s not actually done with it might not be good, but then I realize it’s different for him. Hecan’tdo anything else about his dad, can’t form a new and better relationship with him when his father doesn’t even want one; when their relationship prior was, objectively, shit.
I also want to tell him that he doesn’t owe the Logans militant allegiance for his life. That he doesn’t owe Charliehisentirelife. That if he wants to find his own thing, seek his own way, he can and should.…
But then the thought occurs to me that, whenIdid that, when I decided to go after something for just myself, it led to the dissolution of my marriage. I loathe myself for thinking it, because, logically, I know that’s not all there was to it. I know that Cole made his choices, knowingly. But those feelings and insecurities that I’ve smothered rear up, telling me that maybe if I’d finished nursing school, not sought a career with travel and adventure and art… a career to define myself by… maybe if I’d stayed the girl that I was when we married, who’donlywanted family, stability, and calm, then maybe he wouldn’t have fallen out of love with me.
Though, I don’t mourn it, I realize. I don’t wish it was any different, anymore. Henry’s done that for me.
The more morsels of information I get, the hungrier I am to know more about him—hell, about everyone.
I spend more time with Emma, and she brings me a series of articles she used to write for a local section of their newspaper. They were always about the ranch: the seasons, events they’d hosted here, recaps from town meetings, cattle and horses and even rodeos. I’m incredibly impressed with her writing—her ability to make even the mundane seem so interesting.
“Guess maybe the art genes run in the family, huh? Your photography is so good because you love it, too, you know,” she says.
But when it comes to Henry, I can’t seem to ask a weird enough, or random enough question, which he typically follows up with a more normal-adjacent one.
I think it’s on day four that I ask, “Who would you want to narrate your life in a movie?” To which he instantly replies, “Matthew McConaughey, you?”
“Leslie Jones. Do you want to work here forever?”
He quirks a brow at me, but responds in an obvious tone, “Yeah, I think I really do.”
He asks about Ava and Jack, and I ramble on story after story.
He doesn’t pry into my past, so I decide to leave his alone, still feeling a bit dirty for knowing the pieces that I do.
Game or not, it’s the most fun I’ve had in forever.
On day five, my cousin Lucy shows up, declaring that she is taking the remainder of the semester off. LeighAnn supports it without argument, and my warmth toward her increases anew. Having Lucy here is as close as it could feel to having Ava here with me. She’s a fast friend and ally, especially when it comes to ribbing Henry, and getting a rise out of Emmaline. She’s convinced everyone to throw us a joint birthday party in a few weeks, for which she’s booked a DJ, a full bar service, and a lighting company faster than I couldsay “whoa,” and has resumed planning on a level more suited to a wedding than a family barbecue.
On day six, Duane asks me:
“What is it about photography? Don’t get me wrong, your stuff is a different caliber, I’m sure, but isn’t everyone their own photographer these days?” He holds up his phone in explanation. Emmaline and Charlie throw him such venomous looks that I immediately go into peacekeeping mode, answering without considering being offended.
“I get what you mean. And I actually think the premise behind professional photos and taking a selfie on your phone is kinda the same. It’s wanting to stop time for a second and capture it, preserve it, make it something tangible. I guess for me… I’ve always felt a little like an observer. I think I’ve always been painfully aware of the fact that I’m not the main character?” I realize how bad that sounds, so I flail my hands and quickly continue, “Or at least, not theonlycharacter. What I mean by that is in no way belittling myself, but it’s made me feel very watchful of what’s around me, rather than always feeling like I’m the one being watched… if that makes sense.
“Taking a picture of something is my way of having my own bits and pieces of all kinds of things. And sure, it can make you cynical about lighting and angles and all that, but at its core it’s being able to notice and see something that might otherwise go unnoticed or unappreciated. I think having a camera in my hand lets me find even the most mundane, suburban existence beautiful. Even people’s daily grind and routines are beautiful, when you think about it; people just doing whatever it is they have to do to take care of themselves and each other, not for the recognition of it, just for whatit is. We take pictures to preserve and stop time. So, I guess in a roundabout way, photography also helped me find myself, by shining a light on my own strengths and character. Pictures do a great job of making the ordinary come alive.”