There\u2019s a box in the closet. It must have held boots or waders \u2013 it\u2019s large and full of family photographs; Polaroids, photo-booth strips, sleeved negatives, scalloped edge snapshots from the 50\u2019s, graduation photos, wedding shots, two passport pictures, a cube of slides, even some faxes that have faded to faint purple smears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It\u2019s a jumble with no evident chronology: our history expressed as clutter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I set it on the bed and plunge my hands into the past and pull out a photograph. It\u2019s a black and white of me at ten, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, a sailor cap. I\u2019m sitting on the front steps of the three-family house we lived in then, and in my right hand is a water pistol. I am grinning at the camera and holding the gun to my head, a mock suicide. The gun is a Luger, black, and I recall how much I liked that gun, the forceful stream it produced when I squeezed the trigger, its textured grip.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My father must have taken the picture. He had a Pentax with a leather case and was the recorder of our life, the selector of our memories. I see him looking at me in the little rectangle and I wonder if it gave him pause to view his son holding a Luger to his head, the iconic weapon of the enemy, the favored pistol of men he had killed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The enemies are dead, long buried, and my father\u2019s ashes have dissolved in the sea, all the Lugers turned to dust in landfills, but I still point a finger at my temple, make a shooting sound when you call.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Someplace in Belgium, you say, and while you ask again for money, and list your difficulties and plans, I search for the town on screen and zoom in to street view and imagine finding you sitting in a bar near a window. You look up and see me hovering, staring at you; you hear your own voice, tinny, coming from the phone in my hand. You point your finger at your temple and laugh.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
There\u2019s a box in the closet. It must have held boots or waders \u2013 it\u2019s large and full of family photographs; Polaroids, photo-booth strips, sleeved negatives, scalloped edge snapshots from the 50\u2019s, graduation photos, wedding shots, two passport pictures, a cube of slides, even some faxes that have faded to faint purple smears. It\u2019s a […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"yoast_head":"\n