Is it our legacy, as women, to each have one of these? Mine is not only face-down but on the top shelf of my closet, out of reach, out of danger. He gave it to me awkwardly, visibly feeling dumb about it. Who gives somebody a framed picture of themselves? It was my favorite of his headshots, and I'd admired the frame, so he made it mine. I can't remember, now, what he took out of the frame to make it into a present for me, but he did, he changed that for me, and put it in my hands.

I had to fight my way through clothes and boxes to get to it, but I knew exactly where it was. I'm struck again by how handsome he was when he was calm. Here he is looking down and away, hair in his face, glasses sliding down, eyes closed, thinking, at ease. Like he didn't care the camera was on him, like he didn't care who was looking. That was when I liked him best, when it wasn't so tremendous that I wanted to look at him. Later, of course, his attention to my attention grew enormous and complicated, a trap for us both. He wasn't handsome to me anymore, not even interesting. I wonder if I could have kept us both in that stage, hovering in the time when we were enough for each other, before either of us had to turn away.

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