The Photo

By Anna Panunto

The house is quiet at 2:00am except for the hypnotic sound of the clock ticking in the kitchen. Resting my tired body on my leather couch, I take my two favorite fluffy snow-white pillows and place one underneath my head and the other under my aching feet. Ah, this is comfort! For some reason, the sound of the clock ticking is getting louder and now hypnotizing me in a meditative trance.

Source: Anna Panunto

Just as I am about to fall in a slow wave sleep, I get this unexpected urge to look through my old wooden box. Ouff! This box is hidden in one of my antique bookshelves at the opposite end of the living room. For a long lazy moment, I hesitate. Why bother looking through this box? I have become a slave to insomnia – my restless mind lost in the pain of yesterdays. But, this unrelenting urge is stronger than me , so I sluggishly get up and walk toward my bookshelf. I just stand there like a zombie and mutter nonsense to myself. The box is hidden at the far end on the first shelf. I carefully pull out my most prized possession! An old black and white photo of you, daddy. Indeed, I must travel back in time and revisit an old self and who knows, perhaps, in the midst of insomnia and in between worlds, can somehow colligate the you in me. I carefully pull it out and it feels like it is staring right back at me. Oh, the familiar salty tears are falling down my pained cheeks! There is a distinct white line at the center of your photo – never had noticed it before.

Hmmm… let me turn over the picture. The photo was taken in August, 1962. Who took this photo? I always meant to ask you, daddy. Was it a friend or a lover?

You are chuckling now and I can see the crack of your dimples.

“Anna, I got married very young, you know. I was only 21 – still a kid. But, your mama, was so beautiful! When we are young; we don’t think straight. Yes, I know the fatal love story, but why do I keep hearing it over and over again almost like a broken record suspended in mid- air? For, it is not my story.

I can see you smiling now – that charismatic smile of an actor. It melted everyone’s hearts- even those that despised you.

Silence…. deafening silence. But, now I can actually see your silence as a kopis sword.

I hear the giggles of a little girl. That little girl is me. Goldilocks with big brown eyes wearing a purple dress with a white bow on her head. She is playing in the yard, so carefree! Ah, yes, that tall cherry tree and the tulip garden. Oh wait, she is picking a purple tulip. She smells it and puts it close to her chest. A happy eight year old girl.

“Daddy- Daddy who do you love the most?”

“Daddy- Daddy, will you buy me that doll?”

“Oh, you drive me crazy sometimes – what am I going to do with you -eh?!

But, the years turned to decades and silly little girl questions transformed into something else.

I am kissing the aged picture now and it feels cold against my lips. I see that it is cracked around its corners and almost falling apart. Its fragility brings me to tears.

I am caressing your face with the tip of my fingers and become entranced by its soft rustling sound. Suddenly, a ghostly murmur escapes it.

“Be proud of your daddy….remember, you only have one”

Daddy, I have a dream…

It is filled with colors

I see white doves flying toward me.

I think that I am happy, but I’m not so sure.

Daddy, are you listening?

The doves have now flown away and I bid them farewell very unselfishly.

The picture escapes from my fingers and falls unto the Persian carpet. It whispers goodbye in my native tongue. I leave it there as my hanging eyelids and dark circles under my eyes remind me that … a deep sleep awaits me.

Anna Maria Panunto was born and raised in Montreal, Quebec. She completed her university studies at McGill University. She is of Italian origin and speaks three languages: English, French, and Italian. Anna is a Course lecturer at McGill University and an Adult Education teacher at the EMSB. She has been writing since the age of 13. Over the decades, she has published poetry, short-stories, articles, and other stuff.