- Ru?
Prior to that moment, I had never seen Yuri in his casual clothing. Hadn't even dreamt of it. There hadn't existed a parallel universe, in that setting, prior to the instance our eyes caught.
He seemed even taller than what he was at school, if that was possible. Perhaps that was due to the fact he was wearing clothes that fit him for the first time; a dark green fleece sweater that was zipped all the way up to his chin, tightly laced boots, and dark jeans that fit the length of his legs.
His mother stepped into my field of vision, saving me a few seconds to collect myself. She took the two black plastic bags that Yuri was carrying.
- Ru? Yuri said again as soon as his hands were free. - What are you doing here?
- I...I came...myâmy mother...prepared some food that she thought I should bring over as thanks.
I had never called Eline my mother. I could feel my cheeks heating up.
- Oh. Okay.
I swallowed.
- Do you want to stay? Yuri asked.
- No. I'm gonna go now.
I was painfully aware of the way the collar of my shirt was cutting into my neck, constricting my air supply.
I wasn't going to befriend Yuri. I had done what was asked of me. It was best if I left now.
I turned to his mother.
- Madame Karamova. I bowed. - Thank you for having me, I said, giving her a timid smile.
- Where are you going, Ru? His mother asked, her eyebrows drawing together, - You just arrived, stay for dinner. We'll have your mother's gulaars.
I didn't know if it was impolite to decline her offer. She was staring at me very intently. Impoliteness was a sin in my household. If somehow the news got back to my father that I had behaved rudely at a stranger's house, I was sure to regret it.
I hesitated.
The kitchen grew stifling hot. The moisture from my palms could single-handedly supply the Caspian Sea.
Yuri tugged the sleeve of my windbreaker, drawing my attention away from his mother.
- Come on, I'll show you my camera.
Without protest, I followed him out of the kitchen. We rounded the corner in the hallway. The noises emanating from his siblings' room grew louder. Yuri didn't seem as interested as I was to find out what was happening behind the door to our left. He guided me up a flight of stairs and opened the first door on the second floor. He waited patiently for me to step inside before he closed the door behind us.
The room contained a single bed with a wooden frame, an armoire that reached up to the ceiling, and a desk pushed against the short side wall. Yet despite the sparse furnishing, there was no empty space. His room was cluttered with tiny things. Not so many clothes, as toys, papers, paper planes, school books, shoes, and a myriad of religious, calligraphic, wooden carvings called hiklim.
Yuri, accustomed to the state of his room, went straight to the window on the opposite wall from the door and picked something up. He held the camera by its leather case. At first glance, it looked like a deformed stuffed toy. But then he unzipped the zip and there, in his hand, he held a Nikon analog camera.
- Where did you get that? I asked, stepping closer to see the device. My nervousness dissipated as soon as I realised it was the real thing. The rounded lens butted out from the bulky body, and you could tell without even having to touch it that it weighed something.
It looked valuable. Too valuable to be playing with.
- My uncle gave it to me. Yuri picked up the camera to his face.
- Can you take pictures with it? I asked.
He nodded.
- Can I take one of you? He asked. His unobscured eye shone with curiosity. He directed the lens up to my face.
I froze, hesitating. The first question that came to my mind was whether I was allowed or not. If my father found out, he wouldn't be too pleased. But then again, I doubted he would be any happier if he found out I had been to the Karamov's in the first place. Besides, I reasoned, it was all Eline's fault anyway.
- Yes, I replied.
Yuri's mouth quirked upwards, mimicking my own growing smile.
- We should do it outside then, he said.
We sneaked out into his backyard through a back door. In the distance, we could hear the rhythmic chopping of wood as his father worked away at producing firewood.
We took turns taking pictures of each other, doing different movements; jumping from rocks, posing with my bicycle. Yuri taught me where you could view the pictures in the film, and showed me the little box that counted down how many photos you had left to take. Yuri was adamant that we didn't pass the number five.
- One last photo! I called out to him.
I liked holding the vintage camera. It wasn't that I was aware that it was old at that point, on the contrary, it was probably the most expensive piece of technical device I had ever held in my hands. And everything modern in my house was expensive. I automatically equated the two together. I was jealous that such a valuable thing belonged to Yuri, and that he had his uncle who could help him develop the film whenever he wanted.
When my family took photos we always hired a professional. We took Christmas pictures, birthday pictures, and Easter pictures. There was a whole ritual around it, where we were forced into stuffy formalwear and were made to ate cake afterwards. We made it into a ceremonial thing, and I realise now, in retrospect, how oblivious we were to photography; the activity of capturing everyday life.
- Let me see! Yuri called back from where he'd ventured out in search of cool props. I lifted the lens to him and watched his frame grow larger and larger in the small, clear box as he approached.
- Let me see, he said and grabbed for the camera. I took a step back, pulling away just in time.
- Wait, stand still.
To my surprise, Yuri did as I said without much of a fight.
- Hey, I called, still eyeing him from behind the camera, - Do you want to be a photographer?
He shifted from one foot to the other, unknowingly drawing even closer to me.
- You do, don't you? I teased. I couldn't help the smile that formed on my lips at the sight of him fidgeting.
- With this-, I held up the camera, - I'm sure you could.
Yuri laughed and tried to go for the camera again. Once again, I jerked back and he missed by a hair's breadth.
- Let me take this last picture of you, I said, stepping forward. Yuri stepped back, shielding his face. I pulled at his arms. He swatted away my free hand. After a few trials and errors, I had his arm twisted around his back and he was yelling out qhis surrender.
He turned around to face me, his expression exasperated.
- It's just one picture, I said, not caving. - Stand still.
- Why are you standing so close? I can't do a pose like this.
- I'm gonna take a picture of your eyes, okay? Just stand still.
- Why?
I pretended not to notice the flush on his pale cheeks. I focused on getting as close as I could without the image in the viewfinder getting blurry.
Step by step I drew closer until I was standing about fifteen centimeters from the left side of his face.
Yuri was staring into the camera, at first pouty, but then his expression smoothed out like liquid paint on a canvas; his natural curiosity taking over. Silence enveloped us. It felt like nature itself was holding its breath.
His left iris was crystalline like the kind of artificial blue colour you found in dolls, but never in humans. It was beautiful.
He was beautiful.
I snapped the photo. My finger pressed the clicker on the camera. The evidence is in the fact that the film was developed later on and that I have it in my possession. But in that instance, as I was taking the photo, my mind was very far away from the action to have any real recollection of it.
I remember the seconds following more vividly. I remember exhaling and inhaling, and feeling as if the symphony of nature surrounding us fell back into harmony. I remember laughing, and relieving myself of the weight of the camera as I handed it over to him, and my fingers trembling from the rush of adrenaline skyrocketing to my brain.
Yuri wanted to see the picture. He craned over the small clear glass on the camera in concentration. His hair fell like a curtain shielding his face.
Unknowingly, I stepped closer. I wanted to touch him; to touch his hair, his shoulder, his slender fingers.
- Why did you take a photo of my eye? He asked looking up.
I felt giddy with restless energy. I couldn't suppress my smile. We could really be friends, him and I, perhaps even photographers.
- Because your eyes are beautiful, I confessed.
I was afraid. Of course I was afraid. I hadn't said anything that felt truer than that statement before in my life, and the fact that it felt wrong to admit it held some significance. I did think his eyes were beautiful. I'd thought so ever since we first met in my father's car.
But I also knew that by saying it out loud I was crossing an invisible line. There were so many things I knew you weren't allowed to say even if you thought so. For once in my life, I was so far out of my father's earshot that the consequences of saying what I felt posed no threat.
It was my first taste of true liberation.