For me, I wanted him to learn to be happy alone. Even though I would walk beside him every day in his heart.
“Rune,” I urged softly. “Please come with me.”
Rune stared at my outstretched hand, before relenting and clasping our hands tightly together. Even then he stared at our joined hands with a hint of pain behind his guarded eyes.
Bringing those hands to my lips, I kissed the back of his hand and brought them to my cheek. Rune exhaled through his nose. Finally, he pulled me under the protection of his arm. Wrapping my arm around his waist, I led him through the double doors, revealing the show on the other side.
We were greeted with a vast, open space, famous pictures framed by the high walls. Rune stilled, and I looked up just in time to see his surprised yet impassioned reaction on seeing his dream showcased before him. An exhibition of pictures that had shaped our time.
Pictures that had changed the world.
Perfectly captured moments in time.
Rune’s chest expanded slowly as he inhaled deeply, then exhaled with guarded calmness. He glanced down at me and opened his lips. Not a sound came out. Not a single word formed.
Rubbing my hand across his chest, under the camera that was hanging around his neck, I said, “I found out this exhibition was on last night and wanted you to see it. It’ll be here for the year, but I wanted to be here, with you, in this moment. I … I wanted to share this with you.”
Rune blinked, his expression neutral. The only reaction he displayed was the clenching of his jaw. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
Slipping from below his arm, I loosely held his fingers. Consulting the guidebook, I brought us to the first picture in the exhibition. I smiled, seeing the sailor in the center of Times Square dipping the nurse back to kiss her on the lips. “New York City. August 14, 1945. V-J Day in Times Square by Alfred Eisenstaedt,” I read. And I felt the lightness and the excitement of the celebration through the image displayed before me. I felt I was there, sharing that moment with all who were there.
I looked up at Rune, and I saw him studying the picture. His expression hadn’t changed, but I saw his jaw slacken as his head tilted slightly to one side.
His fingers twitched in mine.
I smiled again.
He wasn’t immune. And no matter how much he resisted, he loved this. I could feel it as easily as I could feel the snow hit my skin outside. I led him to the second picture. My eyes widened as I took in the dramatic sight. Tanks rolling forward in convoy, a man standing directly in their path. I quickly read the information, heart racing. “Tiananmen Square, Beijing. June 5, 1989. This picture captured one man's protest to stop the military suppression of continuing protests against the Chinese government.”
I stepped closer to the picture. I swallowed. “It’s sad,” I said to Rune. Rune nodded his head.
Every new picture seemed to evoke a different emotion. Looking at these captured moments I truly understood why Rune loved to take photographs. This exhibition demonstrated how capturing these images impacted society. They showed humanity at its best and at its worst.
They highlighted life in all its nakedness and in its purest form.
When we stopped at the next picture, I immediately glanced away, unable to look properly. A vulture patiently waiting, hovering over an emaciated child. The image immediately made me feel full of sorrow.
I moved to walk away, but Rune stepped closer to the image. My head snapped up and I watched him. I watched him study every part of the picture. I watched as his eyes flared and his hands clenched at his side.
His passion had broken through.
Finally.
“This picture is one of the most controversial pictures ever taken,” he informed me quietly, still focused on the image. “The photographer was covering the famine in Africa. As he was taking his pictures, he saw this child walking for help, and this vulture waiting by, sensing death.” He took a breath. “This picture showed, in one image, the extent of the famine more than all the previous written reports ever did.” Rune looked at me. “It made people sit up and pay attention. It showed them, in all its brutal severity, how bad the famine had grown.” He pointed back at the child, crouched on the ground. “Because of this picture, aid work increased, the press covered more of the people’s struggles.” He took a deep breath. “It changed their world.”
Not wanting to stop his momentum, we walked to the next one. “Do you know what this one is about?”
Most of the photographs, I struggled to look at. Most were of pain, most were of suffering. But to a photographer, although graphic and heart-wrenchingly difficult to view, they held a certain type of poetic grace. They held a deep and endless message, all captured in a single frame.
“It was a protest—the Vietnam war. A Buddhist monk set himself on fire.” Rune’s head dipped and tipped to the side, studying the angles. “He never flinched. He took the pain to make a statement that peace should be achieved. It highlighted the plight and the futility of that war.”
And the day rolled on, Rune explaining almost every picture. When we reached the final shot, it was a black-and-white picture of a young woman. It was old; her hair and make-up seemed to be from the sixties. She appeared to be around twenty-five in the picture. And she was smiling.
It made me smile too.
I looked to Rune. He shrugged, silently telling me that he didn’t know the picture either. The title simply read, “Esther”. I searched the guidebook for the information, my eyes immediately brimming with water when I read the inspiration. When I read why this picture was here.
“What?” Rune asked, his eyes flashing with worry.
“Esther Rubenstein. The late wife of the patron of this exhibition.” I blinked, and finally managed to finish, “Died aged twenty-six, of cancer.” I swallowed the emotion in my throat and stepped closer to Esther’s portrait.
“Placed in this exhibition by her husband, who never remarried. He took this picture, and hung it in this exhibition. It reads that even though this picture didn’t change the world, Esther changed his.”
Slow tears trickled down my cheeks. The sentiment was beautiful; the honor was breathtaking.
Wiping my tears away, I glanced back at Rune, who had turned away from the picture. My heart sank. I moved before him. His head was hanging low. I pushed back the hair from his face. The tortured expression that greeted me tore me in two.
“Why did you bring me here?” he asked, through a thick throat.
“Because this is what you love.” I gestured around the room. “Rune, this is NYU Tisch. This is where you wanted to attend. I wanted you to see what you could achieve one day. I wanted you to see what your future could still hold.”
Rune’s eyes closed. When they opened, he caught my stifled yawn. “You’re tired.”
“I’m fine,” I argued, wanting to address this now. But I was tired. I wasn’t sure I could do much more without some rest.
Rune threaded his hand through mine and said, “Let’s go rest before tonight.”
“Rune,” I tried to argue, to talk about this more, but Rune swung around and quietly said, “Poppymin, please. No more.” I could hear the strain in his voice. “New York was our dream. There’s no New York without you. So please…” He trailed off, then sadly whispered, “Stop.”
Not wishing to see him so broken, I nodded. Rune kissed my forehead. This kiss was soft. It was thankful.