See you on the other side

It’s a low resolution clip, not meant to be played on such a large screen. The camera circles a woman’s face as she stares ahead calmly. When it passes right in front, so that she’s looking towards the camera, her brow contracts ever so slightly. It keeps moving, panning across the left side of her face, and she blinks twice.

She’s conscious of the camera, but not too uncomfortable. Either she’s used to being recorded or she trusts whoever filmed it.

He presses the replay button. There’s a setting to loop the video but he only ever replays manually. He doesn’t like the idea of it repeating until his eyes grow so accustomed that it fades into the background. If it’s playing—if she’s here, animated—he wants to be actively watching.

Sometimes he pauses it while she’s in full profile. It feels like the most expressive angle. Or maybe representative is a better word. There’s a dignity and power to a face in profile. It’s how emperors immortalized themselves in stamped metal. It makes him think of words like character and strength.

There’s also a sense of stolen intimacy. It’s a rare treat to study a loved one in profile.

He can’t stop himself from reaching forward and tracing the shape of her nose and lips. The feel isn’t jarring. This screen isn’t coated in smooth, hard glass. In fact if he presses hard enough it darkens under his touch like a temporary bruise. But it’s missing a warmth and velvety irregularity, reminding him that she’s not here but on the other side.

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This was inspired by Sunday's #freewrite prompt: see you on the other side.

Image by mikasuvanto.