And I wanna know what you know
And I wanna know where you go

These Photographs, Joshua Radin

“You’re stalking her!” Laurence exclaimed, half in amazement, half in horror, waving a handful of photographs at another guy. Those who passed by his friend’s window would have inferred that Laurence and Malcolm were in a lovers’ quarrel – maybe about a love triangle. Laurence’s look of disbelief seemed to be permanently stuck on his face and Malcolm’s defensive look was also clearly visible. Laurence threw the pictures on the dining table.

They were all of the same girl. She had long, brown hair and seemed very tall – then again, Malcolm was six feet and a half, so that wasn’t a huge problem, Laurence reasoned. She seemed quite pretty, even though Laurence could not really see her face – Malcolm, an avid photographer, was a good one, but Laurence figured that he must have been far away. Malcolm was, after all, quite shy when it came to things like this. And everything else.

“You haven’t shown any signs of interest in girls for such a long time that I thought you’d become asexual,” Laurence confessed, dropping himself in Malcolm’s armchair. Malcolm glared at him, but Laurence did not notice. “What’s her name?”

Malcolm stayed silent. His Malteser eyes stared straight at Laurence for a full minute. Then he cleared his throat and said, “I’m not stalking her!”

Silence.

“Okay, maybe I am,” Malcolm admitted, grinning for once. Then his face fell as he said, “I don’t know her name.”

As strange as Malcolm was, Laurence was surprised by his statement and could not hide it. He stood up, walked across to the dining table and spread the pictures across it. Malcolm had a family of four and his dining table could seat six, but even after Laurence cleared it of cutlery and homework (Art, which was the start of all this) he could not spread them out properly.

Laurence could not count them all, but there must have been around a hundred and twenty photographs on the table alone and there were more stacks of them somewhere else – this, Laurence knew. He realised that the girl was wearing scarves and hats in a few, T-shirts and tank tops in others.

“Holy mackerel,” Laurence gulped. “How long have you been stalking her for, you nut?” Six months? He wondered. Seven?

“Three months,” Malcolm responded rather dreamily. Laurence knew at once that he was telling the truth. And he had not been caught yet! Laurence gave him a glare and Malcolm promptly began telling his story.

For Malcolm, Wednesday was photography day. And one Wednesday in March he had spotted a pretty brunette on the way to the park. Since he had his camera, he took one picture. Then a second and a third. He was far away (and not using flash), so she had not noticed him. Malcolm had not gone to the park that day – instead, he had followed her all the way to an art studio. Then he took pictures at her window.

“She’s honestly passionate about it,” Malcolm grinned. “And blares some kind of a symphony in the room, so she doesn’t know I’m there.”

Laurence could only gaze at Malcolm, openly displaying a look of horror. “You’re scary,” he states, his voice husky and his tone nervous. “ You need to go up to her and talk. It’s not like you’re twice as old as she is or ridiculously hideous. Talk to her. I mean it.”

Malcolm sat back in his chair, looking down at the floor as he spoke. “I know,” he sighed. “ I don’t know how to start. Can you help me?” He looked up hopefully.

But Laurence had already closed the front door behind him.