Page 77 of Returned Mail

“Tax forms need a headshot or dickshot?” I walk away, as he laughs behind me.

It takes me an hour to take one picture, which is embarrassing.

I wait until the tent is quieter, sit on my bunk, and hold the camera out, lower it, and try again. I feel like a fucking idiot.

Finally, I take the damn picture before I can think about it anymore. The flash is too damn bright… I wait for the photo to slide out. I stare at the blank square while it develops in my hand.

Slowly, my face appears.

My eyes are tired, my hair is longer than regulation would like. I have a healing cut near my cheekbone. There is dust in the lines of my skin. I look like a man who's been deployed too many times and hasn't slept right in months. Will she think I'm attractive? I want her to find me attractive. I want her to look at this photo and feel something.

I almost throw it away.

Is not that I think Mia expects anything else, but I don't know what it means to let her see me. To let her know what I look like when I'm thinking about her. When I'm lying in the dark wondering what her mouth tastes like. What her skin feels like. Whether she'd want me if she saw me.

All of me.

Not just my face.

I sit there with the photo for a long time, my pulse still too fast, then I turn it over and write:

This is me.

I slide it into an envelope before I can change my mind, then I take out a sheet of paper.

Mia,

You said you wanted to see what I see.

I can't show you most of this place. Rules. Safety. Common sense. Pick one.

But I can show you me.

No filter, no good lighting, and no pretending I look less tired than I am.

This is what I look like right now.

You don't have to send anything back.

The camera is cheap, but it works. I'm sending it with this letter. If you want to use it, use it. If you don't, throw it in a drawer and pretend I never sent it.

I would like to see you.

Only if you want that too.

For what it's worth, I'm glad you're the one living there.

In the apartment, I mean.

—George

I’m trying not to make it weird, but I want to see her…. I need to see her…

“Jesus Christ.”

I’m crossing a line I shouldn't cross.

Chapter Twenty