Face of a Man

It was 7:09 and fifteen seconds when the photographer strolled into his office, and Kevin watched as he doubled back, finally acknowledging Kevin's presence in the waiting room.

"Had to drop off June," the photographer said while he ran his hand through his frizzed hair. Kevin's foot pivoted with a nervous twitch as he flipped through the old photo album samples once more.

"Mr. Fitchbell, did you and your wife decide on a layout yet?" All of the pictures were of brunettes. He wanted a blonde! Of all the genetic combinations, how couldn't there be a blonde?

"I've had a lot of families choose the cream-colored background, Mr. Fitchbell."

When the photographer was preoccupied at his desk, Kevin quietly reached behind the plastic slip and inconspicuously slid the singles out.

"We did like the black on white," Kevin said casually. "The couple and children shots."

"Mm hmm," the photographer nodded obliviously.

The faces hiding in Kevin's pocket smiled warmly. It was undeniably welcoming, but it would have been better if the girl had been blonde.

Those genuine faces were burned into his memory during the four-hour car trip home. The woman's scar under her eyebrow would have been from chicken pox. Her favorite smell would be lavender. Kevin would believe there were no imperfections when it came to her, but she would be self-conscious enough to feel overweight. The three children were handfuls, no doubt. Ordinary scenarios came to his mind and were directed to his past like a printing press.

Tuesday's early crowd kept Kevin and the other Sears employees dealing with high tempers and shoppers on their last string. One exhausted woman was looking for a new washing machine. Her torn sweater screamed, "I make minimum wage."

"The Typhoon model has your basic heavy load and light load cycles," Kevin said, "and is more affordable when you've got those other bills and appliances to worry about. Not to mention the kids."

"I've got one of those," she nodded with a newfound energy. "She'll be turning five in August. The sweetest thing since candy." The woman scrunched her nose and squinted at Kevin's shirt. She was looking for his nametag, which he never wore.

"I've got a daughter myself," he added.

"Really?"

Kevin pulled out the gleaming photo of a six-year-old girl. The woman's voice boomed with emotion.

"Isn't that the cutest little girl! She has your eyes."

Justin, the nosey stock boy that Kevin knew was in earshot, caught sight of the curious photograph and closed in.

"You have a daughter, Kevin?" The stock boy took the small picture and studied it with curiosity. After Justin gave him back the photograph, Kevin felt that the voices in the store had fallen into an unnatural silence. Kevin hurriedly put the girl's judging eyes where they couldn't find him.

It was nearly three weeks later when Laura came looking for Kevin. Through a turn of fortune, Kevin had become the head of the entertainment section. News of his family spread quickly through the store, and people were seeking redemption and acceptance from the once quiet father. Laura was a new employee sucked in by the drama.

The quality of her smile captivated. Or was it her daring behavior, the way she challenged the uniform and put up her blonde hair that made the silence Kevin faced so bearable? He started finding excuses to talk to her. Soon, their friendship had overgrown their modest work hours, and they began dining out. For the first time in Kevin's life, it felt as if he would soon be burning the lies of his past.

It was some time later when the stock boy, Justin, surveyed him. Kevin was assisting a middle-aged man that was looking into cable. While the customer left for the cash register, the young man's gaze carried Kevin into the ominous cloud.
"How is your wife?" Justin's melancholy tone struck suddenly. The stark pain had sunk into the stock boy's eyes.

"Look, I can't change what you choose to do or not to do with your private life, Kevin, but I don't want to see Samantha get hurt." Samantha? Kevin's brunette wife that Kevin had only just remembered. As with all of her photographs, Samantha's stagnant expression had never changed.

"How would I hurt her?"

"An affair will only cause more suffering than anything you may be facing now."

Thunder shook the ground under Kevin's feet. He was drowning in stale air, compelled to uncover the turmoil. When was the last time he had seen Samantha?

"Excuse me," stammered Kevin as he headed for the restroom.

Kevin lifted his head from the sink, sweat and water dripping from his chin. On the way out of the bathroom, he saw David, the thick-skinned mechanic, lower his gaze.

"Your daughter is in the waiting room."

The words cut off his train of thought and left the picture strobing in his mind's eye. David tripped, landing his shoulder into Kevin's chest, where a nametag should have been. As the shirt had been impenetrable to nametag holes, it seemed unlikely that a nametag would ever be attached to Kevin, would never hold him to a normal life.

Laura was talking with her when Kevin showed up. The girl's rosy cheeks were sunken and pale now, matched by the foggy and anxious look in her eyes. She held a phone up to her ear.

This stranger stared at him without recognition. Kevin didn't have a doubt: she was at least ten years older now, but he knew her when she was six, from the picture he had in his wallet.

"Megan?" Kevin asked in disbelief. Apparently, everyone else had noticed the girl's uncanny resemblance to Kevin's photograph as well. She looked up to him with wide eyes full of bewilderment.

"I thought," Laura's voice cracked, "that you were younger."

"Maybe you have me confused with someone else."

"But I've seen you before," Laura stated, "in a photograph. You were a few years younger then, with your hair in pigtails and a wooly sweater."

The stranger he called Megan reached into her purse and pulled out a small collection of photographs. She flipped though the family pictures until she revealed a black and white picture that was eerily familiar.

"I'm five or six in this," the stranger said, "but I don't know where you would have seen me, unless you used to watch 4-H competitions." Her one hand seemed to tremble slightly. Laura stared at the photo, shooting her eyes at Kevin in confusion, but mostly in fear.

"Her name isn't Megan," Laura said in a trance. She looked Kevin in the eye, hoping to find some explanation.

"Dad?" the girl spoke, breaking Laura's focus. She was talking into the phone. "My car broke down. Can you pick me up?"

"Her name isn't Megan, Kevin," Laura spoke silently, staring at the floor. She waited for his acknowledgement.
"Mr. Bortin?" When she looked up, Kevin had vanished.

With his apartment lights still off, Kevin flipped through his hazy family pictures. All of the people, the countless Samanthas and children, looked the same in the dark.

Around the room were thoughtful birthday cards, pictures of his wife and his children, and a series of crayon scribbles. The room was colder and silent, as if cast into its own isolation, thought Bortin, thought Fitchbell, thought Kevin.
Somewhere under Kevin's heel, a lone crayon broke.