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A deeply intimate, atmospheric black-and-white photograph inside a narrow, old-fashioned circus dressing caravan. A middle-aged man sits at a small, slightly cluttered wooden dressing table, wearing a plain white tank top. He has medium-length wavy black hair streaked with grey, a neatly trimmed short black-and-grey beard and moustache. His face is already painted with traditional whiteface clown makeup: smooth white greasepaint and thick, long black eyebrows drawn in exaggerated curves. He is almost ready, but his tall, white, pointed clown hat has not yet been put on. The dressing table holds makeup pots, brushes, sponges and other small theatrical cosmetics. Above it hangs a large vintage vanity mirror surrounded by small incandescent bulbs. A few slightly yellowed old photographs are tucked into its frame. Standing close behind him is his middle-aged wife, with shoulder-length chestnut-brown hair, brown eyes and beautiful, harmonious features. She gently leans forward, carefully placing the tall white clown hat on his head. She wears an elaborate, sparkling circus equestrienne costume with a fitted bodice, decorative sequins and a graceful feathered headdress. Both are shown in profile. They gaze affectionately into the illuminated mirror, their eyes meeting in each other's reflection. The mirror is angled away from the viewer, so the reflections themselves are not visible. The atmosphere is quiet, tender and deeply personal, a loving moment shared just before the performance. The small caravan feels lived-in, with a few costumes, fabrics and circus accessories hanging in the background, but the couple remains the clear focus. Soft light from the mirror bulbs gently illuminates their faces, while the rest of the narrow interior falls into delicate shadows. Rich tonal detail, subtle film grain, natural expressions, authentic vintage photographic atmosphere. Entirely black and white.
For once, tonight my wife fell asleep first. I watched her sleeping... and my thoughts turned to what happened to me today.
Because of an accident, I had to take a different route home from work today.
The road took me past the high school I had attended a long, long time ago. I slowed the car, looked at the school entrance, and remembered that September day in 1991 when I first saw her.
A new school, new classmates, a new environment... I was just chatting with a guy when the classroom door opened, and I couldn't believe my eyes. I had never seen anyone as beautiful as her: long chestnut-brown hair, dark brown eyes, a cute little upturned nose, and tiny dimples in her cheeks whenever she laughed. In the blink of an eye, I fell head over heels in love—and just as quickly, I realised I didn't stand a chance with her. Unfortunately, it soon became clear that I was right. We became good friends, and I never once told her how deeply I was in love with her.
Four years passed, and we graduated from high school. I went to university in another city, and we didn't see each other for five years. By then, that intense, unrequited love had faded. Or so I thought.
We met in a small café, and the moment I saw her, my heart started pounding wildly all over again. By then, she already had a one-year-old daughter. The bastard who had fathered the little girl had walked out on them. We were talking, and I thought I'd surprise her with a little confession.
"You know, back in high school, I was so in love with you..."
I expected her to look taken aback, to be surprised. But she just shrugged and smiled gently.
"I knew."
And then I heard it from her, too: I really never stood a chance with her. I don't know why, but I kept trying to win her over. She soon made it clear, gently but firmly, that I was a good friend, but nothing more. By then, though, that no longer bothered me.
Nearly a year had passed. I spent a lot of time at their place, and they spent a lot of time at mine. I grew very fond of her little daughter, and I can proudly say that she felt the same way about me.
We also developed a silly little routine, a conversation we kept repeating:
"Do you have a girlfriend yet?"
"Oh, well, I'm waiting for someone."
"Oh, come on..."
Then, one day, I was visiting them. It was already quite late in the evening, and she had put her little daughter to bed. I was about to head home, but first, we stepped out onto the balcony for a cigarette. And then came the usual question:
"Do you have a girlfriend yet?"
I didn't even look at her. I just grinned, flicked the ash from my cigarette, and shook my head. I didn't see it, but I felt her move closer to me. Then she whispered:
"Well, then, don't have one anymore."
I turned towards her, surprised, and she kissed me.
Needless to say, at that moment, I was the happiest man on Earth.
Nearly 26 years have passed since then. We got married and had another daughter. Both girls are grown up now.
And today, sitting in the car and looking at that school building, the very same thoughts crossed my mind: how much I love my wife, and how I am still the happiest man on Earth.
And I was reminded of a few lines from Depeche Mode's classic "Somebody".
She'll hear me out and won't easily be converted,
To my way of thinking, in fact, she'll often disagree,
But at the end of it all, she will understand me.
