You Have Seven Messages by Stewart Lewis Read Free Book Online

sister.”
    “Bummer.”
    We sit on the side aisle. Even my dad, who has a strong aversion to Hugh Grant, seems to be enjoying himself. I remember being younger and thinking the things that happened in movies were possible. I guess sometimes they are, but this movie is a modern fairy tale where dreams effortlessly come true. Because of my recent crush on Oliver, I am completely drawn in to the point of dorkiness. I even cry.
    After, we wait in line to go into John’s pizza, where everyone sits inches apart from one another and it’s so loud we have to yell. It has an opposite effect and calms me, being submerged in a cacophony of sounds. It takes me just as far from my life as Hugh Grant did.
    In the movie, the bad guy lost the girl. Watching my father eat his pizza folded like a cone, I wonder why it had to happen to him. He’s the stable one, always telling the truth and giving all of himself, just a really strong, good man. I look at all the people eating together, many of them happy couples. Always something there to remind me.
    When we get home, Dad stops us short and says, “Hey! Since you darted off earlier I never got to give you your present!”
    He reaches into the bottom cabinet and pulls out a large box that was obviously professionally wrapped—it’s too elaborate. Tile comes barreling in and sits on a stool. Presents bring a crowd.
    “Wait!” Tile says. “Me first.” He reaches into his pocket and takes out a small manila envelope. “Like Uncle Richard says, the best presents come in envelopes.”
    I open it up and pull out a small white index card. In green marker it says,
This certificate entitles you to one foot rub and two homemade cookies, courtesy of Tile Clover
. I smile and lean over, kiss him on his forehead.
    My dad looks impatient, so I open the box and cannot believe what I see. It’s a vintage camera, the kind I’ve always wanted, where you stick your head under the black fabric to take a shot. It has the original manual, and the wood is the color of a plum. The film is the size of a slice of bread. It’s exquisite.
    I hug him and he looks at me, blushing.
    “You’ve always had an eye. Ever since you were this high.” He puts his hand to his knee. He’s right. Since third grade I’ve loved taking pictures. And with the exception of the collage I did with the Rachels, not of people. Mostly of buildings and textures, and strange things in nature. Natural composition that somehow looks unnatural. I never really showed them to people, but my dad’s entire office is covered with my life’s work, wall to wall. Some are pretty cool, but most are really amateurish. People say the onslaught of digital photography diminishedthe romance of the art, but even though it’s dated, I will always love the idea of actual film. I used to use my dad’s old Kodachrome and he even built me a darkroom, but I barely use it anymore. I got sucked into the whole Photoshop thing. But now that I have this camera, I’m sure I’ll be using the film again. And I’m so grateful I want to crush him with love.
    “I’m gonna go set it up!”
    In my room I unfold the tripod and screw on the camera, then focus it across the street. Oliver’s light is on. I wait for a whole twenty minutes until he comes to the window, and take my first shot.

CHAPTER 11
THE HAPPY FACE
    In the morning Tile gives me my foot massage. Even though it’s way too early for dessert, I eat the cookies. He acts like he’s a professional masseur. After he’s done with the left foot, he sighs. “Are you gonna marry Oliver from across the street?”
    “Better. We’re going to elope. To Fiji.”
    “Where’s that?”
    “It’s an island.”
    “Are there coconuts?”
    “A ton.”
    “Well, be careful because a thousand and nine people a year die from coconuts falling on their heads.” He starts doing this thing that I love, where he rolls his knuckles down my soles. I tip my head back and finish the cookie.
    Before he leaves he