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In the days and weeks and months that come, Eddie will take more photographs.

The camera will function just fine, aside from the occasional dud, capturing images and sometimes, sometimes , even surprising him with something like magic.

In those moments he’ll wonder if maybe the camera really is more than just a camera, if maybe the camera will bring me back to him, or him to me.

But as the calendar ticks on—predictable now, through autumn and winter and into a new year—Eddie’s attention will travel.

He’ll settle into the apartment, meet a few of his neighbors, make some friends.

He’ll take down some of Cookie’s pictures to make room for some of his own.

He’ll buy alstroemeria every now and then at Val’s, wave to comb-over Paulie when he walks past the Hangout.

He’ll take a job working for the mustache man at the bookshop on Carmine Street, apply to photography programs at the New School and Pratt.

He’ll take the bus back to Mesa Springs for Thanksgiving, and Donna will save up to come to New York for her birthday.

He’ll start to feel at home in the city.

He’ll get to know Theo better, visit him in the wee hours, help him with the croissants, watch the songbirds while he makes that opera cake.

Maybe he’ll even fall in love at the patisserie. I hope so. It’s his time.

And every now and then he’ll lie on the fainting couch under the disco ball, watching my portrait, waiting for my eyes to quicken in the lazy, glinting light.

They won’t really come alive, of course.

It’s only a trick of the light.