I knew I was losing it when the old photograph on my desk began talking. Not ‘speaking’ in the metaphorical sense, mind you. But actually talking. Asking questions. Voicing an opinion.

“You’re not going to wear that dress, are you?” was the first thing it said.

I had been idly scrolling social media as I waited for my date to arrive. So at the unexpected male voice in the room, my head snapped around. It took a couple more deep, throaty male chuckles before I managed to pinpoint the impossible source: a 1940s-era photograph I’d picked up last week in an antique store and set on  my bookshelf for — I dunno. Inspiration. If only all my dates could look like that!

There’d been a strange pull, an odd tug, as soon as I spotted the vintage photo. I’d cruised the cluttered shelves of the antique store for another half-hour, doing my best to resist the subtle lure of that arresting image. Finally, I’d plunked down a ten dollar bill and walked out of the store with my new-found Photo Boyfriend in hand.

There was no reason, really, to feel smitten by an old photo of some anonymous guy. But what a guy! Dark, wavy hair pomaded into a classic Clark Gable ‘do. Wire-rimmed glasses that added a hunky-professor vibe. His eyes downcast, studying a treatise on his lap by the glow of a small table lamp.

Even aside from his “movie star” good looks, Photo Guy’s obvious love of books promised we were kindred spirits.  An entire wall of books backdropped his image. Even the small lamp table was positively crammed with reading matter.

The photographer had evidently caught him indulging in a late-night read, his shirt carelessly unbuttoned. A teacup balanced daintily on the arm of his comfy overstuffed chair. Earl Grey tea, I imagined; he was a “spot of good English tea” sort of guy. Bending close enough that my nose almost touched the paper, I could swear I smelled leather and the faint musty, dusty odor of old books.

“Photographs do talk sometimes,” Photo Guy chuckled, making me jump with surprise. “To the right person, anyway. I’m William, by the way. Pleased to meet you.” This time, a tiny puff of smoke curled up from the cheroot between his lips. Well, the photo of his lips.

“Photographs don’t talk!” Tossing the photo firmly back down, I headed for the door. I definitely needed to clear my head. Charles, my date, would be here any minute. 

Another faint chuckle echoed as the door slammed behind me. But perhaps I only imagined it.

I must have imagined the whole talking-photo phenomenon I kept thinking as I tried to enjoy my fancy Italian dinner with Charles. Charles, unfortunately, spent most of the meal staring at my cleavage as if I was the appetizer.

Photo Boyfriend had been right, I realized. This dress was all wrong for a date with Charles. And Charles, come to think of it, was all wrong for me. Pleading an imaginary headache, I escaped as quickly as I could.

“Home early, I see.” The voice was deep, almost musical. A professorial voice, with a hint of humor. Though how a photograph could “see” anything, I still failed to understand.

Throwing my purse on the table, I snatched up the picture again and studied it. Still moody and charming and strangely compelling. But had the image changed? Something definitely seemed different.

His posture was still lazy, reclining casually in his comfy, overstuffed chair. Same delicate teacup, same warm reading lamp. But his eyes! Instead of glancing down at his book, those eyes were now staring straight ahead. At me.

Blue, I imagined they were. Though truth be told, it was kinda hard to tell in the shadowy black-and-white. And his lips were different, too. Turned up in a slight grin that brought a strange little flutter to my stomach.

“Impossible!” I tossed the photograph down. But as I made for the door, my steps were less-hurried this time.

Sleep, that’s what I needed. Fending off Lecherous Charles had worn me out. My imagination was simply working overtime. The photo would look exactly as it always had, come morning.

“G’night,” I heard behind me, clear as day, as I softly closed the office door.

I smiled. Somehow I knew my dreams would be sweet ones tonight. And tomorrow?

Well, tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

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