Page 191 of ClickBack

“For you. Although he could use a word.”

She goes down the hall and comes back carrying a wide portfolio with a cream envelope tucked against it.

“This was supposed to be tomorrow.”

I move so she can sit. “What is it?”

“Open it.”

The case has cloth ties along one side. I undo them and lift the cover. Color shows through the protective sheet before the image does.

Wine. Black. Gold.

I move the paper back and stop.

“Where’d you get this?”

It’s a game-day piece from my rookie year. Philly had commissioned local artists to make their own versions of certain nights. This one kept turning up online long after that season ended. Mom has sent it to the family thread. Von has sent it with complaints about how skinny I was.

I’ve seen the image for nine years. I’ve never held it.

Rookie me moves through the foreground, ball at my side, the arena opening behind me in blocks of color. The other new guys are deeper in the composition. We didn’t know much about each other yet when the pictures were taken. I remember trying to look like I belonged in the uniform.

The artist made me look like I was already going somewhere.

“I contacted her,” Giselle says.

I lift the heavy sheet from the case. Near my shoulder, something shows through the dark ink. Burgundy. A line too straight to be part of the jersey.

I know that suit.

I tilt the paper. My draft-night jacket comes forward beneath the uniform. A piece of Von’s bow tie. Mom’s hand against my arm, worked into the edge of the image so carefully I almost missed it.

“Hold on.”

Giselle stays quiet while I find the rest.

The artist has taken the photograph I showed her on draft night and put it into this piece. Paint and photo transfer over the authorized print, my family surfacing through the first version of me Philadelphia ever knew.

Mom’s hand gets me. I remember her holding my arm that night. I remember feeling the grip tighten every time somebody got near the table.

“Von gave you the picture?”

“After an interrogation.”

I laugh without looking up.

“He wanted to know what it was for, whether you knew, which photograph I meant. Then he sent three and told me not to use any of them because he could find better resolution.”

“He kept his mouth shut.”

“I threatened to tell your mother.”

That makes me look at her. She holds the expression until I laugh.

“When did you start this?”

“After draft night. I kept thinking about the picture, so I started looking at things from your first season. That’s how I found her work.”