The Present Paid in Instalments

When his friends bought him an expensive camera for his fortieth birthday, Ben felt both delighted and alarmed. He had mentioned photography once, during a holiday conversation. Now twelve people had contributed money, and their expectation seemed to arrive with the lens. Within days, they began asking what he had photographed and whether he was considering an exhibition eventually.

Ben took pictures dutifully: bridges, market stalls, a dog that refused to look towards him. He posted the best ones in the group chat and received generous praise. Yet he preferred repairing an old radio at his kitchen table. Leaving the camera unused felt ungrateful, as though he were failing to repay a loan whose terms nobody had explained clearly.

He told his closest friend that he was thinking of selling it. She looked disappointed, which he had feared, but then asked what he actually wanted. Ben said a few useful tools and no audience for a while. She admitted that choosing the camera had been exciting for the group. Perhaps they had mistaken their enthusiasm for a promise from him.

Ben did not sell it immediately. He stopped posting photographs and used the camera only when he felt curious. Several friends stopped asking; one continued, and he answered honestly that it had stayed in its bag. Months later, he photographed the repaired radio for his own records. The image was badly lit, technically ordinary and exactly the picture he had wanted to take that afternoon.