The Bus on the Roof of the World

In the guesthouse hallway hangs an old print behind glass: four travelers on the roof of a rusty bus marked 318, snow mountains behind, everyone in the jackets of a decade you could argue about. The 318 is the legendary road to Tibet, and photos like this are its icons, taken when getting there was an expedition and the bus roof was the only seat with a view.

Here is the thing I cannot explain and have decided not to: among them stands a woman who could be me. Dark hair, dark jacket, my exact way of laughing sideways at whoever holds the camera. I photographed the photograph, reflections and all, and stood in that hallway feeling the specific vertigo my profession is built on: the archive looking back and claiming you.

The owner does not know who they were. Some group, some year, the print came with the building. Every archive keeps one image that refuses to stay filed. This is mine now. I have paid for the room and the haunting both.