Memories of Me

Photographs lay in packets and sliding stacks on the spare closet floor. She curses silently to herself and bends to retrieve the suspended memories. Thinking she only wanted to find that extra head shot, she starts to stuff them back into the overflowing boxes and portable drawers that are supposed to organize her life. She pauses at a picture she had forgotten. A happy, golden moment in a graduation gown. My God, I was so young. And thin. Her smile is frozen in a wide white crescent on her face. A lanky boy stands gazing at her instead of the camera. Here's one where he's smiling at the lens instead of her. What was his name? Jim. He wanted to date her but she was in love with someone else. She still is. Here are her three little goblins on a Halloween long past. I made those costumes, she thought with pride. Look at his hair. Damp ringlets curl out of her son's pirate hat. She cried when she decided to cut it so people wouldn't think she had three beautiful girls. Now pretty young things covet his curls and he is never mistaken for a female. Here is her oldest in a silly dance costume, her face peeking from underneath an overstuffed hippo head. She laughs at a picture of her youngest daughter sitting on a tiny lawn chair in a baby bikini poking a curious finger into her belly button. Her own fingers touch an image of a young couple in matching sweaters. The young bride leans in over his shoulder and rests her cheek against the curly hair her son has inherited. The man's hand curves protectively around her wrist as they gaze into the camera. Their body language speaks a story of trust and commitment and love. A tear slides down her face as she tucks the photo into the open box and closes the lid. The picture is just a memory now.