Glimpse

It is a wandering 

sort of day 

(wandering mind 

wandering feet 

wandering eyes) 

before I find the camera. 

It looks old enough 

that I wonder 

how it still works. 

Because 

I have nothing to do 

and because 

my mind is wandering today 

it wanders 

to the idea 

of getting the film developed 

and my fingers 

wander to my phone 

googling places 

to do so 

and my feet wander 

to a shop 

called Izzabella's Cameras. 

The sign 

is like the camera, 

old enough 

to make me wonder 

how it is existing, 

still, 

how the blue paint 

has not worn off 

the rotting wood 

yet. 

Izzabella 

is the only one in the shop, 

salt-and-pepper curls  

exploding out of a bandana, 

wrinkled hands

carefully prying the camera

from mine.

The waiting

is agonizing

which surprises

me.

Who knew I would care

about

some old story?

Finally

the photos

are ready.

There are only

fourteen.

They are all taken

together

I think.

The first is blurry

of a two teenage girls

dressed up,

a dog

jumping on them.

The next three

are the same photo

but clearer

and without the dog.

Then the dark-haired girl,

arms wrapped around

an old lady

who wishes her luck

at her dance.

The next

is the curly-haired girl

laughing

as they walk

to the dance

through a park.

Then a squirrel

and then the dark-haired girl

in her fancy clothes

chasing the squirrel.

Then each of them

separately

and a third together

in front of

a decorated gym.

Another blurry shot

taken in a dark gym

with vague figures of people

dancing.

The curly-hair girl comically drinking

party punch

in tiny,

rich-people

sips.

Another photo

of them laughing

half-covered

with a pale finger.

And then the last,

the only one

taken later,

the girl

with the same dark hair

and dancing eyes

and a boy

with light hair

and dark eyes,

the girl

in a white dress,

the boy

in a dark suit.

You can tell

that the girl

is just a little bit less happy

on her wedding day

than at her dance.

I am wrapped up

in the photos,

the story,

when Izzabella

hands back the camera

and adds

that she found this piece of paper

and would I like it?

I tell her yes,

unsure.

Outside

I cross the street,

walk down four blocks

to the park

and sit back down

on the bench where I found

the camera

to read the paper.

It is loopy handwriting

like every letter

is taking up

an imaginary bubble.

T-

It would have been better

with you.

I'm sorry

things didn't work out

and I hope

you're happy.

You know my address

if you want to talk

or could use some lemonade.

Love,

N

So

I take the film

in its paper bag,

write

T

on the bag

and leave it on the bench

that I found it on.

I have glimpsed

a story

I thought only existed

in books

and will now

let it play out.