Glimpse
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.
The Voice
August 2024
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