(Originally published February 2019, “Complete the Picture”)
What is this picture worth, you ask? Tattered and fringed edges assert its
value, reminders of how it is always with me as a pocketed keepsake no
matter where I go. I will never have a copy made. There is no way to
replicate the affection I have for this print. The glossy finish is quite
scratched, a consequence of countless times I have pulled it from my pocket
to tell the story of our moment.
The timestamp, an imprint arousing elaborate visions of that day with you,
is perhaps even more notable than the posed image itself. It was another
early morning, long before either of our bodies were ready, yet we heartily
welcomed the sunrise. We were both famished, more than any other time
before. I remember how you watched me in silence, your eyes tracking as I
scurried in all directions across the kitchen floor. First, I presented your
nourishment. You remained still, however, until I prepared my meal and sat
at the table. Then, hungrily, we scarfed down our food while reminiscing
over the evening’s blissful slumber and weighing options for the day’s
activities. I remember the anticipation I felt while making our plans. It
was to be a day like no other, before or after. By all accounts, it was.
Though more inconspicuous than those frazzled edges and that fated moment
in time captured by the stamp, its picture quality is a startling reminder
of just how long ago everything happened. With grainy imperfections and an
overexposed center, your slightly blurred silhouette has the dented look
photographs developed back then. God, it was so long ago! I was young and
vibrant, ready to take my monumental next step with you, yet scared of
everything I knew those actions would set into motion.
The location was once considered a significant landmark by travelers from
across the globe. Yet, only a select few are privileged to know how you and
I are etched into its legacy. The bridge was built well before you were
born, even before I came into this world. The water once below it was gone,
but surely the span will remain standing long after our dust has scattered
to the four corners of this earth. My only hope is that no one else tries to
replicate our moment in that photograph, on that bridge. To do so would only
mark their effort as a flawed, failed attempt.
What the details of this grainy photo do not show is just how warm it was
on that timestamped instant on an irrelevant bridge over an arid waterway.
Only you, wearing an elegant summer dress down to your ankles but open at
the shoulders, tell that tale. Through the distortions of the faded and
scratched image, I can see the sweat that formed on your brow. The August
sun was already blistering that day.
Others are visible on the periphery of our frame. As they walked about on
the bridge, in that heat, I did not observe one worry. After I brought you
there, while waiting until you posed for the perfect shot, the surroundings
appeared almost blasé, if I may use their word. Even today, I am lifted by
the effect we had on their boring lives. In an instant, you and I were the
focus of all attention. Later that day, or the one after, they would return
to from wherever it was they came, their lives once again becoming blasé. It
was that next moment, the one immediately following our photo, that shall be
forever etched in their minds. “She looked so beautiful,” and “He startled
her with that,” and “What an odd thing to do in such an inelegant place,”
will be speckled in their tales for years to come. On the quiet streets
where they lived their everyday lives, they would never again witness an
adventure like ours.
The back of our nostalgic photograph is still blank. For quite some time, I
wanted to write a final message on it to you. I hoped to explain my
attraction the first time we met – my enchantment on that bridge so many
years ago, my pride and delight every moment of every day since. I once
yearned to record those truths, but there is no need; the picture already
conveys everything. On that bridge, at that moment, in that heat, among
those insignificant travelers, you quickly fade past the background and
through the paper, leaving the only impression possible on the back of our
photograph. The lone vision that matters is you. Your innocent pose. Your
angelic face, wrinkling the slightest smile. Your glistening brow and
glowing skin. They all echo a reminder to the world: Absolute beauty has
indeed existed.
Your eyes tell a story far more exhilarating than my words ever can. There
was a young girl, the epitome of grace and innocence, standing alone. In
time, she could have faced the harsh, arid world on her own. She stood with
the assuredness that, if forced to, she would exploit her grace and mar her
innocence so that nothing would ever take her away. Yes, she could do that,
but there was no need. If you look closely, in the fainted reflection of her
eyes and the shimmer from a passing automobile, a hint of my action
struggles to take form. She does not know what my life holds in store for
her, but she loves enough to trust my direction. She says nothing. After the
picture is taken, by simply forming two words, she could complete my world.
Before she spoke, however, it was captured on her face by the image better
than it ever could be revealed through an inscription on its back.
I often wonder what story the photograph will tell when I am gone. If the
strangers I have shown my picture and shared our story should see it again,
will they remember what I did? Will anyone know that right after I took that
photograph, I…
If you enjoyed the story, please consider a donation to NEVER STOP NEVER QUIT.
100% of your donation will directly support our fight. We pay the cost of managing our foundation.
All donations are tax deductible to the extent allowed by law. You will receive a receipt.
No comments:
Post a Comment