Photographs and memories

Photographs...funny how such small things can capture so much. Photographs represent memories, proof that what has happened, has happened. They store all the good times, and some of the bad; rainy days and sunny beaches, best friends and special places. Such simple things and yet so intricate too; every one forged in circumstance that will only ever happen once, but that will be stored until the paper they live on falls victim to its age. Ironic; something that is intended to preserve memory through time will, eventually, be destroyed by time.

On walls, windowsills and mantelpieces eyes stare out at you, smiling eyes on smiling faces, moments captured from years ago, people running to and fro yet frozen in time, just another backdrop to another picture, it’s with the foreground people that the true story lies, documented in the images now looking back at you.

There, on the left, a little baby. Not the prettiest, nor the quietest, screaming and red-faced. This is the start of life, you’ve been brought into the world, ready to set off and shape your own destiny...well, perhaps in a year or two.

And then, the next, a couple of years old yet still screaming and red-faced. Funny how years can pass and yet still you can put on exactly the same expression. Fists clenched, the little tuft of hair on the top of your head, mummy trying to comfort you whilst daddy holds the camera, laughing.

Seven years old now, parent’s little princess, bossy as a true monarch as well. Caught in a good mood though, laughing at the silly face posed behind the camera as the friend, the little boy of six, simply sits and stares. Childhood sweethearts? Who can tell... the first day at school, moving on up in the world, grown up now and yet crying still, no, can’t take the blanket with you, it’ll still be there when you finish.

Sports day at eleven years of age, got second prize in the sack race. Person in first cheated, naturally, getting revenge in the running race though, snapshot taken of you receiving the first place ribbon...dad’s so proud, you get whisked away on his shoulders, remind him it’s the parent’s race next that’ll wipe the smile from his face. Want your blanket? What blanket?

Moving house, losing friends...you’ll make new ones...you want to keep the old ones. Still, smiling in the back of the truck, sitting on the old sofa from the old lounge. First day at a new school. Hectic year this is turning out to be, brave face as mum drops you off in the car park. “shall i come in with you? Don’t be afraid to ask, good luck...” such an embarrassment, you’re twelve and independent, you can take care of yourself...lost on the way to the first lesson though...

Fourteen, last day of school, you’ll be moving again soon, just the one more school to go. Properly grown up now? Well, almost, lots of people bigger than you in the next school, but now, tearful goodbyes, yearbook signings, hugs...most will be making the move with you of course, but still. Catch the face of an ex...may be the last day, doesn’t change anything, he’ll still get a scowl and you’ll get one in return. Parents waiting at the gate, told them not to come, shows on your face as you’re caught walking down across the playground. One last ritual – hang the tie on the railings. Yours is the first there, it’ll be covered by others in the space of minutes but never mind, it’s there. A little tearful as you walk away from your second home for the last time, not going to show it though mum will only make a fuss.

The school prom, so many people smiling and laughing, so many photos to be taken. You’re seventeen, the highlight of the party, a real dancing queen. Heads turn as you walk past in splendour but you ignore, you’re with your friends and have eyes only for one, that childhood sweetheart you were reunited with near three years ago, and he has eyes only for you. The end of the evening and you’re all together; you, him, your friends. The camera is set to time it right, as the last person runs back to the group...three...two...one and flash, you’re all jumping in the air, laughing. You share that first kiss, the first of many...but it wasn’t to be. Ironic that the photo perfectly timed would be the last, for you yourself, you’re out of time...


Photos preserve memories, but they cannot create them. The end of the evening and you’re walking home, you’re not alone of course he’s with you. Delusions of being a gentleman he walks you home... the sound of a car, you look behind and see the lights. They’re the last sight your beautiful eyes will behold in this realm, those lights and his face, stricken with shock, tearstained as you lay on the cold, hard ground, head cradled in his arms. Life cut short, over in a flash no longer in its own rite than a flash of a camera, and there will be no more of those in this life time.

That last picture, the group of laughing, smiling friends, you in the centre, takes pride of place above the wreath on the wooden casket, lowered into the ground. If you are to have no more memories then let the last be one of happiness, in your prime, enjoying life...life, over the most unjust of flashes. tears will be shed, the worst; survivors guilt. why you and not him? the answer...there is no answer.