|
This is my vacation photo. This is where I sat. I took this photo when the weather was much nicer. It was springtime, I think. The trees were in full blossom and the sky was the deep indigo that you typically only see when you’re flying five miles in the sky. When I took this photo, the chair was blue. There was a woman sitting in it and she was telling me of the days during the war when she would wait at the train station for her beloved to return. She told us of the arrival of the Army chaplain and the telegram and how he comforted her and told her that her beloved hadn’t suffered. She was pointing across the street to where the soda shop used to be. It was where he promised to return to her a man. Even after the telegram, she would still wait at the train station. She said she waited there every day for 17 years, until they tore it down after the train quit passing through. I remember the wrinkles under her eyes tightening and moving independently of her words when she spoke. Her eyes glistened and I thought they were tears, but it turns out they were burning from the wind that day. I remember now. It was springtime, it was blue, and her eyes were stinging from the wind. It was my vacation.
I don’t think I have any other photos of my vacation. I sat in this chair after speaking to the woman. She got up and walked away. It was the walk of a woman in pain. She walked across the street and looked into the window of the building that used to be the soda shop. It was a vintage clothing boutique now. I followed behind her and looked into the window. There was a small collection of World War II-era clothing. I went back to the chair to take this photo. Then I sat down.
It was nicer that day. It was springtime, I think.
I don’t know how the snow got there.
__________________
"I can normally tell how intelligent a man is by how stupid he thinks I am" - Cormac McCarthy, All The Pretty Horses
|