I'm not sure whether the last sentiment is overused or not; that's why I'm asking you. I got the idea of the story when taking a walk on the beach and taking photos. I deleted all the bad ones, and I thought it would be nice just to have a memory like that of a camera.
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Do you remember those silly little quarrels we used to have on the beach – the ones we look back at now and giggle about? Remember playing “baby wrestling” on the couch, then falling asleep on the floor together with the television blaring? And remember how you took that photo of me on the first day of kindergarten with my Power Puff Girls backpack. I still have it on my bulletin board, though it’s acquired a bit of dust.
And then, when the family would get together for Thanksgiving dinner, all the adults would talk about the Big Dig and the Big Bang Theory and 9/11. And I was just so little that I became worried about tiles falling in tunnels and the universe I had falsely believed was perpetual and planes crashing into buildings.
But then, the fat turkey that I refused to eat was placed on the table, and we’d all have to go around and say what we were thankful for. Over the years, you said “music” and you said “the Red Sox” and you said “sleep” and you said “food” and you said “dance” and you said “photography” and you said “my job.” But I was just so young and oblivious to the nature of my older peers that I simply said, in a tiny voice, hugging one a bit closer to me, “I’m thankful for my dolls.”
Now, wouldn’t it be nice if our memories were like those of cameras; we could just delete the unwanted pictures and thoughts and cling to those most dear to us? And, if my mind were formulated in such a way, I would only keep the photos of the times I’ve had with you.
