She spent the long summer days taking pictures of anything and everything. Every dime she earned from doing chores went towards more film. She could often be found sitting Indian-style in the middle of her room, her masterpieces scattered around her on the floor: the back pasture behind the hog pin, Macy the milk cow-minus her head, crooked shots of her friends smiling and laughing as they rode their horses through the winding roads. It was clear to see that her new hobby was a work in progress, but she loved them all; every imperfect one. She loved to take pictures of people when they least suspected it. The idea of catching them off guard seemed so intriguing to her, like she was actually capturing a pocket of time- a memory that was embedded in a picture.
While she loved her mother greatly, it was a very special relationship she had with her father. Growing up, she had always preferred overalls to dresses and fishing over playing with dolls. That wasn't to say she was a complete tomboy; she loved pink and she adored nail polish. What she loved most of all was the fact that at those moments, she had her father all to herself. Being the middle child of five, it was hard for her to stand out in any particular way. They would walk down to the Tuskahoma, an especially famous pond in their small town and sit on a log at the water's edge for hours at a time; her father regaling her with stories of a giant fish creature that resided at the bottom of the pond and of Indians who used to roam the very woods they sat not five feet away from- a sort of cross between Beowulf and Huckleberry Finn. The stories never changed and they always amused her, even as she grew to know them as mere folklore passed down to her father from generations passed. He could always tell when something was bothering her and as she got older, she valued his intuitive nature. He would always know just what to do to cure a broken heart or to mend a tattered wound.
She would often sneak down and watch him work the fields, hiding behind bushes, trying with might to capture the perfect image of him. She had to be very careful so that he wouldn't see her. He had never liked to have his picture taken, though she couldn't be sure why. He didn't come out and say that it upset him, but he always seemed to find a way to get out of it. She respected his wishes, but longed to capture him on film. He had this look about him-he had seen things. His eyes, the most perfect shade of avocado green, bore deep, etched lines on either side of his temples. Some might say from worry, but she liked to believe from experience. She knew her father had not had the best of childhoods himself and sometimes, when those green orbs settled on her own, it seemed as if she were looking into the eyes of a child. She longed to take his hand and escape back into time, to make the memories he never had the chance to make for himself. She dreamed of capturing those moments on film and putting them in his childhood pocket, so that he might never forget.
One afternoon, she overheard her father saying he was going into town. She had nothing better to do, so she asked if she could go along. At least she would get to get out of the house and feel a breeze on her face, but he didn't appear to want her to tag along today. For a brief moment a nagging soreness pained her heart. He always loved when she would tag along after him. Her mother must have sensed her uneasiness and at that very moment offered a reassuring smile. She grabbed her camera and trekked out to the truck. She carried it with her everywhere, so she wasn't surprised when he didn't give her a second glance as she opened the door and slid in.
It was a tremendously hot day, as most June days were in the South. It hadn't quite reached the dog day temperatures yet, but she could feel them getting closer. Somehow, she couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right. They usually talked and laughed about everything under the sun. Today, however, it was noticeably silent. She looked at him from the corners of her eyes; rather pleased with herself for being able to pull it off without him noticing. His avocado eyes didn't appear to be wrinkled with experience today and for once, she thought maybe everyone had been right about them being worry lines after all. The soreness that had tiptoed across her heart earlier was back again, leaving a slightly heavier footprint this time. She tried to push the unpleasant thoughts to the back of her mind as they drove on in silence. She thought about saying something, anything to break the loudness of the abounding quiet. Her father reached over and turned on the radio, as a song about yesterday's problems that once seemed so far away, streamed out from the speakers. She couldn't help but to connect with the soft sung lyrics. Now that she thought of it, her father never did say what he was going to town to do.
The lush green pastures slowly gave way to the concrete and buildings of their rural community's town district. There were a lot of people out and about today. Several women were talking in front of Elmer's Grocery, trying hard to appear as if they were discussing produce or this week's bridge game, when everyone knew full well that they were really trading horrendous stories of whose husband was making eyes at his secretary and who was sporting fake pearls, yet dared to claim they were authentic. There were the usual suspects sitting in front of the Barber Shop; several old men who could be seen there every day, even if it was 100 degrees outside. God only knows what their topics of conversation were. Children raced up and down the street, some on skates, some on bicycles, some eating colorful frozen treats; the sugary substances dripping down their impish chins. She saw that they were turning into the bank, yet had no idea why. Neither of her parents kept a savings account and her father only kept a bank account for the farm. All of their money was kept in a canister on top of the refrigerator. Both of her parents had lived through the Depression and had been taught not to trust the banks with the bulk of their money. She got out of the car and walked around to stand beside her father. He took her hand and asked her to wait for him at the drug store across the street. He gave her a quarter and told her to get some iced-cream and that he would be back as soon as he could. She took the money, hesitantly, as he kissed her forehead and walked into the bank. She watched him walk away before turning to cross the street to the drug store.
She bought a chocolate malt and sat out in front of the store. She took several shots of the sticky mouthed children, then one of an old man and old lady walking down the sidewalk holding hands. It was a nice shot, she thought, until it developed and she realized she had decapitated them just as she had ole Macy. Purely coincidental. By the time she realized her mistake, the couple had passed and so had the afternoon. She peered through the window and glanced at the clock above the soda fountain. It was nearly five o'clock. They had arrived in town at a quarter to three. The uneasiness crept up inside her again. She began to feel self conscious, having sat alone in the same spot all afternoon. While in the middle of intently studying the chipped nail polish on her big toe, she caught a glimpse of her father out of the corner of her eye as he exited the bank. He walked slowly, cautiously. He didn't seem to see her sitting at the small wooden table. In fact, he didn't seem to notice much of anything outside of his own feet in front of him. He stopped and sat down on the steps in front of the building. With it being so late, the bank was closing and people began to exit behind him, all going home to their families and casserole dinners. One man passed and gave her father a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. He just sat there. She wasn't sure what to do, but for a reason she couldn't quite put her finger on, she pulled her camera from its case and snapped his picture. She didn't wait for it to turn out. Instead she stuck it in the pocket of her old jean shorts and got up from the table.
She approached her father in the same way he had walked from the bank: slowly, cautiously. When she arrived at his side, he never looked up. It wasn't until she sat down beside him that she realized he was crying. She had never witnessed him crying before, not even when his own mother, whom he was very close to, passed away. But there he was, the warm, salty tears gliding down his unshaven face. A lump began to rise in her own throat. Before she could say anything, he told her that they would lose the farm. If this years crop didn't bring in enough money, they would lose the house, the farm, and all of their livestock. His words just seemed to hang there in the thick, sticky air, making it all to evident to her that they weren't going to disappear anytime soon and she could no longer force the unpleasant thoughts to the back of her mind. The task at hand seemed insurmountable and she knew that her small world would never be the same.
When they got back home, her mother and father talked quietly in the den while she and her siblings set the table and poured the milk. She said nothing to anyone of what she had seen or knew, but she had a feeling it was all about to become abundantly clear. Dinner was eaten and dishes cleared away; everything went on as if the afternoon had been nothing more than a terrible dream. Her older sisters, Margaret and Sarah, each had a date to go to the movies after dinner and left once the kitchen was cleaned. Her younger brother, Ethan, and sister, Bethie, sat down to watch television with their parents. It was Saturday, so that meant an evening with Lawrence Welk. She settled in the chair across from where her parents sat on the couch. She watched as her family laughed in all the right places. Every now and then her mother would reach over and gently touch her father's hand, at which point he would give a small, faint smile; she realized that it had been real. The afternoon had happened and there were only three people who knew about it. The show ended and the children were sent to bed. She decided to go to bed herself as well. She knew her sisters would be home soon and she didn't think she could talk to them without spilling the beans. As she changed into her nightgown, the picture of her father fell out of her pocket fluttering to the floor. She bent to pick it up and placed it in her camera case with the others, then crawled into bed.
Her sisters returned, went to bed, and fell asleep quickly. She was thankful for that, but she wished she could get to sleep herself. She just lie there, wide awake, watching as the soft moonlight threw pale beams across the corner of the ceiling. She thought she heard her parents voices down the hall in their room; quiet and muffled, but there none the less. She got out of bed slowly, as not to wake her sisters and crept to their door. She kneeled and listened as her father shared that he didn't think they would make it out of this one. Times were tough for the farmers in the community and most of them had planted twice as many fields as he had. His voice didn't even sound like his own. It had a shakiness about it that she had never heard before. Tears welled up in her eyes for the second time that day and she quickly brushed them away. She leaned in closer to hear her mother tenderly reassure him that planting more fields did not necessarily yield a good crop. She said to have faith that God had a plan for them and it was not for anyone to question or worry about. There was a silence that followed when the stillness itself seemed much too personal to overhear than any of the words they had spoken. She stood and walked back to her room; climbing into bed, willing herself to fall asleep.
The morning after she heard her parents talking, they sat down as a family and came clean about what was going on. There was a sudden weight that came over the room. It was a slightly expected, but still naturally uneasy feeling, like when you first get out of a swimming pool, and you become all too aware of the gravity of your body. It was agreed that everyone would work hard and do more than their share to bring in as much profit as possible. Months passed and Autumn lurked around the corner, coming closer and closer to their impending fate. Her father's worry lines sank deeper into his temples and her mother had begun to develop her own, despite God's plans.
Thanksgiving arrived and the weather had begun to really cool down. Shorts and flip flops were traded in for jeans and sweaters. Her mother was busy baking pies and basting ole Tom Turkey every half hour. Her sisters were polishing the silverware, and the younger kids were planted in front of the television watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Her father had slipped out earlier that morning stating he had an important meeting. "On Thanksgiving?" her mother protested. But he went all the same and with her blessing.
She took out her camera and began to take some shots of the beautifully decorated table that she'd spent the morning arranging. Then she snapped pictures of the food, and of course of her family as their mouths continued to water over the delicious smells wafting from the kitchen. She had become quite a good photographer if she didn't say so herself. Like her mother always said, if she wouldn't toot her own horn, who else would do it for her? She no longer decapitated unsuspecting models, and she had learned which light worked best for optimal photo quality. Her father arrived home and they all sat down to eat. It was tradition to go around the table and have each person say what they were thankful for. Her mother was thankful for her family, Margaret was thankful for her new job, Sarah was thankful for the lovely food, she herself was thankful for each one of them around her, and while Ethan and Bethie were equally thankful for the desserts waiting on the nearby buffet. When it came time for her father to share what he was most thankful for, everyone fell quiet. It had been an especially rough year for them all, but he had bared the brunt of it. They waited anxiously to hear what he had to say.
"On this day of thanks, many people in our own small town are hungry. Many people don't have a place to sleep. Some don't know where their next meal will come from. These people are not so different from ourselves. They once had a home, a car, a job, and a piece of land to call their own. For reasons unknown to us, they lost those things. I was very scared that we might be in their same situation soon. I went to meet Mr. Jonesborogh from the bank this morning. He made special arrangements to meet me in town before he and his family left for the holiday. He told me that we had made more than enough profit to keep the farm and pay off the first mortgage for next year."
A wave of laughter and celebratory shouting erupted from the petite dining room. The weight was lifted; they had jumped back into the pool where they could float, delirious to any such word as gravity.
"Hold on, calm down now. I don't want us ever to forget how it felt to be so close to walking in those people's shoes. We are not better than them. God does not love us more. We are all equal and must do our part to help those around us who are in need. Remember that. We all play a part in this life."
They ate and laughed, then ate some more, until they were all gorged with the feast that had only hours ago graced their dining room table. Each one of their faces seemed to glow with a ease and sense of security that none had felt in a long while. That night they all slept peacefully. She thought of the day moths before when she sat with her crying father outside of the bank. For some reason, she thought of the song that had played on the radio in the truck and she realized that all of the problems of yesterday were, in fact, far away. She knew this had been a Thanksgiving she would never forget.
Years passed by, all flowing and seeming to merge together. She graduated high school and moved away to go to college. While there, she met a man who swept her up in love. His eyes had a hue of avocado green and they were married two years later. Margaret and Sarah both married after high school and had children two months apart. Bethie was the second college graduate of the family. She moved back home to become the first female lawyer the town had ever seen. Ethan joined the military and was promptly shipped overseas where he later was classified as "missing in action" during the final years of Vietnam. Her parents were never the same after that. It nearly killed them both.
She was flooded with memories as she drove the long stretch of Hwy. 20 headed home. It was another hot, sticky southern afternoon and she wondered what people had done before air conditioning on trips such as this. It was so long ago and she couldn't seem to remember. As she crossed the county line into the familiar territory, she rolled her window down and felt the warm breeze on her face. She had to go through town to get to her parents house and, unlike most visitors, she enjoyed the time to linger.
It had been at least fifteen years since she had been home. She had meant to visit, but her parents knew how busy she was with her work. She spent a great deal of time traveling to the corners of the earth taking pictures for the Associated Press that when she had time off, she just wanted to stay in one place for longer than a day or so. She had been in Beijing when her mother passed away. She tried everything to get back home in time, but there had been weather issues that forced the planes to remain grounded. She vividly remembered sitting alone in the huge airport, crying, with nothing, but her father's voice on the other end of her cell phone, to comfort her.
She had forgotten how beautiful the countryside was. She watched as the lush green pastures once again gave way to bigger buildings and wider roads. Elmer's Grocery appeared to be a ghost of a gone by era, as a large supermarket chain now stood in its place. There were no women gossiping in front of its windows, just shopping carts and trash canisters. The Barber Shop had seen its own remodeling, as it now bore a sign titled "Super Shear" and specialized in haircare needs for both genders. She recognized the girl styling one patrons hair as a girl she had gone to school with and faintly remembered her as the granddaughter of the old man who used to own it. She thought certain he had most likely passed years before. She recognized the old drugstore right away, though it no longer had the little wooden tables out front. As she passed she realized the tables weren't the only things that had changed. It was clear that a new generation had taken it over and the only thing that remained the same was the sign in front.
The bank was exactly the same as she remembered. Even the flowers lining the walk were the same. She slowed as she passed by remembering the last and only time she had ever frequented the area. It had been a long time ago, but that feeling in her heart stirred again, for a different reason this time.
She turned down the long drive that lead to her house and immediately felt that sense of belonging; that feeling that you get only from being in a place you know you are loved and accepted. She wished her husband could have come with her instead of working a double shift at the hospital, but such is life. The farm had not been a functioning one for over ten years now. It just got to be too much for her parents to handle and became impossible once her mother died. She had never been on this land when there weren't livestock roaming the fields or a tractor tilling the dirt. The fields were now grown over and the barns had been demolished. The only trace that there had ever been a farm there at all was the giant grain bin and the old International, both of which sat abandoned like a shipwreck on the ocean floor. Weeds overcame them until they were almost unrecognizable. She was so angry that she had let so much time pass without coming home. That familiar lump rose in her throat and she once again pushed away the tears.
She parked her car amongst the others and walked around back to join the party. Children ran about the yard in the middle of a fierce game of hide and seek. There were several dogs that were clearly trying to get in on the action. She could see all three of her sisters arranging food on the long table at the corner of the yard. Margaret walked behind the other two, rearranging according to her specifications. The birthday boy himself sat in a lawn chair, in the middle of the chaos. She watched him as his eyes glimmered with the happiness of the occasion. Her sisters noticed her standing there and promptly ran to greet her. The usual words were exchanged: "It's been too long!" "Have you done something to your hair?" "Where's Zach?" She expressed her apologies and agreed that it had been too long, explained that her hair was shorter, and that she had to leave her dear husband at home to work.
She walked into the house to set her things down. When she went to her old bedroom, she noticed something on the small, twin bed. As she moved closer, she couldn't believe her eyes. It was the case that held her old polaroid camera. She opened it up and she could almost swear she smelled the same humid air from that summer all those years ago. There sat her camera, some old pictures, and a small piece of paper. She lifted it from the case to reveal that it was a note from her father:
"I found this while I was cleaning out the attic and thought you might like to have it. I even bought you some new film. That was a task--I had to get your sister to order it off of that net, web thing on her computer. I don't know what they'll think of next. Anyway, I know you have a bunch of fancy cameras now, but I hope you can still enjoy it as much as you did that summer. Love, Your Father"
She took everything out of the case and found the new film behind the camera. She held the old photographs in her hand, laughing as she thumbed through a headless Macy, many catycornered pasture shots, and pictures of her childhood friends that would probably make them cringe if they knew she had them. The last one in the pile caused her breath to catch in her throat. It was the one she had taken of her father sitting on the steps of the bank. His normally vibrant eyes, dull and weary-transfixed on the pavement in front of him. All around him, the world continued to move forward, while he was stuck in that moment as sure as his words had hung in the air. The image still brought a tear to her eyes. She placed the photo in her purse and took the camera down stairs.
Her father saw her walk out of the back door and smiled upon realizing she had found his gift. She walked over to him as he stood to embrace her. His arms, though not as strong as they once were, still had the power to create a sense of comfort that she had yet to feel any place else. She wished him happy birthday and thanked him for his surprise. As he sat back down in his chair he told her she should let someone test it out for her, make sure it worked okay. Bethie stepped forward and took the camera from her hands. Her father motioned for her to sit beside him and when she did, Bethie pressed the shutter and got the shot. She turned to look at her father, expecting to see the grimace that always showed on his face when he knew he had been photographed, but instead she saw his enigmatic avocado green eyes still glimmering even brighter than before. Bethie handed her the picture just in time to see their shapes fill the image. As she sat there holding the image of her father that she spent that entire summer trying to capture, the tears slid down her face and there was no stopping them. Her father squeezed her hand and told her how glad he was to have her there. She sat back in the chair and felt the warm breeze once again on her face. Whoever said you can't go home again? She sighed and the thought blew away as quickly as it came.
