When I first realized that the dinged up camera I got because I was too cheap to buy a new one took pictures of the past I tried to cheat the system. I caught my mom before we went to church, make-up and hair done perfectly. I was hoping to get a picture of my mom dressed like that, wearing that, but looking ten years younger. I’d claim that it was my absolutely amazing photoshop skills and everything would be fine. The only thing that would change is my mom would be very impressed for about a week until she forgot.
I didn’t get that picture though, I got my mom circa ten years ago wearing an awful sweater. The house decorated like it was when I was a kid. Sure she looked younger, but I was hoping to get a picture of her with her current style. When I realized I just shrugged and didn’t bother showing her, it would take too much explaining like this.
I kept taking pictures though. Local parks and rundown businesses, my friends, I took pictures of everything that I could think of. Except myself. I knew what I looked like when I was ten, there was no reason to revisit that buck-toothed kid with the ill-fitting clothes. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t curious.
I did eventually, standing in front of the mirror, because that way I could at least get the rest of my room too, and just relive my barbie days. The picture was pretty much what I expected too-short bangs and a nightgown two sizes too big in an awful flower print, but there was something in the mirror. A shadowy figure back lit by the moon.