Status: I have no idea...
Tunnel Vision
S is for Scrapbooks
I got a job working at a scrapbook store. It's only about a block or so away from my house. I walk to work on most occasions. Sometimes I ride my bike.
The lady who owns the store used to teach my second grade class. Her name is Miss Gretchen. She's at least sixty-five by now, and she can't seem to stay off of her feet.
"Go into the back room and get me some sample books, would you Claire?" She asks me.
I pause for a moment, taking in her orders, and then nod my head quickly. I move from behind the counter and go into the back room.
Miss Gretchen keeps all of her sample books in chronological order. They are all her personal memories and she gets a kick out of showing them to other people who can't seem to find a creative or original bone in their body.
I don't see the point in remembering things. Happy or sad. Mostly happy.
The happy things, while the were good once, will only make you sad in the future. Especially the photos.
When you're old and immobile, and you see a picture of you say forty or fifty years ago you're only going to wish you could go back. You'll always be disappointed when you realize that you can't and the only way you have of getting close to going back is some crappy photo some guy or girl you probably don't talk to any more took of you.
At least the sad memories help you think about how much better things had probably gotten.
And if they don't.... well, you should probably be dead anyways.
I grab a few sample photo albums and bring them out to the front of the store.
Miss Gretchen is talking to a lady I don't recognize.
"Charlotte!" She says, a smile gracing her wrinkled face.
I take note of the lady wearing the Christmas sweater.
It's summer.
"This is Claire. She helps me out around the store."
I smile and wave. I don't do anything else.
Charlotte moves forward and takes my hand in hers. They feel soft and old. Like... an old person.
"My name is Charlotte," she says as if Miss Gretchen hadn't said her name a few seconds ago.
I tell her that I'm glad to meet her.
I hand Miss Gretchen the scrapbooks and ask if I can do anything else to help out.
"Not at the moment, dearie. Why don't you take the rest of the day off. I'm going to catch up with Charlotte for the rest of the day."
I nod. "Thanks, Miss Gretchen."
She smiles and pats my shoulder. Tells me to have a nice day.
On my way out of the store I see a boy sitting in a small blue car that is parked out on the curb. When we lock eyes I recognize his face as that of the boy at the bridge that morning.
Noah.
The lady who owns the store used to teach my second grade class. Her name is Miss Gretchen. She's at least sixty-five by now, and she can't seem to stay off of her feet.
"Go into the back room and get me some sample books, would you Claire?" She asks me.
I pause for a moment, taking in her orders, and then nod my head quickly. I move from behind the counter and go into the back room.
Miss Gretchen keeps all of her sample books in chronological order. They are all her personal memories and she gets a kick out of showing them to other people who can't seem to find a creative or original bone in their body.
I don't see the point in remembering things. Happy or sad. Mostly happy.
The happy things, while the were good once, will only make you sad in the future. Especially the photos.
When you're old and immobile, and you see a picture of you say forty or fifty years ago you're only going to wish you could go back. You'll always be disappointed when you realize that you can't and the only way you have of getting close to going back is some crappy photo some guy or girl you probably don't talk to any more took of you.
At least the sad memories help you think about how much better things had probably gotten.
And if they don't.... well, you should probably be dead anyways.
I grab a few sample photo albums and bring them out to the front of the store.
Miss Gretchen is talking to a lady I don't recognize.
"Charlotte!" She says, a smile gracing her wrinkled face.
I take note of the lady wearing the Christmas sweater.
It's summer.
"This is Claire. She helps me out around the store."
I smile and wave. I don't do anything else.
Charlotte moves forward and takes my hand in hers. They feel soft and old. Like... an old person.
"My name is Charlotte," she says as if Miss Gretchen hadn't said her name a few seconds ago.
I tell her that I'm glad to meet her.
I hand Miss Gretchen the scrapbooks and ask if I can do anything else to help out.
"Not at the moment, dearie. Why don't you take the rest of the day off. I'm going to catch up with Charlotte for the rest of the day."
I nod. "Thanks, Miss Gretchen."
She smiles and pats my shoulder. Tells me to have a nice day.
On my way out of the store I see a boy sitting in a small blue car that is parked out on the curb. When we lock eyes I recognize his face as that of the boy at the bridge that morning.
Noah.