The Capturing of Time

I had found something beautiful. 

After such a weary day, I found myself elated to have found the photo. It was so simple at first glance, but I just couldn’t tear my eyes away from it. It was just a teenager sitting on a swing, all alone. But he was wearing a full suit, rumpled in a way that seemed exhausted and out of place in a kids fun-haven. The scale of it all made him appear small and alone despite the fact that he wasn’t a child. It was just the boy and his thoughts, swaying back and forth among shoe-scattered mulch.

Wind flapped by, pulling at the tent canvas. I plummeted back into the present, reminding myself of where I was. 

The festival had only recently been set up in town, but it had already attracted hosts of people from the surrounding areas. The photo gallery tent I was in had accumulated a handful of passersby while I had been looking. 

I turned to my right to continue on when I saw her. She looked to be around my age and wore the youth like a halo. She wasn’t much shorter than me, her posture holding a certain weight to it. 

I followed her head-tilted gaze to the photo she was staring at. It was a single green tree jutting out from a lone rock in a vast blue lake. 

The way she studied the photo allowed me to recognize a piece of myself in that. A little lost and a little sure of yourself in those precious few moments you really connected to something.

“Are you a photographer?” I asked the question, but I think I already knew the answer.

The girl turned to look at me, her light hair weaved back into a messy braid and the corners of her eye creasing.

“Sort of,” she said, a little uncertain of herself.

I tilted my head. “Sort of?”

She hesitated, as though caught between a half-truth and an outright lie. “Yes. Yes, I am. Or, at least, I really want to be.”

“In some ways, those can be the same. I’m Roman.”

“Aria. Are you a photographer, then?”

I nodded and smiled. “Sort of.”

Her posture relaxed ever so slightly, as though my words were no longer that of a faulty stranger. “It’s a beautiful place here. I’m surprised I haven’t run into more photographers during my visit.”

“We’re tucked into the fabric of this place. You find beauty and there’ll be someone around the bend who wants it.”

Without even meaning to, we’d both drifted towards the opening of the tent like leaves caught up in the wind together. It was sunny outside and people milled about the streets, stepping over cracked cobblestones.

As dusk approached, the lights on various rides and carts had become more acute and noticeable. I mentally jotted down the way that the light would frame things once it got dark enough. The carnival would close shortly after the sun's departure, but I had right now, and that felt like something. 

Aria turned to me as we started to make our way down the street together. “So do you love photography, or do you just do it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know some people that do things just for the sake of it, and not because they love it. I have a friend that runs miles every day and says that she dislikes it. Yet she keeps going in a way that doesn’t feel like hate, but not like love either. It’s just a part of her now.”

“This is a part of me too. But I definitely love it.”

I spotted a goldfinch perched on a nearby tree branch. I took out my camera, taking a picture before it flapped away.

“So, what are you looking for?” The question leaped out of me without warning. 

Aria gave me a look like she couldn’t figure out what to do with that question. “What makes you think I’m looking for anything?”

“No one ever comes to this place for no reason at all. You’re here for a reason, we all are.”

“So what are you here for then?” 

“I’m on a . . . journey of sorts. To capture time.”

“Capture time?” She looked doubtful.

“Yeah, the phrase has a stupid origin,” I assured her, wondering why I’d told it to her.

“I won’t laugh.”

I glanced sidelong at her, but she seemed sincere and intrigued. 

“Okay, I’ll tell you, but I promise it’s silly.” I conceded. “There was this story I was told when I was kid. It goes something like this: There once lived a man who was obsessed with Time. He’d heard since he was a kid, that Time stops for no one and conquers all. So he decided that he wanted to see it firsthand.”

“See . . . Time?” Aria’s brow creased the slightest as she fumbled over my words.

I nodded. “Yeah, it’s sort of a living being in this world. So he went to the place where the sun and the earth met, and waited for Time to appear. Eventually, it did, coming to end the day. So the man talked to Time. Time said, ‘You cannot hold me down or keep me in one place. I am constantly in motion, and that is just the way it is. I will catch you one day, as I do all things, but I’ll let you pass for now.’ So the man left, and decided that if he couldn’t outrun time, he would try to catch it.”

“Catch it?”

“Yeah. Ensnare it and stop it, but not forever. Just for a moment. So he worked for years and years and eventually created the first camera.”

Aria laughed, and it was a light sound. “Your history needs a little work.”

“True, but history isn’t the point of this. Basically, he uses this camera and takes a photo. In that instant, Time is captured. Not all of it, of course, and not very effectively, since it keeps on going; but just for a moment, it’s imprinted in history. And that one piece of time remained caught forever.”

“Suspended in a photograph.”

“Exactly.”

She looked thoughtful, skimming her hand over the neatly cropped hedges along the street. “It’s kind of sad though. He ends up spending most of his life capturing what was slipping through his fingers all the while.”

“It has a lot of meanings. And a lot of scientific inaccuracy.” That won a smile from her.

We came upon a stand where a man was using a bubble wand to entertain some kids. They chased eagerly after the foam, small hands clapping around the air, laughter vibrating like music. 

A stray bubble made its way over towards us, and Aria reached out her hand, letting it skim her palm.

“Don’t get too caught up in capturing time,” she said as she let the bubble float away. “Try to live it before it passes by instead.”

I took the words and left them sitting heavy on the pavement between us.

“Is that why you’re here, of all places?” I asked, remembering that she never answered the question. “To live in the moment?”

“In some ways, yes. I work for a magazine, and a few weeks ago I saw a photo of this place. It just pulled me in and I knew I had to come here.”

“It’s an inspiring place,” I agreed. 

We rounded the bend and came upon a stage. A band was performing there, and Aria looked captivated enough that I gestured to two nearby seats. 

We were both strangers here, but maybe not so strange to each other. We let time pass there, watching the musicians play and people dance. There was some corner of life here that I wanted to stay in. 

The world drifted by, the sun tucking itself beneath the treeline. Eventually, I realized that there was more to do tonight. I wasn’t sure how I knew this, but I did.

I leaned towards her. “You know the best location for inspiration: the lake. Come on, it’s this way.”

I stood up and took her hand, sweeping her along. Luckily, the festival wrapped its fingers around the shores of the nearest one. As we came into view of it, I saw several people scattered about the area as vendor tents bled into carnival rides. 

Three boys in particular were standing on the rifled sand. The oldest one was trying to show the younger two how to skip a rock. He said something to them and then flicked his wrist, letting the small stone bounce its way across the surface until it finally disappeared into the water. The others tried to no avail.

Just when one was about to give up, he got his stone to skip. Him and his brothers immediately started jumping up and down, excitement pouring around them like a waterfall.

I realized that Aria had been watching them too, her voice soft as she spoke. “Most beauty goes unnoticed because the world thinks they can only be a few certain things.”

“Well everything you find beautiful is just an expansion of you.”

She looked at me in this indiscernible way. “You know, Roman, you might be smarter than you look.”

I put a hand to my heart, imitating sincerity. “I’m touched.”

I found myself doing it again: locking up little instances like they were a treasure I’d never see again. Even without a camera, I always tried to plant a lasting picture of everything in my head. 

I gulped down that beauty like I was starving, and I wonder how often I’d forget to pay attention to what that beauty actually tasted like. 

I think Aria was right. I’d lived life so long needing to hold time in one place. Maybe I’d been thinking about it a little wrong. 

I noticed a stand further down the beach and it couldn’t have been more perfect. “Do you like ice cream?”

She tore her gaze away from the convoy of seagulls pecking their way down the trail. “Of course I do.”

I pointed out the ice cream stand I’d seen and saw her face light up like a little kid. We headed over and placed our orders in: hers was pistachio, mine was strawberry. Cones were exchanged for wrinkled cash and we continued on our walk.

“I love ice cream,” Aria admitted, her tongue already stained green. “It’s on my list of the five most beautiful things.”

“You have a list of the five most beautiful things?” I asked, to which she nodded eagerly. “In life or specifically in food?”

“Life,” she said. 

“Well what are they?”

She held out her free hand, ticking off fingers as she counted. “Ice cream, puppies, clouds, the ocean and Harry Styles.” I choked out a laugh at the last one, and she let a knowing smile slip out. “Your turn.”

“Hmm, not sure I can beat Harry Styles.” How do you narrow a thing like life into a list like that? I glanced to my left and saw a tent with ukuleles inside. It gave me idea number one. “Music, if that counts.”

“Anything counts.”

“Okay, then. Music, rivers, stars, freshly baked cookies.”

“And . . ?”

“And . . . the color yellow.”

“Yellow?”

“Yellow. I think I could live in that color.”

Later, I realized that neither of us had said anything material. Nothing about shoes or watches or chairs or machines. Just things about the world as we’ve lived it.

We found a large rock jutting out over the edge of the lake, and we sat dangling our feet over the water. 

Flecks of my former weariness drifted their way into the ripples, but I hardly noticed. I was colored a shade of happiness and I wanted to remember what it tasted like.

“Tell me a story about when you were eight,” Aria said abruptly.

“Eight?” She nodded. I thumbed through memories in my mind, trying to pull out a good one. It stuck out to me almost instantly and I smiled at the thought of it. “One time, my older brother took me to see a play. Not a school one, but a good one with great actors. I couldn’t tell you what it was about now, but I loved it. I was so drawn into everything about it. After the curtains closed and the echo of applause was absorbed into the walls, I stayed put. I wouldn’t move, I just stayed there with all that feeling. I was the last one in the theater, just staring at an empty stage.”

“And you don’t even remember what it was about?” 

“No, the details were lost in time. I just remember the feeling it gave me.” I shifted so that I was fully facing her. “Now tell me a story about you.”

“When I was eight?”

“Whatever age.”

She thinks for a moment, trying to recall something noteworthy. After a few seconds, I can tell she’s found something.

“When I was twelve, I made my mom go to this thrift store with me. We shopped for random outfits to put together, acting like we were in a fashion show. Then we went out to this park with our new outfits on and did a whole photo shoot, acting like we were Audrey Hepburn in the 50’s. It’s one of my favorite memories with her. I still have one of the photos framed in my room.”

I smiled, leaning back against the rock with my free hand. “I love Audrey Hepburn. I can imagine you as a twelve year old bossing your mom around to get the perfect picture.”

“Oh, I was a menace.”

Life is like a collection of short stories. Every person has little chapters in their life that don’t always add smoothly to the next, but they have more to tell than they think they do. 

Sometimes—just by asking—you learn so many different layers of life people have experienced. 

“Do you feel any inspiration here?” I asked her, motioning towards the water around us.

“I think so.” But her eyes weren’t on the lake. “Maybe you’re a little right about capturing time. Not the whole moral of it—that still feels sad—but just that idea that people do it. We’re all capturers of time and collectors of moments in our own ways.”

For a moment, it was just the two of us looking at the other. I wondered what a photo of that would look like, but for once, it wasn’t my first thought.

Then, my gaze lifted from hers to the top of the treeline. It gave me an idea.

“There’s one more stop we have to make tonight.”

“Another one. Why?”

I shrugged. “Life’s the whiteboard.”

Aria paused, letting a drop of ice cream trickle past her finger. She stared at me with a quizzical expression, like I’d just spoken harsh German. 

“What?” she asked, the hint of amusement tickling the edges of the word.

“Life’s the whiteboard,” I repeated. “Has no one ever said that to you before?”

“I don’t think anyone has ever said that before.” She smiled, not in a mean way, just happy. “Explain it.”

“Okay, well you start life on a clean slate, hence the—you know—white board. As time goes on, various marks and impressions are made on you, and you can erase some of them—learn from your mistakes—but not all of them. They stay with you. As you go on, more color is added and things are drawn on—some are there so long that you can’t really make them go away, it’s just a part of the whiteboard. But there’s always tons of possibilities. You can draw whatever you want on it. And it’s like life.”

Aria was watching me like I was the most confusing puzzle she’d ever tried to piece together. “I can’t tell if you’re a genius, or just completely random.”

“A bit of both, honestly.”

All we are is a string of moments. If you think about it, tomorrow is a concept and the present is all you’ll ever have. Why imagine yourself happier? You’ll always have today, you might as well make use of that.

“So where are we going then?”

“You have to find inspiration here, right? Nowhere better to see this town than from up there.”

I pointed and she followed my finger to the ferris wheel in the distance.

She stood up, her cone gone now. “Well, come on then.”

I followed her and we ran, sticky handed like kids to the ferris wheel. At this point, with all of our wandering around, we’d known each other for maybe an hour or so. But it didn’t seem to matter that much. It didn’t feel like I had to bottle this time up around her. It just floated on its own course.

The ferris wheel stuck out above the smaller tents, its colors blinking from green to purple to blue and back again. Somewhere along the way, music had started playing, but we were going too fast to stop and absorb it. 

We arrived in a blur of motion, camera straps digging into shoulders and soles of shoes slapping to a stop on the pavement. We got our seats and I placed myself beside her. The sun had practically set at that point and a shadow of darkness had blanketed the fairgrounds. The lights stuck out like ocean liners dotting the in-comprehensive sea. 

The ferris wheel started to lift us up and away from the other people and rides and food and noise. I looked at Alia and she smiled back at me in a way that revealed something precious. 

I wanted to remember today this way forever: melting ice cream, glowing lights, and fading music. 

But for once, I resisted the urge to take out my camera and capture it all. This was one moment that I was going to let pass. I just existed with her, our thoughts coloring down. 

We let time go by.