I remember of these photos

There’s a photo in one of my old albums, the day written on the back says “august, 21st, 1937”. In that one I still had rosey cheeks, the bluest of eyes - which are now green - , a little dress and a headband. I believe it was my baptism day. In my face, I know it’ll seem crazy, there is still the shadow  of those sweet plump features. They haven’t changed much since I made small objects with glue, scribbled on the sheets and the years I was I could still show by pulling up a single hand. They are just stretched and shriveled.

That one is inside the oldest photo album, my first. The box it is in is full of so many others. I remember how on every birthday my mother would go back to leafing through them all after dessert. And every year it would take longer. 

• Oh, such a nice body I had! We change quickly, eh, Judith?

“may, 14, 1954” is on the back, I was a fresh 17 years old. Sixtyseven years have passed. It is often heard that “time flies” but looking at the past, I can feel all the years on me. They’re somewhat heavy.

But so far I can still feel the fabric of that yellow dress on me, yet warm from the iron, fluttering in the wind that the weather didn’t forecast, and perfumed by the lavender that my mother kept in the drawers. I really miss mom.

• That day I gave my first kiss to a boy in the neighborhood. What good times ours were… and how good it was!

Rosie didn’t stop talking about it and questioning a thousand questions, asking advice on how you were supposed to move your mouth and a lot of other nonsense. We were a lot sillier back then. 

Now photos are taken of anything and you slide them one after the other, staying always new, untouched, transferred from one device to the other. But when film was used and the possibilities were few, then the photos would immortalize moments, both on film and in memories.

• This little corner right here, the one in the lower right is slightly stained. I think it was humid. 

Yes, even the colors aren’t the original ones, they’re a little yellow. Everything yellowed since may 14th, 1954. Even my face, that is now wrinkled and flabby, became every day a bit more yellow. Like the picture. I never noticed looking in the mirror. 

Back then we were always using the swimming pool. The water was cleaned almost every day, and almost every day Rosie and I would sit on the edge and soak our feet. First, we would get our toes wet to see how cold the water was, then we would build up courage and dip both legs and feet. We would find that after all the water wasn’t that cold, look at our feet and fan out the toes.

We stayed together all day every day, but yet the things to say never ended. There always was something to talk about. Some topics still to be investigated, some questions not yet asked…

How many years did I say have passed? We’re in 2021 and the photo is from 1954, so subtracting it would be… ah yes, eighty three. And I still call her Rosie. Rosaline is her name. Or was. We had a fight that same summer and I don’t even remember the sound of her voice anymore.

Aye, pride is a very hideous beast: it makes people more blind than those who really can’t see. I believe that once the world hides in front of you, the only thing that is left to do is hear it, feel it, and let it inside you.

Pride walks past taste, hearing, and touch, leaving them all under your control. The thing he grants himself with is the little piece that connects the heart to the brain, so that you can burn and scream for the injuries, but sottovoce enough so that the brain doesn’t hear it. It is the devil who keeps in the back of your mouth the apologies and the “I was wrong”, making so that every day your body craves a bit more to be hugged by the arms of those who never heard you say  “sorry”. 

Not that I was the proud one, well, I’m just saying...

• Hi mum, how are you today?
• I’m sorry, Miss?
• Mum, it’s Amelia, remember?
• Amelia, Amelia... are-are you sure, Miss, that you are in the right place? I would certainly remember having a pretty daughter like you. No, no, without doubt.
• But no, Arleen. She is your daughter.
• And how do you know, Judith?
• Because she comes to visit you every week. How is your brother, Amelia?
• He is fine, he is fine. His boss scheduled him for a meeting without notice...he could not come for this reason.
• No, no. What are you two saying? You agreed on playing a prank on me. Look, miss, look. I will show you pictures of my two sons, just let me find the right photo album...Eh no, you will not fool me! Old, old, old, old, old. Here, young lady, see?
• Mum, please...Wait, let me call the girl over there. Caroline! Could you come here for a second?
• Tell me everything.
• Caroline, do me a favour and tell this lady right here that I am not her mother and I do not know who is that she is looking for. 
• Mum… Whose pictures are all these? Now she is convinced that those she sees in there are her sons. 
• Caroline, look and tell her.
• Arleen, I am very very sorry but all these pictures are Bethany’s, see, the lady you always play cards with...I am sorry but I have to take these back in the closet…
• But, how-how is that possible? It’s me in the pictures, and-and there is also the date of my baptism in one of them, the 21st of august of 1937! They all have the dates, and I remember taking them!
• Mum...you were born in ‘40.