Snapshots

I’ve been sitting in the attic for a while now. Some days are lonelier than others. On these days, I reminisce. Today, for example, I think back to one of my earliest memories. It was a rainy day, like today (I know because I can hear the rain pattering against the roof).

I looked out from the back porch to see three children playing in the rain. The eldest was pretending to tell me a weather report. In the background, the daughter jumped into a puddle, which resulted in her slipping and falling. The youngest, a boy, saw her and joined in. The eldest turned around at the noise and yelled at them to stop. I went to sleep just as the daughter picked up a pile of mud and aimed it at the eldest.

The next time I woke up everyone was gathered on the couch. The father was recording, and the mother was talking. I watched the children’s faces as her words sunk in.

“You’re getting a baby sister,”

I watched the youngest’s confusion, the daughter’s excitement, and the eldest’s apprehension. The daughter bounced up and down, and then ran to give her mother a hug. The youngest, never one to miss out, jumped up to join her. The eldest sat still. masking his disappointment with a smile. Nobody seemed to notice.

I noticed.

A few weeks later I met someone new—a tiny little person—a baby girl. The mother is holding her and is surrounded by her three other children. They each watch the baby with curiosity and interest. Except for the eldest, I notice. He regards the baby with contempt. Nobody seems to notice except me.

The next day is the eldest’s birthday. We go to the zoo, but the mother stays home with the baby. Dad walks around, and older sister carries me around, filming animals mostly. I enjoy the zebras. She has surprisingly steady hands, and I don’t mind her being the one to film.

The eldest seems happy. The daughter stays back, immortalizing a moment between the eldest and the father. They walk side by side, the sun is setting, creating silhouetted forms. Later they discovered they lost the youngest. But this is one of my favorite moments I’ve seen.

The next few weeks are full of videos of Mom and baby, Dad and baby, and siblings with baby. I capture every precious moment.

It’s always been my job to capture precious moments. Nobody wants me to see the bad moments. They don’t want to remember them. So I have to figure it out. I have to figure out why I was asleep for so long before the daughter woke me up. I woke up and the baby was walking. The baby was walking, the daughter was filming, and the dad wasn’t there. Instead, sitting next to the mother watching the baby take her first steps, is the eldest. He is coaxing her along, holding out his arms to catch her if she falls. I swivel to the six-year-old in the corner, who is singing along to a song from the radio. I swivel back to the baby, who falls into her older brother’s arms. I catch the mother’s eyes as she watches her children. She clears her throat and dabs her eyes. The children don’t acknowledge it. Just smile. Smile for Mom. Smile for me. Make this moment perfect. I go to sleep.

I turn on for just a moment. The older daughter is running with me through the house. Yells follow her. They’re chasing us. My vision isn’t clear since she’s running, but I think I see some birthday decorations.

“Lydia! Give it back,” the mother demands. I’m snatched from Lydia. I hear her sniffling before I go back to sleep.

When I wake up again it is spring. The daughter is holding me, and this time, nobody stops her. She is filming the outside. It is full of blues and greens that I know I can’t capture perfectly. I see a butterfly flutter past. Then I notice the eldest on the lawn, reading. I can’t see his face. Then the mother calls. He looks up, and I go to sleep.

When I wake up there are boxes everywhere. There are strangers here, talking loudly and walking fast.

“We are moving,” says Lydia to me, “I’m going to share a room with Ellie. And we’re going to be close to Nana and Papa.” Interesting. I remember Nana and Papa. They live far away.

She wakes me up to show me the new home.

“It’s a department,”

“Apartment!” corrects the eldest from across the room.

“And this is my room.” A twin bed lines the wall, and a crib stands under the window.

“I’m getting curtains mama says,”

“Lydia, come help!”

“Fine!” I don’t wake up until a few weeks later.

“Say hi, mama,” says the six-year-old. He has sticky fingers and shaky hands.

“Hello, sweetheart.” The mother is standing at the stove, stirring a pot.

I hear Lydia, “Theo! What are you doing with that?”

“I wanted to try,” his hands are shaking.

“It’s mine, give it back!”

“It’s not yours!” the brother counters.

“Yes, it is! Daddy gave it to me!”

Lydia grabs me, but the boy’s hands are shaking and I see the floor, then the ceiling.

Lydia screams. I’m fine. I’m not broken. Lydia remains distraught. I wonder what it is she is so angry about. I’m not broken, but something must be.

I see the mother’s face just before shutting off. She looks broken.

When I wake up, Lydia is talking to me. I haven’t seen her in awhile, since she’s always the one holding me. It’s dark, and I can barely make out her face. But a light is cast across her face when she starts talking, and I am astonished at what I see. She is only eight, but she seems older, somehow. Her eyes are watery, and her voice cracks when she speaks.

“They don’t believe me when I tell them that daddy gave you to me,” she whispers, “But he did. Mama let me have you back, but I have to promise to share,” she pauses. The room is dark and silent.

“I’m tired…” she says.

I am too. I think my battery is low. She lets me go to sleep.

I haven’t been woken up since. I was placed in a box and forgotten about. I sit here, day in and day out, waiting for something. Or someone.

Then, one day, I’m woken up.

“It still works!” a familiar voice says.

Lydia. She’s older now. I don’t recognize this room. They must have moved again.

“This camera is where it all started for me,” she says.

“I think I remember that. I can’t believe you still have it,” says another voice. I see him, and I barely recognize him. It’s Theo. The little six-year-old boy grown up.

“Yeah. Dad got me hooked. Say hi!”

Theo waves at me. I am thrilled.

“Give it here,” he says, reaching for me.

I am turned around and I’m facing Lydia. She’s grown up. She’s glowing.

“Guess who goes to film school tomorrow!” Theo says. Lydia laughs and poses.

“Lydia! You ready?” In walks the eldest. His eyes find me, and he grins.

Then comes the youngest, Ellie, barreling in demanding to know what’s going on. How dare she be left out? I barely recognize any of them, but none of them have changed. They smile for me. They smile for each other. They are happy.

“I think I’ll take this with me. Record my first days there,”

“Everyone say bye Lydia!” Theo calls from behind the camera. I watch Ellie throw herself into Lydia’s lap. Amidst calls of goodbyes I am turned off.

When I wake up next, Lydia is walking with me around a new place with tall buildings and new people. This will be an adventure. Lydia and I are together again. If I could smile, I would.