“I’ll know it when I find it.”

My father never had a problem with patience, he made it look easy. The anticipation of finding something worth having seemed to keep him calm. He was so cool. 

I followed in his footsteps. My vision was never the best, but I had an eye for details. Mom said that’s how you find God, so I practiced daily. Indeed, it is a virtue. For years I adjusted my lens, and toggled my viewfinder, all in search of something.

He was the photographer for all of our family reunions. He had this phrase that he would say over and over again before shooting. This year, it was my turn. I told myself whatever I saw, I would capture, exhaling only as the shutter released. Just like he did.

The sounds of family celebrating welcomed me back to reality. I heard my brother calling for me, but I couldn’t see him. As my eyes adjusted, he handed me a drink, and I shared with him what I saw. He smiled and began to scroll, then he stopped smiling.

Tim looked at the drink and then at me. Nothing was said, but his message was clear. Anxious to see what he saw, I sighed to gather my composure. Confused, I stare back at him. Don’t we see the same thing? I guess not. He takes a swig and heads back to the festivities. I sip in confusion and continue to scroll, attempting to find the nerve I stepped on.

With my ego exhausted, I caught up with him. He side glances but indulges my request. In the distance, he sees his wife. He puts on the neck strap, notices the camera, and nervously chuckles. He gathers himself and releases. He was still a natural. I had so many questions, but I knew his answer would be the same.

“A poor craftsman blames his tools.” 

I didn’t think I would hear those words again. Tim could see my frustration, so he returned the camera and decided to join his wife on the dance floor. He was right, I owe it to myself to figure out the problem, I owe it to him. I focused my gaze and saw my sister dancing. I copied Tim's form, followed his technique, and exhaled.

Sara was a socialite. She’s never been shy in front of the camera and was always excited to see a picture of herself. I shared with her what I saw, and got the same expression. We really do have our father’s lips. I prepared myself for a verbal thrashing but didn’t receive one. Her skin was clammy and cold to the touch. Something was wrong.

She confessed to getting into a heated argument with Tim. She took it too far and they haven’t spoken to each other since. They didn’t want to drag anyone else into their dispute so they planned to avoid each other. It would have worked if the DJ had never played “Cupid Shuffle”.

Sara is known for a lot of things but being a liar is not one of them. She has always been terrible at communicating her real feelings. We all were, another trait he passed on. Her eyes looked vulnerable as she asked me how my trick worked. When did I become a magician? She noticed the strap around my neck and immediately understood something I didn’t.

I caught up with Tim about what happened to him and Sara, he looked at me the same way she did. He tried to deny it, but I kept hounding. I went to raise my camera, and he looked at me sternly. He then covers the lens with his hand, tears up, and apologizes.

I was compelled by curiosity and had questions that needed answers. A chill started to follow. As we said our goodbyes, I noticed a group of beautiful women doing yoga in the park. My curiosity started itching again. I aimed, but the vision was blurry. I shook it off and gathered myself, but the vision was still unclear.  

I assumed that I knew what the problem was, so I cleaned the lens and adjusted my viewfinder. The blur was still there. I kept wiping, and by the time I looked up, the women were gone. Maybe it’s a sign, so I head home. 

The house was cold, but I didn’t mind. I kept thinking about that blur, it looked as if it was trapped. Trying to escape, but from where? My dwell turned into a doze and I closed my eyes. Then I heard something. 

I opened my eyes but saw nothing. I tried to get up but couldn’t move. I was trapped from the neck down. I felt my heart pounding like a bass drum. My eyes rapidly darted to find a culprit, but it was dark. I heard the floorboards creak in cadence, my panicked breath interrupting its rhythm. I close my eyes and begin to pray, condemning myself for playing God. The creaks stop, I open my eyes, and there he is.

His hands shake as he slowly takes down his hood, my eyes focused intently. Surely this was the toll of my actions, paid in full. There’s a blinding flash and I instinctively raise my hands to cover my eyes. 

I seem to have regained my bodily functions and my sight. I hop out of bed, check my sheets, and head to the bathroom. I splash water on my face, it’s freezing. I stare back at the mirror in disgust, and notice the camera, sitting on the nightstand, mocking me. I picked it up, took a breath, and looked at the last picture taken.

It was me, looking into the mirror, personifying how I currently felt. The tears were heavy, weighing down my head. Struggling to look up, I see my reflection. I see him. Out of rage, I punch the mirror.

I went to see my mother. She looks at my hand and immediately goes to get her first aid kit. As I sat at the dining room table, looking through albums of our family, I saw a picture of Dad watching me play with his camera. She always said that we were inseparable, that I was a carbon copy. I asked if she ever saw a different side of him while crafting. She looked at me and laughed while drowning my hand in peroxide.

I continued to look through the album to distract myself from the pain. I see a picture of my dad I’ve never seen before. Just a man with a camera, in a room full of mirrors. He never cared to smile, he just preserved moments instead. The closer I looked, I saw this gleam in his eye, it looked blurry.

Mother hands me a box filled with some of Dad’s old stuff. She sighs and tells me about the fight that Sara and Tim had with Dad over the shop. Sara convinced Tim to talk to Dad about selling but he wanted to pass it to one of us instead. In the box, contained the deed.

I returned home with the boxes, prepared to deal with the mess I made. I stepped into the bedroom and the shattered glass was gone. The mirror was as good as new. I noticed something in the mirror. I take out my father’s camera and release.

I smile.