The Drafty Photograph

So many photos. So many sights and sounds in each one. And yet so much missing from her vast and well-recorded life. If anyone saw her old album they would comment upon its' frequented appearance and an apparent absence of dust. She made a steady habit of taking out the old book by the glow of her lamp and regularly walking down memory lane.  She didn't mind the stool whilst she poured over the wall and perused the album. It was "The Wall of Her Many-Splendored- Life" she called it. She remembers the times after her second child was born. Ah 'twas I little girl- Emma.

That firecracker of a child came to me in the time of red pistachio leaves. She loved reaching this part of the book. Not only because of little Emma... but because things seemed to fall into place at last for her. She could hear the laughter of the three children, the smell of their father's occasional musk, the taste of stolen birthday cake frosting upon her finger, drawing hearts on Ricardo Jr.'s leg cast, the breeze in her hair as she took the old passenger train with her first born.

 That was a hard day- arranging for her eldest- son's meeting with a man who didn't share his name: his real father. She remembered the Man with whom she thought she would have all her children. She didn't need the Photograph to hear or smell him...until one night she clutched it fast to her...

There were no photos of this man here. Junior found her the next day passed out at last in eternal sleep and clutching a small photo to her person. On this sad morning the place felt cozy. The Windows were closed tight, and framing the orange pistachio trees. And as Junior went to take the mysterious photo from her little old hand, he swore he saw a faint breeze running through her silver locks...