Short Story Competition!

Honourable Mention

Old Photograph

by Claire (Year 11)

 My bookcase has many things in it. Obviously, it has your basic picture books, adventure books, work books and comic books. There are even some figurines along the shelves, and an encyclopaedia here or there.  But perhaps the most inspiring book on the shelf is tucked up in the very corner, out of the light, way up high so you have to deliberately step on a stool to reach it. Somewhere where children cannot pick it up and drop it, and where it is not likely to be damaged. It’s a photo album, and it has been there for 12 years. It only contains one photo at the very beginning, and the rest of the album is empty. It is a picture of me and a friend when we were 5, innocent and constantly exuberant.

 I can barely remember her name. Georgia, I think. She might have had a brother in the year above me. Her existence is not significant in my life today. But looking at the photograph, you can tell she was my whole world in that second. My eyes are alight, shining, and I am looking down the barrel of the camera with the kind of joy only a 5 year old could muster. I haven’t taken a photo with that genuine feeling in years. As for Georgia, I know today that we didn’t stay friends forever. But I don’t ever think of that. I only ever see what we enjoyed, not what we might have missed out on. We are polar opposites, me with my white-blonde hair and massive beam, her with her shiny brown locks and a soft, sweet smile. You can tell which one was very happy to get her photo taken! We are sitting at a tiny tea table, with a miniature tea set, the kind you give to small children so nothing valuable gets broken. A plate of sugar cookies is in between us, as we sit primly in our little pink dresses at opposite sides of the table. Mum must have been encouraging us to take a cute photo; we’re raising our tiny teacups in a cheesy little way, and I am holding out my frilly dress to show it off. The zany glee in our eyes says, “We’re only behaving for the camera!”

The background of the picture shows our old living room, with all the furniture squished against the walls, the pictures on the walls that were broken in the move to our newest house, and the television set being some clunky old thing with 6 channels. But you hardly notice that; Georgia and I draw all attention to us. It is as if we gather up all the light in the room around us, and wear it as the glow in our skin, our smiles. Looking at the twinkles in our eyes, I bet we had been laughing at something right before the photo was taken. Or maybe it was the fact that the large plate of cookies only had one or two left, and the sugar was getting to us. Or, just maybe, it was the idea that we were all grown up at 5 years of age, with ladies dresses and teacups. We certainly look mature (well, older than 5), with our done up hair and lip gloss. But it is the eyes that give it away, practically spilling with mischief and the joy of living, the kind of look that grown ups only seem to have on their wedding days, but a child can have any old day.

The album is on the top shelf for a very good reason. Once, when I was little younger, I had forgotten that it had any photos in it, because it had been so thin and light and insignificant looking. I was having a tantrum in my room after getting in trouble, and I flung it as hard as I could against the wall, leaving a little black mark there. The photo slid out, and I rushed over to tear it up. My older eye caught my younger eye, and I was draw back into that moment, when everything was wonderful and I wasn’t in trouble for spilling spaghetti on my new pants. My heart swelled, and I remember feeling like crying for almost wrecking something so perfect and innocent. I calmly went out to my mother and showed her the photo. She took one look at my face and nodded, understanding. She looked down at the photograph and smiled, running her fingers over my face. At first I thought she would dirty the picture, and went to pull it back, but looking at her face, I knew she was a million miles away travelling in time and remembering. Carefully and gently, she slipped the photo back into its place at the beginning of the photo album. She then got out a stool, balancing carefully, and placed it up there, at the tip top of the bookcase, where it seemed as high as the moon.

It might seem strange to only have one photo in an album, especially when it says right on the front cover that it can hold 50. I have plenty of other childhood photos to add in. But I think that putting another photo in would ruin the idea of that important album. It’s not that it would take away from the joy and specialness of it; nothing could do that. When you look at the photo, there is so much to take in; you are practically overloaded with information of what was happening that you really don’t have to look at another photo to see what life was like for us 12 years ago. If you did look at another, it might taint that perfect idea that the world was my playground, and that I was constantly filled with joy. That is why the album is nearly empty. Except for that one jubilant photo of me, with the best friend I hardly remember.