I have a story, a story of a girl, who acted: An act that can never be put back in its place in time, in history, in a girl’s life. In a man’s life. The moment passed, and all that is left, is a looking glass of rear-view mirrors. And what is seen in those backward shots, those reels reversed in slow motion-- grainy picture shots of laughter and tears, frolicking, and carousing, weeping and tearing the seams of day to day life into shreds-- is each moment. A still-photo, the snapshot of every decision made that led up to the final factor in the forever-future contained in her mind. Each frame, in slow motion: remember the day? remember the hour? remember the voices and the smells? I remember. Every single word you spoke. Was the sun shining down, or was that the moon? I claim it is all clear, but there are blurs and indecision. The clarity of my entire life is called into question. One seemingly simple acknowledgment of feeling transformed into a future, but left un-created. The question--the demand-- filled the vacuum of ambivalence with doubt, and so the scale was no longer balanced; it tipped. Did it tip in the direction of fortune and so all ended well? Or did the room darken, and shadows fall that enhanced the blur between sentimental memory and accurate photograph. And if that one shot is absolutely clear, without question, is it reality? Can you argue the memory that surrounds the photograph, when the photograph is ultimately kept within your mind, where print and paper and ink are meaningless? And what did she do? What was that action that can only stand in the present moment, and never be viewed from the skewed perspective of fond memory? Perhaps only blow on the bud of a dandelion flower to spread its seeds windward? But held within that one action, an alteration of the course of an entire landscape, and thus, the entire history of all those within the proximity of that one flower. Is that how you will perceive your reality; that is, your memory? The memory of a simple, carefree girl, gently blowing the dandelion bloom; the one act that forever changed your life.
Regina J McMurray
October 30, 2012
There is fiction. There is life. What is the difference?
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