Blur
Unfocused, blurred and unstill. Like broken slides of old camera shots, blinking past. There was never a clear moment between them, always stained with anger and misunderstanding. The daily life that existed in the not-so-recent past was reliving itself in her memory, narrowing eyebrows and bringing unpleasant thoughts. These nonstop calls in the present day were much of an irritation, an obligation to pick up the phone; just so the ringing would stop.
Flipping back, frail fingers feeling fringes of photos. Imaginary snapshots in sepia, black and white. The image of the little girl with her feet propped up on the dashboard, the mother at the wheel. Furious faces and unintended tears, the attitude and fierce words nearly peeling out of the laminated photo that does not exist. The dull daily life that was mother and daughter, physically together but no words attached. The image of the mother screaming from the other end of the house, repeating words that didn’t mean a thing but still hurt on the inside. The father coming in and out of the bedroom and quietly giving lectures of comfort. The image of the little girl on the edge of her bed, blasting the music that eventually did nothing to ease the pain.
It was hard, turning the pages. This imaginary album was creased and crinkled, the flaps so stiff they refused to be flipped over. More and more, the images brought back memories of blank stares and days without emotion. The little girl learning to deal with more than she should have ever experienced in such a short amount of time, the mother pacing herself alone in the home that brought her such anxiety. Images of the husband and wife finally expressing the truth about living with each other, the thunder of frustration captured in their eyes. The serene but frightening memory of the empty house when the repeating fights and everyday screaming finally came to an end, the father storming out and the lock clicking shut, the mother begging for answers and the girl pushing it all away.
The present day is just as vague. Colorful pictures take away the past vibes that have faded away since they were physically separated. The mandatory visitation periods and the feeling of hiding away; the images are slightly colored but still remain unfocused, blurred and unstill. The little girl is older now, a shot of her sitting with her feet propped up on the dashboard, but this time smiling and singing with the loving father at the wheel. Images of her face stained with tears, but alone in her room, crying over more than only her family. Images of her mother in another living environment, slaved at the phone, calling her past life over and over again until someone dares to pick up and speak. The silences of mother and daughter reunited in a room, together but words are not said to make up for the broken relationship that was never real to begin with.
The remaining filmstrips are dark and there is no image to make out. There are no edits in this album, no calls for retake. The future life is slowly put out as the past and present meld together and create what is in her mind. Who is finding the everyday moments to capture, she does not know. But the stinging photos can never be replaced, and the blur leaves her lost as the pages keep turning.
