So this is the place where I'll be writing essays, reviews, fiction, non-fiction, commentary and rants. This page will be long. I really don't expect anyone to read this page because most people go online to look at pretty pictures of cute girls. But, this is here if you're interested. Enjoy!
Home for the Holidays
Only two pictures remained from that summer, one of which she cut up to fit into her wallet, the copy of it mounted on her wall. It was a portrait of Matthew, Duncan, herself, Shannon and a boy whose name she never learned: friends and associates from summer camp. The photo in her wallet was glossy, black and white but was collecting grime and scratches. This copy was the one she held for herself, the other mounted on her wall was to capture and preserve the brilliance of Duncan. The photo was taken by Duncan, the camera on a rock with its red timer light flashing. Upon examination, one would realize that the style of the portrait was indisputably only his. Duncan had talent. He had the uncommon gift of taking what would seem like an everyday photo shoot and turning it into a work of stunning depth. Duncan turned that mundane �last day of camp� portrait into a National Geographic study: The characteristics and attributes of its subjects where somehow showcased from the positioning of the camera and the light setting he used.
On the grass, Matthew stood to the far right of the photo. His attire was respectable and sensible to the eyes of an unforgiving parent; his posture narrow and fine. He was sent to the camp for the music side of it, whom of which there were only seven other campers. He was a violinist of moderate skill. Thus, 15 and uncertain of his surroundings, he felt the least comfortable in the photo, but to his credit, he looked the sharpest.
Shannon was the friendly left-wing Buddhist. She dreamed of crossing the country by train her senior year and getting a tattoo of a butterfly across her back. Brought up an intellectual by her parents, she carried with her a copy of The Trial by Kafka wherever she went in her messenger bag. Her embarrassing, forbidden secret was that she hadn�t read a page of it since she was intimidated by the first sentence. Still, another one of her ambitions was to finish it by high school. She took part in the writing workshop, and lay cross-legged on the grass in the portrait, a hummus sandwich in her hand.
The boy whose name Molly never learned wore rubber water shoes and an over-sized t-shirt from his older brother�s college, Carleton. Molly�s memory was unclear, she can�t remember if campers called him that as a nick-name or if his name truly was Carleton and he was simply trying to be humorous. In either case, the joke didn�t work, at least not for Molly, and Carleton, was a lonely soul at camp. Molly remembered him being socially awkward but kind-hearted, speaking too loudly during visual arts and mentioning his obsession about medieval fantasy culture one too many times to people who were uninterested. In class, Molly remembered him interrupting lessons by making witty comments, repetitive in nature Still, because of his kind heart which was prone to sharing bagged lunches and his umbrella on rainy days, Carleton was accepted to be in the portrait, him snuggly sitting separated from the rest of the group, holding his knees to his chest.
Finally, Molly and Duncan were sitting in limbo. Not far away or close to one another, the portrait caught courting while in process. Knowing it was their last day together, sub-consciously one another knew that this photo would serve as a document and a testimony to their flirtations. Duncan would need it as evidence to his buddies back in New Jersey while Molly would need it as a reminder that love was a game which one could win with persistence. And so, their eyes did not focus on the camera, nor did they land in one another�s eyes. It wasn�t that serious or developed yet. They both looked down into one another�s lapses, both grinning innocently. Later in that evening with her camp supplies bundled up, Molly took a risk and kissed Duncan, her first successful attempt after many inner debates about if the time were right and what his reaction would be. As late August rolled around, Duncan became a fond memory and something to hold onto when high school was stressful, lonely or unjust.
But now, on Christmas break, it was coming back. New Jersey and Duncan�s foreign home would soon be a reality. And along with it, the memorizes of their summer camp, Matthew, Shannon and Carleton. Molly dressed down for the occasion, but wore her converse from summer as a nostalgic emblem for them both. The past was coming back, as she walked down the stairs of the bus. The image of Duncan wasn�t crystal as it had been that summer: moments remained in her visual memory bank. When he belly-flopped into the lake, a non-distinctive time when he laughed. Now nervous, she suddenly felt stupid carrying an Adidas over-night bag and discredited herself for holding on to the summer and a boy for half a year. She looked around the bus station as white noise took over, chatter from college students and grandparents visiting from afar. She was the odd-ball.
�Molly?� A tall, pale Duncan said. Molly heard from the direction the sound was made, that faint, slightly recognizable low-tone Duncan voice. Her neck darted around like a birds trying to find the person who made it, but she didn�t search for long.
Duncan was there with newly dyed black hair and a November jean jacket. Duncan stood hunched over to perhaps showcase a non-Shelton attitude towards the awkward reunion, but inside he was just as nervous as Molly. They stood a good 10 feet from one another, innocently grinned once again, their eyes delicately focusing on the floor. Here they were, the past now in present, walking forward to a quick embrace. And in that second, Molly remembered the kiss that felt pure in a summer month, she remembered the friendly connection she made with the photographer. A weekend for them to catch up on one another, and a chance to have all those questions answered from a summer of glancing at one another and then burning eyes away.
Molly was home for the holidays.
