With a faded pale blue cover this photo album clearly was an old K Mart special. It was one of those with pages consisting of a cellophane cover sheet that sat atop the photos. The cellophane would make a slorpping sound if you pulled it back to remove a photo. Each page had thin lines of adhesive goop that held onto the backs of the pictures . Over the years, the adhesive had yellowed and lost grip. As a result, as he turned the pages, pictures became dislodged and fell out.
He stared at one stray picture that had fallen out of that aged cheap photo album into his lap. An old black and white taken by probably an old Nikon 35mm. The image was captured on a clear day. That afternoon must have been cool for she wore that bulky seaman's sweater that she loved. The shot was taken looking north and west toward open water on the rocky Oregon coast. Or maybe it was Washington. Or maybe it was BC. Forty years passed so quickly.
She was standing barefoot on the beach her right arm holding her shoes. Her back was to the camera. Her head was turned so the features of her face were visible in the clear crisp light of that day. Her brunette hair blew in the breeze and she smiled that smile she gave when she was happy, when she was delighted. After a long trip across the plains, she clearly enjoyed her reward, bare feet on wet sand looking out at the mighty Pacific.
Her expression and body language conveyed pure joy and contentment. It was as if all her worries and troubles had melted away, leaving only bliss in the moment the camera had captured. Seeing her like this stirred up a mix of emotions in him - nostalgia, sadness and maybe a longing to reconnect with her if just for a few moments
So many questions. Why didn’t he remember taking this shot? Why was this shot in an album containing pictures of his family curated by his late mother? He didn’t think he had given his mother any of their pictures. What had he done wrong that separated them for so many years? Finally, where was she now? Was she living or dead? Did she ever think of him? Did her memories return to that trip?
With his forefinger and thumb, he held the picture close to his eyes. He wanted to see if he could see anything along the beach that might yield a clue as to where they had been when he took the shot. A couple of rock outcroppings were visible but nothing that screamed you were at Table Rock in Bandon, Oregon, or on Rialto Beach near Forks up in Washington. It had to have been taken soon after they hit the coast. This had to have been at a spot near the Washington/Oregon border where the Columbia River empties into the ocean. He smiled as he remembered staying with her in that mom-and-pop motel under the bridge in Astoria. After the long road trip it had been so nice to sleep in a comfortable bed. So many questions.
He tucked the picture inside the deep interior pocket of his jacket. There was no reason the picture should be in the album with pictures of Uncles Jack and Fred. God rest their souls. He was taking the picture. No doubt he paid for the picture to be processed. He had paid for gas and the car for the trip. There's no question, at least in his mind, that the photo belonged to him forever and ever.
He promised himself that later when he got home he would take out his Sam’s Club atlas and try and trace the route they took to the left coast. Maybe with a map in front of him he could figure out where the photo was taken. He also promised himself a few minutes with a search engine to see if she was still alive. He started whistling Bob Seger’s night moves and then flipped to another page in that old book of images.
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