That one photo
Dad pointed at one side of our sunroom.
Grinning happily, he held the camera which we found while playing detectives in the messy storage-like sitting room.
The sitting room next to the sunroom. The sitting room which was my dad’s den, and often, his sleeping place.
He had thought it was a happy coincidence that the long forgotten camera still had one more shot, so he had suggested we take one that we’re going to treasure after the years pass.
I had wanted to refuse, but my very eager friend with the gap tooth dimpled smile was acting as if my dad told him he’d be the king of the world.
I couldn’t tell whether it was the camera, my dad’s enthusiasm, the fated one shot or the idea of us grown ups and still friends, that had fuelled his excitement.
He was just too eager, and I,
I don’t like being photographed, but that very last reason kind of made me want to leave a memory on that one last shot of the old camera, too.