"Click"

When I was younger, I would try to capture memories.

I distinctly remember lifting both hands, both thumbs and first fingers shaped into "L"s, and fitting them together into a viewfinder. I remember whispering "click" when my baby sister was inside the frame. I remember thinking that when I got to heaven, God would be kind enough, or amused enough, to show me what my younger self had wanted to bring to eternity.

It has been quite a few years since then. I had almost forgotten what it was like to want a moment to last forever.

It was the middle of the night, and I had run out in my bare feet to to the bright garage, only to be invited on an impromptu motorcycle ride. I hope I never forget how it feels to run up the stairs as excited as a girl to sneak boots from beside a sleeping sister, or the feel of the cool night breeze on my arms while the humidity was still leaving my palms sticky. I hope I never forget Daddy's unconventional idea of "just around the block" or the way he saw deer so far ahead that there was no chance of an unexpected tragedy. I hope I never drop the last two letters in "Daddy," and since I'm 20 years old and they haven't left yet, I think that one will come true.

I rode for the first (and last, considering how much he stresses this) time without a jacket, and I gave in for the first (and last) time to the yearning to spread my arms like wings, just for a minute, since no one was around. I wished I could stay like that forever.

This is such a personal post, but since my days of hiding behind doors and pretending to record the sounds of baby laughter, I have learned that the real way to capture something, for me, is in words. Even if I never get good enought to transplant a feeling into a stranger's soul, the black squiggles will at least be magical to me. Thanks, God.

~Maria