As I draw open the curtains the morning light streams inside to warm and welcome. Yet it also highlights those grubby stains on the window and the haze of dust rising from the photo frames on the shelf. I watch those particles float and swirl around my memories, a universe borne from trapped moments in time.
I do not care for photographs. They are a stage of mimes, forced smiles cringing for the click. However, to welcome visitors photographs are obligatory, a sign of social inclusion and sharing of emotion, of happy times when all is pretty, porcelain dolls with emotions painted by a fine-tipped brush. My life is divulged in sweeping strokes on a plank of wood. Embraces, feigned laughter, snapshots of birthday cakes with frozen icing all mimic events long gone and mostly forgotten. My family and friends stand shoulder to shoulder like troops on display; ever regimented, never moving. I seldom cast my eye upon them, preferring instead to live in the present. Memories can bring smiles but not all.
There is a place my eye cannot see. It’s in the corner, shrouded in shadow. As my vision roams my pulse quickens and my fingers begin to quake. This is a memory locked away in the past. Why then is it not torn up or burned or cast away? If the Native Americans were right and a picture traps the soul then these two little spirits must never be harmed. Neither can they be diminished to the realms of darkness where all forced-forgettories become abandoned. It is only when I am brave and the fight yearns to be free do I glance from the corner of my eye. And what I see startles me.
They say the lens of our eye curves light to create an upside-down image. Everything we see is actually inverted. Our brain solves this issue by reversing the picture so all is well again. Just imagine – everyone we know is the opposite of what we see. The pictures on my shelf stand to attention with heads held high but from the corner of my eye, those two little souls remain inverted. Do the laws of physics refuse to enter that sacred, sorrowful spot? Has the Almighty reversed them to shield my pain? Or simply has my brain said No, best leave them to the nether world where I cannot venture and none can taint. For if reality is the right-way-up then those two little souls should rest in the upside-down; separate, lost yet found, and forever untainted by this cruel reality.
I stride through the dust and twist the fabric in my fingers. The curtains draw shut and the light disappears along with the memories of all worlds.
