Snapshot of Today
by Lillian Keith
Mom wants to take a detour. Like, right now. And I haven’t even finished everything on my summer bucket list.
I drag my sandalled feet along the sandy cobblestones as Mom hoists her straw tote bag over her shoulder. My shoes make a funny scrape-scrape sound that muffles the distant murmur of ocean waves.
Above, the July sun is gentle today. Mom’s pink flip-flops clack on the sidewalk as she turns down an alley. Down an alley? I peer over my shoulder. There’s a parade that will happen in exactly — I check my teal plastic wristwatch — ten minutes.
“But Mom,” I begin. “If we wait too long, I’ll miss a good spot to take photos of the floats.”
“Just for a few minutes,” she calls over her shoulder. “You rush around too much. Besides, I haven’t been here in a long time.”
I glance at the checklist in my hand and groan. We’re only in La Estrella de Mar for one more week before we move and leave all our favorite memories behind. Wadding the paper into the pocket of my denim shorts, I reluctantly follow. Down the alley, an arbor stretches and curves above us like a bowl. I glance briefly at the ivy growing along the trellises above. Tiny pointed leaves wave at me like green sea stars. I inhale. You can’t smell the ocean breeze in here. And the air is cold.
At the end of the alley is a courtyard and a couple of shop fronts ringing the edges. Mom heads straight for the one with a chalkboard sign out front. “Welcome To Hidden Cove Gallery” is crisply etched in powdery blue chalk. The front of this shop is inlaid with granite bricks, with the double doors flung outstretched to welcome visitors. A concrete fountain bubbles to itself over to my right. It seems more cheerful than I feel right now.
Mom enters the open doors. Here we go.
Inside the cramped room are walls of paintings. Some of the beach at sunset. Others of La Estrella de Mar’s Main Street. Somewhere, a scented candle burns. My nose tingles with the overpowering smell of sandalwood, and I pinch my nose to keep from sneezing.
“Look at the lighting in this one.” Mom runs a hand along a dusty wood frame. She lifts it up to inspect it. The picture is of a coral colored sunrise over a sleepy city. Or something like that. I didn’t pay much attention.
Instead, I’m scrolling through the photos I have so far on my Canon camera.
Shimmering blue pool tiles. Brownie cookies and a glass of cold lemonade. The blurry neon lights of the roller-skating rink. There’s Ivy and Auntie Mel’s house, the park with the weeping willow, and the giant bear statue that sits outside our local diner.
I flip to the last photo I had taken this week. It’s the giant roller coaster that Dad and I went on only once. A part of me wishes that I had gone on a second ride.
Strange. So many memories captured on a screen. Yet looking back, they seem distant and hazy like morning fog. It almost feels like I was barely there.
I decide it’s because summer has moved too fast. At least my camera snapped up as many memories as possible, so I won’t forget. I just have a few more to capture before we leave for good.
As I bounce on my toes, glancing constantly at the door, I hear Mom talking with a lady at the counter. They are discussing a Kinkade reproduction. In the distance, I can hear the shimmering tat-a-tat of snare drums. Is that the sound of feet marching in time to the faint music, too?
“Mom, the parade is coming,” I say, all but tugging at her purse.
“Go ahead, Sidney,” she replies. “Just stay on the sidewalk at the end of the alley. And don’t go further —”
I barely hear the last of her words. I’m already zipping down the path and out onto the main sidewalk. Families are gathering around me and clapping. I climb onto a timber tree seat that winds around a box elder.
Click, click, click. I shoot photos of the floats as fast as I can, since I can’t decide which would make the best picture. I’ll sort through them later, I tell myself, peering through the narrow lens. A flat-bed float filled with pink and yellow roses rolls by, with two ladies in crowns and purple evening dresses sitting on the main bench. Behind them trot the local mounted police force. The chestnut geldings toss their heads, and their hooves clatter on the black asphalt.
At that moment, my camera beeps.
“No!” I moan. ‘Low Battery’ flashes on the screen. How could I have forgotten to charge it this morning?
I fidget, watching the parade pass me by. Where could I charge my camera? Would a shop let me borrow their outlet? I pace along the tree seat, knowing I couldn’t leave without Mom. And even if we found a place to charge my camera battery, would the parade be over by the time I came back? Yeah, most likely.
I blow out my breath, realizing I couldn’t do anything.
Flutes warble in harmony with the trumpets and filter through my thoughts. Brass trombones blare, and a siren pulses once or twice from the firetruck ambling behind the band. I begin to really listen to the proud, upbeat music. My foot taps along with the rhythm. Green band uniforms sparkle in the light. Around me, a few people whistle and wave miniature replicas of the city’s flag. The scent of fried corndogs wafts on the breeze, making my mouth water.
My shoulders relax slightly as I continue to gaze around. How did I almost miss all this? The sounds and the smells that my camera could never capture? Maybe I did rush around too much, as Mom says.
I watch as the last float disappears around the corner, the music now muted by the shrill cries of the gulls circling overhead. As the crowd wanders away, loneliness washes over me. The street seems so deserted now. A gray seagull scoots past me. I see it peer at me curiously with its bright golden eyes before flying off.
Was this moment over so soon?
Just as I decided to duck back down the alley to tell Mom all that she had missed, I spy another shop to the left. A tangle of ivy partially covers the door. The only reason I notice it now is because the breeze nudges a creaky sign above it. I peer into the window. Inside, on the shelf, is a tiny glass globe. The globe holds some sparkling sand, tiny pink flip flops, an umbrella, and a cowrie shell. Mom would love this, I think to myself. I really need to take some time to show her.
A pang hits me. This summer has gone by so fast. Too fast, like tide water slipping through my fingers. I remember trying to catch some in my hand when I was three. That was nine years ago, and it had been my first time to La Estrella de Mar. That had been the start of our family memories here.
I slip into the courtyard and find Mom sitting on the stone bench next to the fountain.
“How was the parade?” she asks.
I shrug. Funny enough, in the midst of all the clamor and photo taking, nothing had really stuck in my mind except the last band and the firetruck.
“It was fun,” I reply. “My camera died before I could finish taking pictures, though.” I show her the red battery sign.
“I’m so sorry, honey. We can charge it when we get back to the hotel later.”
“It’s alright.”
A question pops into my head. “How did you know about this place?” I wave to the gallery shop behind us.
A pensive look crosses Mom’s face as she gazes at the leaves above. “When we first came here, I wanted to find a shortcut to Main Street. Your dad and I had made a bunch of plans for our vacation. Instead, we found this little courtyard by accident. We ended up having a picnic here for lunch.”
“Why haven’t we come back since then?”
“Oh, never enough time.” Mom brushes the hair off my face. “We were always busy visiting something else around here. It’s nice to see the gallery is still open, though. I think it’s one of our best discoveries.”
I glance at my camera and cap the lens. I lean against Mom’s arm and inhale. The sweet aroma of honeysuckle drifts off the vines climbing up the buildings and trellises. The air is hushed, and the trees gather their branches overhead, casting a cool shade on us. Patches of light dapple the stonework and the sleepy purple petunias in their flower boxes.
I almost wish I could snap a photo of this place. But instead, I close my eyes. Yes, I can see it just as clearly, if not better, than a picture. This memory will be one that really lasts.
About the Author
Lily never outgrew her love for children’s literature and seeks to write heartfelt, compelling stories for kids under her pen name, Lillian Keith. She’s a Christian, homeschool grad and indie author of five books, which include Because You Saw Me, Nova And The Lost Stars, and An Apprentice Escapes. You can find her blog, read her books, or say ‘Hi’ at: https://linktr.ee/lillian_keith_author.
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Image: Camera, 2013 Kassy. Licensed under CC-BY 4.0.
