Pictures from Santa Cruz

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  To catch my flight, I had to leave summer camp a few hours earlier. As I leave, I take out my camera to take a picture of the campground, but think the better of it. Taking a picture seems unnatural, artificial, binding. I would rather leave it in memory. I don't want to hook myself by bottling this up in a picture. I hope this experience flows like the rest of my life.

   In the car, my father and sister are waiting. We drive past the ocean and into the red-purple sunset over the outstretched plain of farms. "Is that a polaroid camera you're holding?" Harim asks. "Yes, but don't use it now--the picture is blurry when you're moving." Ignoring my advice, she takes the picture. I let out a sigh. "Just hand it back to me." That was the last film I had, and an Instax instant film costs $1 each. I adjust my bag to lay down on the backseat, waiting for the film to develop. To my surprise, the picture is better than I'd expected. The blurred sky is a rich hue of gold and lilac.

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