I tear the crinkly green wrapper open as I’m stepping out of the CVS. Hands searching the smooth, plastic exterior for the tiny ribbed circle wheel in the upper right corner. The black and lime disposable camera is so light in my hands, I wonder how it can capture anything at all. People stream past me as I stand in the middle of the sidewalk, some floating lazily by and others running late. The camera is a waiting room for new memories to saunter in unexpectedly. Unreliably. And though it’s a brisk and airy morning, there’s not something worth capturing yet. I put it back in my bag for later. I don’t have any frames to waste.
The black and lime disposable camera is so light in my hands, I wonder how it can capture anything at all.
The walk home from dinner is dark and chilly. The night reminiscent of the holiday season already passed by. My friend and I are in long winter coats, palms in pockets, shoulders instinctively scrunched up against the cold. We’re talking about our plans for the semester when we come across an austere grey wall. “Go stand against it,” I tell her, pulling my camera out. She spreads her arms wide and smiles. I make sure the flash is on. The first picture. I have no idea what it’ll look like. The camera makes me more aware of moments worth remembering. If I didn’t have it, would I remember this?
The night reminiscent of the holiday season already passed by. My friend and I are in long winter coats, palms in pockets, shoulders instinctively scrunched up against the cold.
In the car ride home from the birthday outing near the mountains, upbeat music plays. We are comfortably sitting knee to knee. The car is just big enough. There is a ziplock bag of assorted Trader Joe’s cheeses in my lap because we just had to bring them home post charcuterie board. My roommate says she’ll airdrop the photos to everyone. My 16-gigabyte iPhone 6 can’t handle this. I wish I had remembered the disposable. It’s much easier to lose than my phone, which is constantly glued to my hand. I’m sure it’s in the house. I know I’ll track it down.
I’m bored between my classes so I draw white-lined purple hearts in the inner corners of my eyes. I try to capture the euphoria they give me in a selfie for longer than I’d care to admit. My iPhone camera distorts my face—at least it feels like it does. I consider using the disposable; the blurry quality makes photos look so much cuter. Like an actual memory. I decide not to waste a frame, hoping the risk will pay off with a better opportunity in the future.
