I’m currently deep into The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt, possibly my favorite book read this year. I stumbled upon this passage:
“…why hadn’t my mother married someone like him –? Or Mr Bracegirdle? somebody she actually had something in common with — older maybe but personable, someone who enjoyed galleries and string quartets and poking around used book stores, someone attentive, cultivated, kind? Who would have appreciated her, and bought her pretty clothes and taken her to Paris for her birthday, and given her the life she deserved?”
Why hadn’t I?
I was holding a fancy newfangled camera that looked like a pricing gun. As I held it, I could see three screens. One for photos, one for videos and one for….something that hasn’t yet been invented. Holograms? I was trying to get a picture of Red and two costumed women. Downtown. And I realized I was a block from my high school. Where it had been back then. Could we walk down and take a picture of you all in front of my school? Everyone was amenable but the older ladies, all black women of an advanced age, suggested we drive. So, we all piled in their large American sedan and went. Hour after hour we drove and as the landscape changed, I realized we’d only needed to go a block. Where were we? Somewhere in Georgia. Where there was a high school with the exact name. Wasn’t that the one I had meant? No. Not at all. How’d we get here? How’d I allowed this to happen, this veering way off course, allowing myself to be driven far away from where I’d wanted to be? I’d only wanted a quick snapshot and instead I was riding around with strangers in an unknown Georgia town with beautiful 1920’s Art Deco inspired houses but….it wasn’t where I was supposed to be at all. We would have to turn around and go back. Even though it meant hours more driving. I’m sorry.
Never did get the photograph.