Legacy Writing 365:4

There’s no reason I should have this photo or the other four that were obviously taken the same day. I didn’t shoot them; I wasn’t there. That I do have them means I badgered someone into giving them to me: either Tim, who’s front and center in the water, or Riley, the boy closest to him, next level up. I’d be willing to bet it was Riley who reluctantly handed them over.

Even though I wasn’t friends with the other three boys in the photos (one of whom isn’t pictured here because he was obviously manning the camera), and though I haven’t seen them in more years than I wish to divulge, I can name them all immediately. Maybe it’s because I haven’t seen them in all those years; they are fixed in time, always young, always long-haired, bell-bottomed, wearing illegal expressions on their achingly young faces.

I also don’t know where in North Alabama these photos were taken. I hope there are still as many remote places of natural beauty as there were then, where even a short hike would take you far from whatever troubled your spirit.

And when you’re a teenager, something is always troubling your spirit. It’s your job. You’re new on the planet, and it’s not perfect, and neither are the people trying to teach you how to be here. Everybody’s got advice and wisdom, and what they’ve forgotten is that no one older and with more experience could keep their lives perfectly on course, either, when they were young. They–we–you–everybody has to stumble over their own rocky terrain, take their own falls into cold, rushing water, get up, keep going.

It’s because of Tim and Riley, and everything we learned together and taught each other, and all the ways we betrayed each other and found our ways back those first decades of our lives, that I so easily slip into the world Stephenie Meyer created. I don’t care about the writing flaws. I can strip away the supernatural elements. What I see is three teenagers who are dealing with emotions and choices, desires and missteps, confusion and clarity, with fresh minds and untried hearts.

And this photo… One boy long out of touch; the other one dead. But here forever, in this blurry photo, are the boys who gave me music, art, poetry, laughter and tears, and my first lessons in the crazy beauty of romantic love.

Here forever in my heart, too.

18 thoughts on “Legacy Writing 365:4”

  1. what strikes me with Twilight, and you and I have discussed this, one of the things that I find odd with Twi-haters, and I will confess that I did this too until I read the series, is they say Buffy and Twilight are so different and the truth is they’re not — both capture teen angst so well (oh and by the way, Angel was WAY MORE older than Buffy, and did more than his fair share of stalking … ) I have problems with certain aspects of the book, none of which were writing flaws, but she captured being a teenage girl extremely well.

    1. Writing flaws… If anything I wrote had enjoyed the huge success that’s come to a few writers, I cringe at how my writing could have been shredded. Hopefully we learn and get better as we go along.

      1. I’ve never understood the “crappy writing” thing – because I didn’t think that the writing was that bad – I didn’t see any flaws with it — but we all know I have my problems with that !

        Also I meant to say, this picture looks like an album cover.

        1. You’ll have to turn to others to get the flaws. I don’t criticize other writers’ works publicly. The problem is, a lot of the criticism of the books–and the movies–comes from people who haven’t read or watched them. But even when they have, I often wonder if I read or saw the same books/movies. Again, I can only say we filter it all through our own life experiences and expectations.

          Then there’s that other truism: we despise in others what we fear is true about ourselves.

    1. Tim, Riley, Dewey, Kevin, Dennis. If you need their last names, I’ll give them to you in a more private way.

      You are NOT OLD.

  2. I’m enjoying this new project of yours. The way the photos comes to life as you tell a tale – that’s true!

    Are you still writing, Becky? You’re such a talented teller of tales.

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