“Jamison? Class photos?”
That was Susan for 13 years, printing and packing my
pictures at the Centre while patiently assisting users of Kodak picture kiosks.
Eventually Susan got to know me and what I do, genuinely smiling whenever she
saw me coming.
“I like your butterfly house.”
“Yup. Parents say kids are excited to come to school to
check on the caterpillars.”
Then came the three-year pandemic and online classes, and
I didn’t have any photos to print. Once back in the classroom later, I was also
back to taking pictures for my bulletin board. I was excited to see Susan again,
easily recognizable from afar with her tall and slim figure, a bit hunched
over, and short blond curls. Back in Walmart, however, another lady was in the
Centre, so I asked about Susan.
“She retired last year.”
“Oh! I see…”
For a while, I was afraid to hear something like “She
passed away last week. Heart attack.” This was when I inquired about Gail, the
gas station attendant I saw every Saturday morning on my way to do volunteer
work at a senior home. Her wavy blond hair loosely tied in a bun and her eyes
lined with black eyeliner, she’d greet me with “Hi, Sweetie, how’s your day
going?” When she learned what I do for a living, she told me about her daughter
who was also a teacher. She was a proud mother and grandmother. Some years back
in my alma mater, when I inquired about Sylvia, a librarian I roomed with in
college, the staff fell silent for a moment until one found the courage to
respond. “Didn’t you know? Her dormitory got burned. She went back into the
building to get something. We’re so sorry about what happened to your friend.” Then
I lingered for a while, reminiscing the many times I visited, seeing the huge
smile on her face, hearing her voice shouting my name in great excitement. Yes,
that was my ever-gleeful dear friend Sylvia.
I lingered for a while, pretending to look at the display
of cameras and accessories, wondering what Susan might be doing now that she’s
not printing and packing photos… MLJ/2022
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