The Photograph Album

Last night I resurrected a short story that I had started writing in April or May but then stopped once finals came around. Anyway, this is hardly finished, it's just my own response to last night's post. Comments/suggestions are warmly welcomed.

The Photograph Album
The olive green curtains in the living room were dingy and faded. She had never noticed that before. How long had they been hanging there? Twenty years? More? If her memory served her – and it often didn’t – she bought them from Sears and Roebuck around the time that Carter came into office. Adelaide frowned at the curtains hanging dejectedly before a grimy window. Those curtains – those damn curtains. She could remember what they looked like when they were brand new, the thick fabric thick and slightly crisp, George scolding her for spending frivolously when the old curtains would do just fine. Yes, she remembered now, she bought them shortly after she and George moved into this tiny apartment so many years ago, and they hung there when George died (was that seven years ago already?), they hung there on her first day of retirement. Adelaide brought a hand up to her cheek (ignore the tremors) as she gazed out the window, as the words formed stubbornly in her head. When did she get so old?
The yelp of a puppy and the laughter of children trickled up through the cool April air from a park across the street. Adelaide gingerly fingered the hem of the curtain, the material now soft and slightly dusty as she watched the children play four stories below her. With a sniff she turned from the window and surveyed her cramped apartment, the afghan tossed over the back of the under-stuffed sofa, the old Christmas cards piled on the bookshelf, the dinner table buried under old books, magazines and ancient photograph albums. She reached over and switched on the table lamp (was it Tiffany, like George always insisted?), because even in the brightest summer days, this room always stayed dark. It’s more of a cave than a living room, she remembered complaining to George. So he bought her the brass lamp. Adelaide relished the warm yellow glow of the lamp that filled the room as she settled in a chair at the dining table, the tan cushion wheezing under her shifting weight.
Gently pushing a pile of envelopes aside (bills, subscription notices from National Geographic, a check from social security… how much would she get this month? It was never enough.), she extracted one of the albums from the pile and set it before her. The cover was finely grained crimson leather, with the word “Album” scrawled pretentiously across the middle in an elaborate gold-tinted script. Adelaide touched the worn corner of the album, the leather thin from years of rubbing along a shelf, then opened the cover as it creaked stiffly from disuse (how long have these bits of her past been collecting dust on her bookshelves?).
The pages were thick paper that at one time had been white, but were now yellow deepening to brown at the ragged edges. All the photographs were black and white, but Adelaide never noticed the plain color scheme, the unskilled photography, the grainy quality of the images. The pictures awoke memories that lain dormant for far too long, memories that made the still images come alive (and bring the dead back to life, if only for a moment).
George smiled brightly out of the first photograph, his horn-rimmed glasses perched merrily his slightly crooked nose. His hair was still thick and dark, although (she inspected closely) his receding hairline was just beginning to show. In his lap, a plump baby offered a double-toothed smile at the camera as he clutched a ball that the cocker spaniel puppy was trying to pull from his grasp. How old was Jonathan in that picture, two? Three? Before Jon and his younger sisters had gone off to high school and then college, she could place the age of a child to the month. But it was so long ago, she had lost that ability without even realizing it. She remembered the nickname George had given him – Jonny Two Tooth – and she smiled gently at the child’s gummy and exuberant expression.
“Take the picture, Adelaide!” George laughed. “He’s not staying here much longer.” Jonathan squirmed in his arms and chortled at the puppy’s attempts to take his ball. He put two pudgy fingers in his mouth and gripped the ball harder with the other hand, his socked feet kicking happily.
“Look here, Jonny!” Adelaide chirruped, waving her fingers in front of her baby’s face. He looked up for a moment, his eyes shining with life. She clicked the shutter and captured their happiness on Kodak film. Jonny’s eyes widened and blinked at the sudden flash, his lower lip shining with a bead of drool that threatened to drip onto George’s wrist. The puppy growled playfully and tugged again at the ball, and Jonathan wriggled from his father’s grasp to pull on the dog’s ear.
“Be nice to Peanut, dear,” she said gently, but too late. The dog nipped at the boy’s pudgy wrist, who responded by collapsing into a heap of yelps and tears on the floor. The dog scampered off as George scooped his son off the floor and tickled him until he smiled again. George lifted the boy above his head, tossed him up gently and caught him again, making Jonathan shriek with laughter. “Stop, darling. You shouldn’t do that to him.” Adelaide said nervously.
“He might get hurt,” she whispered, her finger tracing the edge of the picture. One corner was starting to lift off the page, and she pressed it back down with her thumb. The tea kettle whistled. She had forgotten that she put it on the stove. Sighing, she pushed her hands on the surface of the table and slowly rose to her feet. The kettle’s whistle dissolved into a frantic scream, and Adelaide grumbled as she shuffled into her tiny kitchen, “I’m coming, I’m coming, almost there….” She switched off the burner with a snap and poured the steaming water into her favorite mug, given to her by a student when she taught third grade at Sunnyvale Elementary ages ago. As the aroma of oranges and cloves wafted into the air, Adelaide carried the mug back to the dining room table and slowly sat down in her chair....