Scrapbook

"Vintage Wedding Scrapbook." Web log post. Mutated Musings. Mutated Musings, 27 Sept. 2011. Web. 23 Jan. 2015.

Dying of boredom, I decided to scavenge around our house for something to occupy my mind with. My eyes scanned the room for anything relatively interesting but, I found nothing. I’ll just go back to sleep, I thought to myself. That was until my eye caught a glimpse of the dusty scrapbook, camouflaged among the rows of books displayed on the shelf. I remember my mom slaving over this scrapbook, trying as hard as she could to make it look like we lived the perfect American dream. Even though she dedicated so much time on perfecting the scrapbook, I never got a chance to look at it. I shuffled over to the shelf, tugged it out and blew off the layer of dust that had gathered on it over the years. “Amber Thompson,” read the cover. I flipped open the scrapbook and began admiring the intricate way my mom had assembled this memory book. A sharp feeling of nostalgia soon rushed over me. Photographs of when we visited Disneyland Orlando, beach days, the Grand Canyon, and baby pictures of me with relatives that I can’t even remember, all arranged in chronological order. At every turn of a page I saw myself grow older and older. “Amber on her first day of third grade,” read the caption of one ancient looking picture. I quickly recalled that day. It was one of the most horrifying days of my life. Images began to flood my mind of the colossal, cool kids smacking my lunch onto the cold, linoleum lunch floor. I tried so hard to suppress that traumatic memory, and it had worked until now. They thought they broke me, but in seventh grade, they learned that revenge was a dangerous game to play. It cost me three weeks of after-school detention, but God it was worth it. I snapped back into present day and tried to forget about when I was a bullied nine year old. I continued to flip through the pages of pictures. Fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth grades all went by so quickly as I turned page by page. There were photographs of my fourteenth birthday party, one of the best days of my life. I would do anything to go back to that magical day. I began to see the pictures of  last week’s middle school graduation. It seemed so long ago. I took a look at the book and noticed that there were still several more pages in the scrapbook left. What else could possibly be in here? I flipped to the next page and saw pictures of a funeral. Masses of crying faces and people dressed in all black: a depressing burial scene with fitting weather. I don’t remember this. Was this a long time ago? No it couldn’t be. My mom and dad look older in these pictures. I kept examining the pictures and that’s when I saw the gravestone. “With love we remember, Amber Thompson. 1999- 2013.”