No Stills

I walk the bridge path everyday, both directions, all two miles or more. I see a lot of tourists taking photographs of everything: the skyline, other bridges, the harbor, monuments, even the path. Couples exchange cameras and cellphones with other couples to get I-was-there images for their collections. Sometimes a brave woman, dressed in a fashion style I haven't seen for five years, asks me to take a picture of her and her husband or her and her giggling friends.

I always say, "I don't take stills. Only movies."

She always struggles with this response. I like to watch her face twist into itself, as if she's just bitten into a lemon.

I smile quickly before she can walk away. "Sorry, I can't stop time, but I will gladly film you. Does your camera take movies?"

"I don't know," she's likely to say, or, "Yeah. Here."

So I walk backward till I bump into the far side of the path; I frame their faces, their bodies. I watch the moment unfold on the video screen, through the lens and processing of the device, all the while grinning. I'm happy then to be in the moment, where I know the laughs, hugs, and kisses won't be lost.