She was so excited, she tells me. She couldn’t wait for the Pope’s visit to Toronto and stood, some hours, on the curb in a chill drizzle to see him pass. He waved behind a shield in the limo while she held he camera to one eye — an entire roll of film spent before the Pope and his entourage of cars and cardinals turned out of sight. “Then,” she says, “I burst into tears.” Unstoppable tears while she put he camera in its case and walked home. “I was crying because I’d waited so long and it might be the only chance I’ll ever have… and I was taking pictures. I didn’t even see him. I didn’t see him.”
I wish I’d never heard this story. What if it’s true? What if a whole life is like that? Behind a lens, snapshots, memories, proof: I was there, see? But the life itself is always moving away from us, no one inside it.
This piece originally appeared in the Spring 2005 issue of Sarah Lawrence.