Fall 2007 Issue

"The Picture in the Basement" by Dayna Stein

It was the year of no birthday cakes, where food was a filthy word, and my father and I could only speak through post-it notes and crossword puzzles. I still remember the weight of the camera. The ambulance was a time machine, the years had only been a month, and my father’s face had changed. But I was brave—said happy birthday and through the lens I saw that my father had put on his favorite felt hat. Although he couldn’t quite smile and the drugs had glazed his eyes so they couldn’t quite shine, I snapped the picture anyway and smiled back.