It was just a photograph of me dancing with a friend from twelve years ago. We were on stage, dressed up in our costumes, with a tonne of makeup on our faces. He wore a white formal shirt, black pants, white socks, and an adorable little black bowtie.
I wore a frilly white frock which appeared to look like a gown ending short, just below my knees. I had two pony tails, which weren’t really necessary for my hair were quite short. I also wore a white headband to go with it and white socks that sat somewhere above my knees, covering every inch of skin on my leg from the sight of the audience.
Next to us was another couple. It was my younger sister along with a rather short classmate of mine, which made him the only boy dancing with a younger girl and made my sister the youngest dancer. We were all dressed alike keeping in mind our genders and the appropriate costumes for that gender. My sister didn’t have hair as thick as mine and so she wore two little clips on either side of her head to hold her hair from falling into her face when we danced.
There were other couples in the back. I didn’t know any of the boys besides my dance partner, my sister’s dance partner, and a friend’s dance partner – because all three of them were my classmates. However, I knew all the girls but one, or maybe two. They were all my friends and classmates, and one my sister!
The photograph was still in good condition, for it had been lost in a pile of untouched junk and hadn’t seen the daylight since forever. It had survived countless numbers of moving and shifting and kept us company through it all. It was forgotten until it was remembered and raided for in every single cupboard and album available.
When found, it seemed so fresh as if it were made and printed just yesterday. The song we danced to twelve years ago seemed to be playing when the photograph presented itself after years of hiding. A memory that was fading and worn was now refreshed. Not only did the photograph sing the song that we had danced to, it also let out little backstage secrets and upon closing our eyes, it showed us that the white frilly frock wasn’t just white – it had little flowers and leaves of green, orange and lavender that covered it all over.
It wasn’t a still anymore; the photograph was dancing; recreating the steps we so awkwardly had managed to perform on stage on the cold November night. It was magical; a nostalgia so long forgotten that it embedded itself into our memories and became a part of us.