One Golden Summer

A great photograph convinces you that you know the subject, even if you've never met. A great photo reaches out and pulls you into the moment, until you can feel it, smell it, taste it. By any account, this is a great photo.

I stare at it, and just like that, I'm seventeen again.

I hear them across the bay. It's the end of summer, and those three voices are as familiar to me as the weight of the camera in my hands. The older boy calls out to the other two—his brother and the girl—lying on the floating raft in their swimsuits, soaking up the sun.

I've been at the cottage since late June, watching them swim, flirt, and tear across the lake in their yellow speedboat. Every one of them is beautiful. Sun-kissed and free.

They climb into the boat. The oldest takes the wheel. His brother and the girl sit in the front. I stand on the edge of the dock, adjusting the aperture.

It happens in the blink of an eye.

I hear the boat. Their laughter rises above the engine. I look up to see them heading toward me. I bury myself behind the lens. They enter the frame.

Click.