At the Jewish Community Center, a paper crown slid off the props table and hit my shoe just as the screen lit up for the first test shot. June 14, a little before 2 p.m., the air inside was cool and steady, carpet soft underfoot. Outside it was humid in Durham, NC. Inside, the gold backdrop caught the light and kept crackling with static every time someone brushed by.
The Gold Backdrop Kept Clinging
Natalie checked in guests with a small stack of name tags, smiling the whole time. A couple eased over together, moving slow, reading the sign taped by the photo booth button. He wore a navy cardigan. She pressed her shoulder against his to steady him, and her scarf picked up a corner of the backdrop like a sticky leaf. I peeled it off gently. He chuckled at the countdown, then blinked right on two. The strip came out warm, edges curling a little near the AC vent, and he held it close to his glasses, tapping the third frame with one finger.
Two ladies followed with walkers, pausing at the carpet seam by the printer. One of them chose a silver tiara from the props and tilted it so far forward it almost covered her eyebrows. She laughed, and the other reached up to adjust it. I offered to retake the last one after she said she wanted “less eyebrow, more smile.”
“Wait, hold on, I blinked.”
They came back ten minutes later to try again. Same tiara. More smile. She tucked the second strip into the clear sleeve of her name tag like a tiny bookmark.
Katie kept drifting by, straightening the hats and wiping fingerprints off the screen with a cloth. She had a pocketful of tissues and tiny hair clips, which ended up helping a gentleman secure a feather boa that kept sliding off his shoulder. He told me his granddaughter used to wear one just like it. The feather stuck to the printer for a second and I brushed it away, a soft pink streak floating down to the carpet.
Near the Water Pitchers
I watched Ben hover his finger over the start button for a long beat. Lila leaned in and whispered, “This one,” tapping the green square. First photo, he stared too seriously. Second, she leaned her head onto his shoulder and his mouth twitched. Third, she squeezed his hand and he smiled like he was surprised by his own face. When the strip fed out, he looked at it quietly, then turned it on its side. “That’s us,” he said. He didn’t need to say more.
The standout for me happened with Harold. He arrived holding a lemon drop still in its crinkly wrapper, stuck to his palm. He tried to pocket it, failed, then placed it carefully beside a plastic bow tie on the props table, like it needed a spot to rest. The backdrop wouldn’t quit clinging to his wool vest, lifting and sticking in a little triangle behind him. He decided on the oversized glasses anyway, lenses already smudged from someone earlier. During the second shot, he laughed mid-count, head back, glasses sliding down his nose. When the strip came out, the lemon drop had migrated and was now tacky against one edge. He dabbed at it with a napkin, rubbed too hard, and a bit of the ink blurred across the corner. He looked at the smudge, then grinned. “Gives it character,” he said to no one in particular, and slid the sticky strip into his wallet.
People returned in loops. Ruth and her daughter circled back three times. First with a pink hat. Then without any props, just hands folded. Last time, Ruth told me, very sincerely, that she liked the first one better and called me Kevin. I told her Kevin was a good name. She squeezed my arm before they wandered off for water.
One More Round of Photos
Late in the afternoon, the line thinned and then filled again, waves of patience and small decisions. A marker appeared, thick and a little dry, and started making its way down the line. Names went on the backs of strips in careful letters. The printer table wobbled whenever a walker bumped the leg, so I caught it with my knee without thinking. Someone fanned their photos like playing cards. Someone else held them up to the AC vent to cool, standing still, eyes half closed.
Natalie gathered the stray crowns and stacked them in a neat, lopsided pile. The gold backdrop finally settled. Near the door, a man lifted his new photo to the cold air and waited, smiling at whatever memory drifted up while the edges fluttered.
