Photo Album

"Your first 10,000 photographs are your worst." 

~ Henri Cartier-Bresson

As I sit atop a giant cement crucifix, my best friend Brandon sulks about the cemetery with a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon in his hand. The box containing the other nine of the original twelve is resting against a headstone not far away.  Somewhere not far from us, is a sign that reads Funeral Route, and has an arrow pointing the way for the uninformed.  He's wearing a small grey t-shirt with a giant Decepticon logo on the front of it, and has grown a massive beard since the last time I physically laid eyes on him. As I look at these pictures, I realize how many of them were taken in or around this same spot. It is the oldest cemetery in Charlotte, NC and is in the middle of what is now a sprawling urban monstrosity. Oddly enough, you'd think that it was completely hidden away. From the photographs, you'd never believe that a quick walk would take you right into an upscale apartment community, or a Johnson and Whales University.  The darkness hides all but whatever is nearest the camera, and though they are not time-stamped, I realize that without a doubt, almost all of these were taken somewhere around 3 am. The cemetery is always the after-hours spot for us. After the bars close down, we would take our box of Pabst (smartly purchased hours before) and peruse the century old headstones, murky mausoleums and explore the gated crypts. I'm not really sure what we were after. Maybe it was that little bit of solitude in a city filled to the brim with concrete, lights and the cacophonous drone of automobiles. Maybe we were just exploring our own mortality. Perhaps the silence just reminded us to take that bit of time to remember those who came before us. Ours was an adventure into that part of town where people usually came to mourn, but for us....the joy of freedom. There's something to be said about being under the night sky in a place where there is little to no light. It is truly majestic. 

In some of these pictures, you can see a red brindled whippet running around. On some, she is perched atop one of the headstones. Sometimes, she's cuddled with one or the other of us, giving doggie-kisses. She would be the late Stella Blue, my one-time life companion, and one of the greatest regrets of my life. Unfortunately, I never got around to getting her fixed, which eventually turned her uterus into a poisoned weapon that would take her life. The pictures remind that life is a beautiful, if not fragile thing. When I look at her seeming smile, I am reminded that even though she is gone, I raised her in the best life an animal could have for nine years and that comforts me. 

I see the passing of time. Clearly, a lot of these pictures are several years apart, yet taken in about the same spots. Some are with and some are post-Stella. I guess I'm reminded of the fact that even though a lot of things change, a lot of them stay the same. Which is something that I greatly admire about life in general. I guess even though my rational mind tells me that there is no such thing as an irony to existence, that the perception of one is just as good. 

Ultimately, though, I see the promise of a future. I see empty spots where more pictures will go. New memories will mingle with the old ones, making a time-spanning epic, telling the story through my eyes and experiences.