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“They finally made their escape.”

Meemaw sighs. I yawn.

I have heard this story told the exact same way for years.

As if in a dream, Meemaw closes her journal, kisses me good night, and closes my bedroom door.

I know the story is for her and not for me.

I wonder with what stories, I will bridle my children and grandbabies.

I smile and know my story will be in pictures. I savor myself as a photographer.

I look at the photo tucked in the frame of my mirror. My first snapshot.

It means nothing to everyone but me.

To them, it’s a rear shot of a yellow Jeep splashing a puddle.

To me, the Jeep’s yellow contrasts and compliments the yellow-green of the trees.

To me, it brings hints of Alaska to my lonely neck of the woods in Culpeper, Virginia.

To me, it screams danger as the rain overruns the road.