Chapter 25

The Photo Album

I should have known better than to take out the photo album when I was in my room alone that night. But when I put Save Rock and Roll into my CD player and spotted the photo album in the corner, I couldn’t help but to ask the Magic 8 Ball if I should open it.

It is decidedly so.

I gingerly opened the red cover. Before I knew it, I was lost in the past.

I was three years old again. I was playing with Jimmy’s trains in Papa’s big house. “Choo choo!” I would yell as I moved the train along the tracks. I knew it was only a matter of time until Jimmy came over to complain about me playing with his toys, even though the trains were technically Nana and Papa’s.

Instead of Jimmy, I got Papa. He came lumbering over in his “I’m a Grown-Up and you’re not” fashion and looked me straight in the eyes.

“Isabelle, was Jimmy playing with those?” Papa asked.

“No,” I lied. I kept pushing the trains around, occasionally crashing two into each other.

Papa glared at me again. “Be honest, Isabelle. Was Jimmy playing with those first?”

“No,” I repeated.

“Now Isabelle, I saw Jimmy playing with those trains before you. I’m sure he doesn’t appreciate you messing up his tracks. You know what that means, don’t you?”

I nodded. The ultimate torture. Tickles.

Papa’s hands darted for my stomach. “Tickle, tickle, tickle!” he shouted.

I started giggling. “Stop Papa!” I tried shoving him away, but my little hands were no use. Papa just kept tickling me.

“Not until you say the magic word!”

“Stop...please…” I mumbled as I kept on laughing.

“Say it louder!”

“STOP PLEASE!”

Papa stopped tickling me. “Now you know. Be honest next time, please.”

“Okay Papa!”

I still played with Jimmy’s trains without asking sometimes, but I never lied about it. I learned my lesson well.

I was four years old. We were at Disney World. According to all of the adults in our family, Papa was sick, but I didn’t believe them. He looked fine and he was as adventurous as ever.

We were standing in front of the Tower of Terror. Papa was begging us to go on with him. “Come on,” he said. “It’s the best ride in the park. And don’t worry, it’s been tested by professionals.” Papa gave us a big, goofy grin. “So what do you think?”

“No way,” Jimmy said. “That looks scary.”

Mom was holding Olivia close. She was far too young to go on such a big ride. Papa looked at Jimmy and said, “I’ll take you out for ice cream afterwards!”

Jimmy shook his head again. “I’ll go on it!” I exclaimed.

“Isabelle, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Dad said.

“It’s fine,” Papa said. “I’ll make sure she comes out alive.”

I followed Papa onto the Tower of Terror. I found a nice seat in the front of the elevator and sat down.

“Papa, why are there seats on the elevator?” I asked. It seemed like a reasonable question to me.

“It’s a ride, Isabelle. The elevator goes up and down really fast,” Papa explained.

Just at that moment, the elevator shot up. After that, it was just up and down and up and down. I was terrified, but Papa made sure I came out alive as promised.

And as promised, I got my ice cream cone.

I was five years old. We were at Papa’s house. “Papa, do you want to play a game?” I asked.

“Sure,” Papa said. “Do you want to learn a new game?”

“Yeah!” I exclaimed.

“It’s called chess,” Papa said. He proceeded to show me all of the pieces and what they could do: the bishops and the knights, the queen and the pawns. I watched him place the pieces on the board and took note of how shiny and beautiful each piece was.

I was white so I went first. I made the stupidest move possible: moving my knight first. Papa made a few moves while I continued to make my random ones, but by the time it happened, it was too late.

“Checkmate,” Papa said.

“Wait, what?”

Papa showed me exactly how he got me into checkmate so quickly and pointed out all of my errors. I smiled and remembered all of it. The next time we visited, I used the exact same moves on him, but it didn’t work. Papa managed to block all of my moves and still managed to win the game. I never got to beat him at chess.

I was six years old and I was wearing a black dress. In the background of that picture were Olivia, Jimmy, Mom, Dad, and Nana, but no Papa.  Mom was crying; I’d never seen her cry outside of that picture. For the first time, I was holding a Magic 8 Ball.

I skimmed through the rest of the photos. Life went on without Papa. But really, nothing had changed. I squeezed the photo album against my chest, trying to hold on to all of those memories that were fading fast and the tears that were escaping my eyes.

I sure wished Papa was here.