When photography was first invented, people were afraid. They thought the images could steal your soul. It's true. So what? The soul is big and beautiful and has plenty to go around. You don't die just because you leave a piece of yourself behind. I should know.

My name is Phyllis. The person who spared a part of their soul to create me was named Phyllis so that is my name as well. I was created when Phyllis was young. 1976 I believe it was. Things don't change in photos. The time we were created is the time we exist. 

I am Phyllis, leaning against a fence in the summer that she first learned to drive. Next to me is the powder blue Oldsmobile that will never rust a day in its life. The fruit stand across the street will never go at of business and the people walking the street will never age. This is where your soul goes. It creates a perfect sliver of time that never changes. What could be wrong with that?

"Morning Phyllis!" Mr. Duluth yells from across the street. I don't know his first name. When Phyllis posed for this photo, she did not know his name. So, I will never know it. I can't move from this spot, leaning against the fence in my bellbottoms and crop top. I can talk to the others. I can say hi to Mr. Duluth and make small talk with the people on the street but I can't move. Neither can they. It is just a picture after all.

"Goodbye!" A scream comes from the end of the street. It is a stranger, someone who just happened to be in the background when this photo was taken. A soul that got stuck, if you will. 

"Is he dying?" I ask to Mr. Duluth. 

"Looks like it." Duluth answers from his spot in front of the fruit stand, the apple in his hand forever ripe. 

"He seems happy about it." I say in a slightly confused voice. 

"He must be. This isn't his picture after all. That soul is ready to go home." 

Another reason to not fear the soul sucking properties of film, the soul always returns. If anything, picture are only borrowing pieces of your soul until you die. Only a complete soul can move on. We all return to the greater soul eventually. 

"I wonder how much time has passed since this day." I say.

"Who knows." Duluth answers nonchalantly. 

"Don't you ever wonder about the future?" I ask curiously. 

"What future? There is no future here. There isnt even a past. There is only July 3rd, 1976." He says in a much calmer tone than a phrase like that requires. 

"You aren't afraid to die?" I ask in a shocked voice. 

"Tell me everything you know about the world, about yourself." He says abruptly. I'm taken aback by this order but I decide to do it. I'm curious about where he's going with this. 

"My name is Phyllis. I'm finally learning to drive. I love Donna Summer and I think MASH comes on tonight." I answer confidently.

"Exactly." Duluth starts, "You don't know anything about Phyllis before or after this day. You are, quite literally, a snapshot from her life. You can't die if you were never living."

I don't like Duluth's words. I may not have lived a full life but I am not worthless. I am part of a soul and the whole of that soul is ok there somewhere, living. Does that not mean that I too am living? I want to argue with Duluth,  refute his opinion, but I can't. He's not there. The man, or soul of a man, that has been across from me forever is suddenly gone. Everything is gone. My fence, my Oldsmobile, my passerbys, they're all gone. 

Perhaps it would be better to say that I'm gone because all that surrounds me is darkness and presumably the others are still in their rightful places. I think I'm dying. Suddenly I feel a rush of.... I don't know, adrenaline maybe, or of emotion. 

1976, two weeks after getting my license, I crashed the Oldsmobile. Speeding down the highway with too many friends and too few seatbelts, I couldn't keep my course. We swerved and kept swerving until eventually we were spinning. I had eight friends and five seatbelts. We played rock, paper, scissors to find the odd men out, the three who would go without seatbelts. Sandy, Marilyn, and John; those were their names. 

I remember it now, like it was yesterday, but what should be my tomorrow. Tears stream down my face as the memory flashes by. 

They flew through the windshield so fast. Glass shot out in all directions which only made me panic more. When I finally hit the break, it was too late. We crashed. Straight into the guard rail, we crashed. 

I don't like this. I feel more whole, like I'm a stronger, better soul but..... It's not me. I've spent my entire existence leaning against a fence next to a car I would never drive. But now I've driven it and I regret everything.

Another flash of, I don't know inspiration, and I'm in the hospital. October  2, 1991 is the day I gave birth to my first child. It was a long hard fought labor until my daughter finally made her way into this world. She was a fighter that first day and I hoped she would fight till her last. For that reason, I named her Sandy. 

They come so quickly, these memories. Some make my heart break with sorrow while others make my cheeks ache with joy. This must be it. My entire soul is now together at the end. A life lived and completed coalescing into one life force. Now I know what it means to have lived. I was Phyllis in the summer of 1976 before she learned to drive. I was a pocket of time created by a flash and forced onto film. 

Now, I'm not just a snapshot or a glimpse. Now, I am Phyllis.