Note: this is pure fiction based on an image at Café of Imaginary Dreams.
That Old Photo: Ekphrastic Prose
On the right is Jeff. Granny S named him after Jefferson. Not that Jefferson. Jefferson Street, where she worked as a waitress on Saturday afternoons, where Grandpa S always came in for his regular burger with raw onions and no lettuce, and eventually he asked Granny if she was Baptist because he wasn’t going to marry a girl who wasn’t. Granny was afforded the honour of naming their first grandchild, which she did.
Next on the left is Jeff. Jeff is Jeff’s cousin. His mother is Granny S’s sister. They both worked as waitresses on Saturday afternoons at the Jefferson Street Café. Grandpa S’s brother always joined him for a burger with lettuce, and no onions. Granny S’s sister was also Baptist so eventually she and Grandpa S’s brother got married. She was afforded the honour of naming their first grandchild, which she did, after that famous president called Jefferson, and she never did admit it was after Jefferson Street.
Third from the right is Jack. He isn’t related to anyone alive. Jack was always around though, particularly at supper time, so everyone assumed somebody was his mother. Jack was given the name Jackson at birth, but when he learned that Jackson was a hole in Wyoming, he changed his name to Jack. Jack eked out an living making those little wooden sticks in ice cream bars.
On the far left of this photo is Jordan. Jordan married a girl who wasn’t Baptist, and they eventually left for the big city. He slowly faded from everyone’s memory. Starting with his legs, if the photo is to be believed
Written for B’s Cafe of Imaginary Dreams. The photo belongs to her also. I sincerely hope that I haven’t offended the memory of anyone in that photo. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter