319 Senior Essay, First Place Lyra Fletcher, Branch #281 - Port McNeill Kodak Memories I stood shivering in the cold, bundled up tight yet frozen to the core. "Mr. Atkins?" I called into the door, numbly knocking against the hardwood. A short moment later, the door gave way, revealing the smiling and bespectacled face of an elderly man. His thin grey hair was neatly combed away from his forehead, a thick wool sweater and tailored pants fit to his narrow frame. The years were worn deep into his skin. Slowly hobbling away, the echo of his cane dampened in the small space. "Hurry up, don't let all the heat out!" ~ "So, what did you need help with?" I asked, scanning the cozy room. A brown corduroy couch took up most of the space, and a small teak desk sat in the corner by the room's only window. But what caught my attention were the photos. Every square inch of wall space, from floor to ceiling, was covered in frames. Lined carefully on the mantel, positioned carefully on his desks some just taped to the wall. I reached down and carefully picked up an older photo, the warm firelight glinting softly on the brass frame. In it, a proud young man in a stiff army jacket looked back at me. Over at his desk, Mr. Atkins adjusted his glasses, "Well, my daughter bought me this electronic picture frame for the photographs my friend sent me on the computer, you know'"-He turned the old monitor towards me, showing me the open email. Many of the photos were blurry, improperly scanned or dulled with time I didn't know, but tried to make them the best I could. Friends, family, comrades all immortalized on the screen, windows into a different time. Mr. Atkins caught my stare, my attention glued to one image in particular. Two young men, a soldier and a man in everyday clothes, jubilant smiles plastered on their faces as they embraced. But there was something off, something in their eyes, a weariness that usually belonged to people twice their age. Upon closer inspection, the other man's pant leg hung limp. At the bottom: Henry and Lawrence Atkins 1945 "It was 1942. I was 18, freshly drafted."
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