Griffin O'Connor Narrative

Griffin O’Connor

Narrative Story

The Camera Card

“C'mon Bradley, I think it's this way!” I said to my friend as we walked through the Wal-mart. We had just been at a convention, and my camera’s photo capacity had already reached it’s limit, so I had to get a new memory card. I found the aisle with the camera equipment, and located the correct card. We grabbed a couple of other things and left, eager to get back in time for that night’s concert. The two of us returned to our hotel and began preparing for the event. I switched out the two memory cards, and put the old one in a pocket on my camera case. Once we were both ready, we met up with Bradley's girlfriend, Lindsay, and went inside the convention center.

The room they had set up for the concert was packed. Dubstep music pounded so loudly that you needed to scream to be heard, strobe lights and lasers flashed, and people screamed and crowded around the stage. I was loving every second of it. About forty-five minutes in, Bradley told me he was leaving. Apparently Lindsay was having a migraine and he wanted to take her back to the hotel. He asked me if I was comfortable with staying by myself, and I told him that I would be fine.

Fifteen minutes after Bradley left, a few people started crowd-surfing. Two tall guys were tossing people onto the crowd. I had always wanted to crowd-surf, so I ran up to them and told them to lift me. They hoisted me up by the waist, and all of a sudden I was on top of the crowd. I glided across their hands for fifteen blissful seconds, while the music blared and the people cheered. Out of nowhere, a large empty hole opened up in front of me. The crowd continued to propel me forward; unaware that there would be no one to catch me. I dropped to the floor. A second after my back landed on the ground; my head snapped back and hit the floor hard.

 Everyone around me gasped, and instantly people were helping me up and asking if I was all right. I told them I would be fine and went to get a bag of ice. I got some from the concession stand, and I located my backpack and left for the hotel, pressing the cold Ziploc against my head.

Out in the parking lot, I took out my camera to take a picture of the convention center. I noticed my camera's old memory card was no longer there. I had taken pictures during the concert, so I figured it must have fallen out then. The thought of losing all of my photos really bothered me. My night ruined, I walked to my hotel feeling anxious and depressed.

The next day, I walked into the convention center and went directly to the lost and found. I told the man there I was looking for a camera memory card. I showed him the one I had bought the day before, so that he knew what it looked like. He walked to the back table and came back a moment later, shaking his head no; they didn't have it. I thanked him anyway and tried to forget about it. Throughout the day, I had a pit in my stomach and the thought of the card being gone forever kept bothering me.

Right before we were going to leave, I went back to the booth and asked again, this time to another person. I showed him the other card too. He went back to the table and looked around for awhile. He turned around and walked back, and I knew he was going to tell me the same thing as the first man: that they didn't have it and that I could come back and check later. But then he held up a small, black, square of plastic, and asked me if that was it. I popped it into my camera, and the pictures that I thought I had lost appeared on the screen. I thanked him and ran back to my friend, the pit in my stomach replaced with relief.