More Than Tinted Glass

I hold the bronze aviators gently in my hands as I fall into a pit of memories.

I can still feel the awe when I saw the mountains through their dark lenses for the first time.
I can still see the smiles on my friends faces when we stepped out of the bright white vans.
I can still see the house we painted through the protective coloring of the glasses.
I can still feel their protection, as the dark lenses hid the tears in my eyes from the outside world.
I can still feel them shielding me from judgmental, angry glares.
I can still hear the laughter from our trip down the river, where all the problems were washed away and I was saved by the boys  grew up with from self-destruction.
I can still feel the icy water as the glasses tumbled into the river and our rafts were momentarily abandoned to save my beloved shades.
I can still feel the laughter echoing down the river as they were passed around, resting on every face in our group when we retrieved them.
I can still see the beauty of the riverbed as their tinted color shielded my eyes from the world again.
I can still feel the awkward tension for eighteen hours as we traveled home.
I can still feel the resounding gratefulness for a week of bliss and stronger friendships.

I swear I can almost see our happy faces reflecting back at me and I have to blink a few times to dissuade the illusion.  These glasses hold more than tinted glass.  They are a reminder of the most blissful and most painful week of my life.  They are a reminder of the bonding and the breaking of friendships.  They are a memory in and of themselves and I treasure them to this day.