It was taken in the morning, first thing. All that
I remember of this day makes me laugh out loud. That day, I had
to be roused from my bed. I imagined that when my
mother turned her back to me to head downstairs, she
had that worry crease on her forehead because I had forgotten
something as important as this. My father was the first to go.
He seemed so brave all of a sudden, my meek father who never
raised his voice to the woman he married even behind closed
doors. He stepped in front of the blue backdrop and was asked to
put his foot on a stool. His eyes, I knew, were looking
at the person behind the lens. I knew this because
he once told me that he did not respect instruments. What's
important is the great mystery behind everything, he said. I'm sure
he wasn't thinking of that moment but was dreaming,
instead, of my mother, 20 years younger
in a red sundress. Then it's my mother's turn and she
preens in front of the camera, as if she is convincing someone
that she is leading a different life, that this is
who she really is. It is sad in an awkward
way and I drift off to somewhere safe -- to
that day when I was three and she was making a peanut butter
sandwich and stopped and stared at me for 15 seconds. I forget
that she is a body that is apart from my own, that
the cord has been severed since day one and
didn't even exist two decades ago. Then after what seems like a long
year, I am asked to step in front of the lens. I am unsure about
what I should do in front of it, of
what I'd need to know. The intricacies of this
activity is something that wasn't taught to me
or to anyone else, really. My parents are no
longer in the room; perhaps they thought I'd be shy and
self-conscious going about things if
they had stayed. I fix my eyes on that object and
shiver a little because I'm so ready for it. And after that,
everything else blurred into one and the same thing. You say that
you feel cheated, you were expecting something more personal, more
romantic. But don't you see me? I am staring at you
full in the face. I am alone and my hands are younger
than they've ever been. That is exactly who I am.