TINY IMPERFECT FICTION 14

Carl was a sneaky bastard. He had a fine photography portrait studio, “Carl's Lens-ational Portraits”  next to the Food Court at the Shady Creek Hills Mall. Carl didn't care so much about the word “fine” as he did about the word “portrait.” Carl took photos of people as they were. He revealed families and prom dates using deliberately bad portait photographer skills. He was devilish in his pursuit of the truth behind the sprayed bangs, the grip of a nervous parent, the awkward space between a stiff couple.

An example of Carl's methods: Myra Tubbins walked in with her mortified granddaughter Shelly, requesting for Carl to memorialize the girl's 18th birthday. Myra pronounced, “My darling girl here is has turned into a woman today and we wanna remember it forever.” Shelly shrank deeper into her too-tight purple acrylic sweater vest and looked at her white sandals like she wanted to evaporate.

Seeing Shelly's self-consciousness, Carl directed her to drape her elbows casually over the wagon wheel set-up, and gaze up at the imaginary full moon as he snapped away. Carl knew how to exacerbate humiliation. Everyone felt absurd posing on the wagon wheel, and gazing at an imaginary moon that's supposedly hanging above Tito's Pizza guaranteed the embarrassment level went to a Code Red. Carl also took a few shots with Myra co-piloting the wagon wheel, specifically not telling her she had a big mustard shmeer in the grey fuzz next to her lip corner. 

Carl snapped away, oohing and aahing, knowing that he was taking wonderfully horrible portraits, but that years and years later,  Shelly would look back and actually remember this awful moment much more clearly than any other ordinary happy times. She would remember the discomfort of being neither girl nor woman, and feel the deepest fondness and love for her awkward young self and her well-meaning grandmother with the mustard-y lady moustache. All because Carl was a clever sneaky bastard.