The clock made the sound of a single tick as it struck halfway through the hourly round, the shorter hand patiently pacing it’s way toward the nine. It was about all Cassia could do as she sat at her usual desk, the third row of seats second left of the wide classroom window.
Outside the sky was pure azure, more saturated than it ever had been the past few weeks. Large puffs of clouds textured of pearl-coloured cotton floated through the sky, big in their presence though leaving plenty of space for the blue. The glowing sun left Cassia’s olive skin kissed with warmth, soft from the earthly hug. In comparison, the dimness of the classroom stood no chance.
In its own right, the room was not at all too shabby—her Latin teacher Mr. Blake was quite the movie enthusiast, having the walls completely covered in film posters, from top to bottom; with feature films such as Star Wars to Harry Potter to movies she’s never even heard of. It made the room feel cozy, as Cassia remembered her own poster-covered bedroom, covered to the point any visitor would question if walls even existed in such a place. So as much as she disliked Latin, this classroom wasn’t the worst place to sit in for an hour first thing in the morning. With that being said, waiting for a class that seemed it would never start sure was a bore. Not only was Mr. Blake nowhere to be seen, neither were any of her classmates. No jingling of keys bouncing against a stomach as it hangs from their neck, no sharp clicking of womanly heels nor the squeaking of teenage sneakers.
Even if at least one of her classmates shown up, she’d have something/one to be entertained by. Cassia was neither shy nor outgoing and didn’t find much trouble in one-on-one human interaction with her acquaintances. Socializing was merely an event she let herself take part in, even if she wasn’t looking to engage in it. Through her three years of high school it quickly occurred to her that, in order to get on people’s good side, all you have to do is: a) listen, and b) ask questions about them. For the most part, this wasn’t a complicated task, as she’s found the stories people tell to be quite interesting in contrast to the dull day-to-day life she lives. This predominantly consisted of going to class, having lunch with her group of half-friends-half-acquaintances (people whom she enjoys their company but only speaks to since they’re in the same class sort of deal), then leaving school right at the bell to pick up her little brother, watching over him until her father arrives from work.
a memoir on confidence and the support strangers can give.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* :･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Sitting in French class, I sat at my desk with a small compact mirror in front of me. I wished I brought a comb with me but raking my fingers through the tangled ends of my long dark hair would do. I tucked a few strands behind my left ear. My first school picture to mark my first year of high school; I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take it seriously.
A few nights before the big day, I meticulously picked out what I was going to wear, searching through my closet until I decided on a one of my favourite shirts at the time: a white plaid men’s dress shirt, slightly cream coloured, with black thin lines reminding me of a grid pattern and pearl-like buttons. This was back when I was very infatuated with the Back to the Future films and was sure to make a homage to Marty McFly for my picture.
I spent a long time in front of a mirror that evening, practicing how I was going to smile. I experimented making faces in the reflection, from small upward lips to cheeky and one-sided, but it did not once cross my mind to consider grinning with my teeth. While I did not particularly mind the idea, I wasn’t exactly comfortable with it either. Having not-so-good teeth growing up, I got used to smiling in photos with a closed mouth. Especially as a very small kid, I visited the dentist a lot (my mother tells me I “drank too much milk” as a child which seems ironic).
Looking back, this also reflected a lot of my personality at the time: I had always been a very timid, quiet child, a lot of the time keeping to myself. I had friends, and I was fine with who I was, sure, but being outgoing was never my thing.
My French teacher told us it’s time to go to the auditorium, where our photos were being taken. She referred to us as filles, translating to girls, as we were an all-female class. And by complete chance. I still recall the only boy in our class one day switching classes, and we joked how he was intimidated by a room full of females. It was only first period, and a lot of us were still fresh out of bed, rushing to make last-minute touches to their lipstick or mascara or hair as they peered into their front-facing phone cameras.
We made our way downstairs to meet the double doors and dim lights of the auditorium. I’ve seen enough of the room to acknowledge it was quite different this time, with desks facing the front audience seats, being where we obtained a ticket with our information to take the photo. The lineup was quite long, and up the side stairs to the stage, more students waited for their turn to be placed under tall studio lights and a navy blue backdrop. Multiple sets were placed like these, with mild-tempered photographers doing their best to get through the tedious day.
I remember waiting patiently yet nervously in line, graciously taking a hand-held mirror my teacher passed around to do last quick check-ups to our appearances (unfortunately, I left my own in the classroom). I combed through my hair with my fingertips and practiced my smile once more. My teacher meanwhile chatted with a few of us as we waited. “Don’t worry ladies, you all look great,” her chipper voice practically smiled whenever she spoke.
Soon enough, my turn came around, and I handed my ticket to the photographer, who greeted me with a friendly hello. I remember him most with long strands of dirty blond hair, tuffs hugging the sides of his neck, the ends brushing the shoulders of his white button up. He occasionally pulled out some crackers from a box to snack on.
I sat down in front of the backdrop, as I waited for instructions on how to pose.
“So, Sarah,” he began, his lean frame standing behind the camera. “Start by turning more towards me. That’s good. Tilt your head just a bit to your left. Yup, just like…”
Photo Guy continued guiding me on my posture, looking back and forth between the digital screen and me. When I looked just right, he gave a double thumbs-up and beamed in excitement. Though he sported some fuzz from along his jawline to his chin, it was obvious he was quite young by the way his eyes lit up against the bright photo lights.
“Good. Now let’s see that smile…” when I gave him the closed-mouth smile as I’ve practiced, he suggested, “how about showin’ off some teeth?” Normally I’d be quite stubborn and be set on how I wanted it, but the way he so strongly and confidently put forth the idea made me believe he knew what he was doing, even if he was a complete stranger.
Still, I wasn’t so quick to give in, giving him a neutral shrug.
Photo Guy then asked if I’d like to try two photos, one with a closed smile and one with my teeth. I didn’t realize it then, but he was making a very generous gesture. Hearing the stories of my friends and their photographers later on, their experiences were merely sitting down, a click and a flash, and leave.
I then recall sitting there, posing for my first photo with a small cutesy smile, a closed mouth. Then I took my second, with Photo Guy saying the classic “cheese!” line in a silly voice. It took me by a bit of a surprise, causing me to giggle at the cheesy line and bringing out a wide, toothy grin.
When I finished he let me take a look at the photos on his screen, comparing the two and letting me pick what I preferred. And it wasn’t at all hard to make. My closed-mouth smile was fine, sure, but it was the way I beamed with my teeth that felt so honestly sincere. In the picture I saw myself, crinkling my eyes in a way that I knew meant something genuine and it instantly won me over. I never imagined I could feel so good about something that once made me feel insecure.
I tapped at the screen on the second photo. “That one,” I smiled, “for sure.”
Already in a good mood, I was even more uplifted when Photo Guy offered me some of his snack as I got up to leave. I gratefully took a few, and thanked him for taking my photo. That was the last I ever saw of him, never having even learnt his name.
I popped some crackers into my mouth, the taste of dill pickle lingering with me throughout the rest of the morning.
It wasn’t long before I found myself opening my mouth to smile more often, allowing myself to let out my grin for photos that turn to be pleasant memories. I now enjoy seeing how much I beamed with energy, in the same way high school has allowed me to crack through my shell in so many ways. I no longer let myself hide, making plenty of life-long friends during my first year and becoming more comfortable expressing my voice.
Every year I take a school photo, it tastes like dill pickles. I smile proudly each time, letting my teeth shine. And all it needed was a few minutes and complete chance for one photographer, one person, a stranger, to have a huge affect on my life.
my grade 9 school picture~
A few weeks later, the photos arrived to class in large white envelopes, with a clear front to instantly see students’ faces. When I got to see mine, printed big and bright and in my spiffy McFly shirt, a wide smile instantly spread across my face.
click the link below to hear a performance of my poem, by yours truly.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* :･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Everywhere that I am, I witness days as paintings lingered with shades of blue, tender as morning ocean waves dazedly washing onto shore embracing sandy dunes swaying to their own sweet tunes
We set sails for the sea, not knowing what we’ll see and my mind wanders for who we may be come, toward the mountains, a sound whispered softly from corners of the earth it tells me to be strong, for my soul will set free from shackles
we tied to our wrists ribbons of silver delicate promises made to each other our days so dreamlike, we dream of endless days
Days where grass brushed our skin like silk under wraps near heartbeats the hue of baby blue we race down hills, up endless streams life happened all around us yet ourselves so still
in time I will gaze starry nova skies waking up to ocean chimes on my own yet not alone in a perfect world meant to be is called forever
But my forever will always be blue fingertips and hair ties the songs you left behind in my mind, on replay the way I could feel so warm on dreary winter days sinking into nights dressed in t-shirts that aren’t mine I fall asleep borrowing your whole heart the way you have borrowed
my heart is a vessel, and in it contains a space a space in that very sky no matter where we gaze will always be wondrous shades of blue.
ʚ sloom ɞ 