✧･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.
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.
ʚ sloom ɞ 