Hanging by My Camera Strap Listening to “Greenday”

By Bernadette Smith

I want to be a photographer.  I got my first camera when I was three.  It wasn’t anything fancy, but it took good enough pictures for a toddler.  My mother always praised them, never letting me know the truth for the time.  My father on the other hand asked why money was wasted on such things, after he would plant his fist across my mother’s face for wasting money.  But I didn’t let it stop me.  No one could stop me or my dream.

I entered a school wide contest when I reached midway through my elementary years.  The tortured flyer hanging in the hallow hall read: Photo Contest! All who wish to participate need to sign up in room 131 by Friday at 2 pm.  A camera is required and will not be supplied.  Picture with explanation is due two weeks from the Friday sign ups.  1^st prize – brand new camera, 2^nd prize - $50.00 and 3^rd prize - $20.00.  Any of those prizes would be okay, but to get a brand new camera, that would carry me through high school.  I got home that afternoon and got out my camera.  I had upgraded since my toddler days to a camera from the 1950’s.  My grandpa gave it to me saying, “You have talent boy, don’t waste it.”  Then he got hit by a car, but I don’t want to talk about that.  I decided I had to do something different.  None of that flower portrait, rainbow in the sky crap.  No.  Something new, something that would stop the judges in their tracks.  I walked around the house trying to get ideas for something original and new.  I came upon my parent’s room and heard my mother near her vanity.  I slowly pushed the door open to see what she was doing.  She sat there, in her creamy slip with hair pulled up in a tight bun.  She was leaning in close, too close for me to make out what she was looking at until she pulled out.  She picked up a jar of powder and took out the little puff that she would rub on her face.  Slowly, as not to hurt herself anymore than she already had been, she brought it up to her eye where the mark of my father shined in rainbows of purple, blue and black.  This was it, this was the picture I needed to set myself apart from everyone else.  Slowly I crept back down the hall to grab my camera.  When I returned, she was still hard at work trying to hide the shame of her shadowy darkness.  I tip-toed into the room, making sure that she would not notice me and took my position.  I took one, then two, then three pictures, and then I heard the door slam and my mother jump.  Before she could say anything, I ran out of the room to my own to avoid any trauma from my father, since I knew it would come later, but I don’t want to bore you.  I went into my closet, turned on the red light and began to develop my three precious pictures, which I knew I would never be able to replace.  I went through the process, just like grandpa had shown me and there they were, in the faint light, my mother, tear smudged face covering up the damage in her slip.  I hung the photos to dry and exited the closet with a smile on my face.  The next day, I walked to room 131 with my photo in an envelope and description on the outside.  I handed it to Mrs. Reeves and left promptly to avoid any small talk, why do adults always do that?  The days before the announcement passed like the time of concrete trying to dry in the pouring down rain.   Then the day finally came, the day of the announcement.  All the participants pictures were hung in the gym, mounted professionally to make the school seem fancy, what a joke that was.  Instead of going straight to mine to see how I fared and to avoid disappointment if I did not win, I walked around looking at each picture mocking it in my head.  The predictable pictures of flowers and rainbows didn’t seem to fair with the judges, just as I had hoped.  I drew closer to mine; well I figured it was mine since a crowd had began to gather.  Sure enough, I was right, and I had to glance at it twice to see the little blue ribbon with a golden number one on it.  Inside I smiled, outside, I didn’t show this happiness, because I didn’t want all the fake gestures of congratulations that these idiots wouldn’t remember giving me a week later if I said hello to them in the hall.  That’s when I saw her; I guess a romantic would call her the one, but she was the girl that would settle with me because I would take her out of this God forsaken town.  “Congratulations.  That’s an amazing picture.  I couldn’t think of anything that good, so I just did a stupid rainbow,” she said to me with a smile.  I looked at her picture next to mine and lied, “No, I love it.  The colors are really defined in your rainbow.  You can’t really see that in all the others.”  She smiled, I smiled and she told me her name was Linda; then I was asked to go to the counselor’s office.  Something about needing to discuss the woman in my picture and how that happened to her.  But it’s not really their or your business what happened after that with my mother.

            Elementary school blended in with middle school and high school began.  With the camera I had won in elementary school, I continued to take pictures.  Most people who looked at them loved them but always asked stupid questions.  My least favorite of all, “why are your pictures so sad and dark?”  To this, I just shrugged off and would continue on my way, giving the finger as I left to make my point.  My photo teacher would assign me extra projects in hopes to get something a little different from me and to keep me busy since my portfolio was already so much bigger than anyone else.  One day, he came to me with an assignment that required color pictures and it had to be of something I loved.  The color part was not hard, I had done a couple colored photos before, but something I loved.  Last time I took pictures of something I loved, I had to speak with the counselor.  I mulled it over in my mind and decided that I had told Linda that I loved her, so I guess I could take pictures of her.  With assignment in mind, and camera in hand, I walked out of class, who cares if it wasn’t time to go yet.  I went to Linda’s English class to get her, I already had an idea, and I wanted to get it done before the sun went down.  With the teachers back to the door, I entered, took her by the hand and walked out to my truck in the parking lot.  We hopped in and I tore out of the parking lot, taking off to the bright red rocks in the distance.  One we reached the top of the plateau, after an hour or so drive, I stopped the truck and looked at Linda.  I reached over and ripped her shirt, hard and fast.  She didn’t scream, she didn’t move, but she did begin to cry.  I ordered her out of the truck and to lay on the ground.  The wind was picking up and blew red dirt around her blonde hair; the red sun going down behind her, yes, this was the perfect picture.  I pulled the camera from my truck and began to take pictures.  She stopped crying and realized that I didn’t mean to hurt her.  From there, it became one of those stupid posing shoots you see in magazines, though those pictures would forever be her favorite and my teachers; why I don’t know, but I passed the class.  The time of life where you have to make the “most important decision of your life” came quickly at school with people trying to figure our what they wanted to be when they grew up.  I went to the college fair and saw schools with photography for a major.  I grabbed brochures and took them home.  Linda was there that day when I showed my dad what I wanted to do.  He talked about not wasting money on something that would not get me further in life and would make me one of those “nutty hippies, tying their asses to some tree that’s gunna die of wood rot anyways.”  I looked to Linda for some support, but she stared at me blankly.  “Well, you were always good at getting people to do things they do not want to, and you sell things well, how about you come with me to San Jose State and get a degree in business.  That would be reasonable and you can make good money with that.” 

With that, my fate was decided.  I would go to San Jose State with Linda, and my camera would sit in the closet at our (I say our because right after we graduated, I asked Linda to marry me) house with my album of pictures sitting in sadness without ever seeing the light of day.  If grandpa saw that, he would be sad, but we wont go there.  We lived in a small apartment a couple blocks down from the library.  We were waiting till we graduated college to get married, though I don’t really know why, it all would end the same anyways, so what’s the issue?  The issue in this case was that Linda was saving herself, and I always kept thinking, you agreed to marry me, so I want my gift now damn it, but no, I got to suffer with only my hand pleasuring me at nights in the bathroom since she said it was impure for me to do it in bed next to her.  Dumb bitch.  Now I am getting too personal though.  Thought you would get something good out of me, didn’t you.  I enrolled in the business classes that the counselor told me to.  He looked at me when I had not selected anything for my electives.  He pointed out that there was a photo class that would probably interest me since that is what I put as my only interest on my application.  I shrugged him off, what did he know; I could be the shittiest photographer of all, but because I wrote it as an interest, he has to go prying.  I bought books, stared at them, not really taking in the information, but I still passed my classes.  The professors would point at me and say, “he’s a natural.  If you don’t know how to do it, talk to him.”  No one every approached me though, and I was glad.  I didn’t need them to be my real friends, I just needed to follow the path, the path that raped me of my pride and joy in life.  Buy the books, go to class, take the test, write the paper, take the final, sell the book, get your diploma.  My parents came, “we are so proud” my mother would cheer and my father clapped me on my back.  “Where is that camera of yours?” he asked.  I punched him in the face and walked home, not wanting to celebrate something that I didn’t really care for.

When I graduated, I got a call a couple weeks later from a company that I had sent my resume to.  They said my asking salary was a joke for someone just out of college, but my reputation preceded me and they were willing to take that chance.  Good thing for them they did I guess.  I began to get up in the morning at 6:00 a.m. on the dot.  I would carry my dead bones to the shower and get ready for the day.  Grey suit, silver tie and black shoes.  Linda told me to slick my hair back because it made me look important, like I was supposed to be in that office, but what would she know, she taught kindergarten for God’s sake.  I pulled out of the apartment basement and drove the 10 minutes to work.  Get out, get Starbucks, and ride the elevator with shitty music up to your cubicle.  Sit down, stare at the wall and say thank you whenever you get a new project or something more to do.  Have a warm sandwich from the cart at lunch, and proceed home after 9 hours of no-existent, exhausting labor.  Get back into my car, drive it back to the apartment, whack off, go to bed.  This is how life was, until I did something right in the office.  The boss talked about landing a big name, the big fish that is.  I did this, I landed the big fish, and apparently, doing this brought in many more fish and would lead me to a corner office and a six-figure salary.  I didn’t want the money, but Linda used it well. 

Linda set the date for the wedding.  July 18^th.  I said it would be too hot, but she said that it was the perfect day for our love to shine, what a load of crap that was, but she had been with me since high school and put up with me.  I guess I owe her that much for doing those things.  She did all the planning.  I would attend meetings and act like I was interested.  There was one meeting I didn’t mind going on, meeting with the photographer.  We got to the office and sat down.  I looked around and instead of displaying those fake portraits on the wall of all the people he had done this for before hung pictures of the country, churches, rainstorms.  I filled with anticipation and the artist sat down.  He handed us a book and began to talk about the different weddings he had done, the different elements that could be used, and how our wedding would be an individual experience.  Linda looked through the books “ooing” and “awing”.  I stared at the little pumpkin of a man sitting across from me.  Reseeding hairline and a cheap button up shirt started back at me with mocking eyes.  I asked him if he had taken the pictures hanging in his office and he snorted like the pig I had figured him to be.  I stood up, spit in his face, walked to the car.  I have always hated pigs, though they are the cleanest of the livestock, this one proved to be an inbreed of his ancestors.  Linda apologized for me and hired the man on the spot.  Like I said, I was doing this for her.  July 18^th arrived with out “further incident” as Linda would say.  I got dressed in my tuxedo in a back room at the church.  I found it ironic that this is what is used to celebrate but at the same time, its probably what I was going to be buried in.  I sat in the stained glass box waiting for the little man in the collar to come get me for the ceremony to begin.  I looked around at the stained glass.  Individual pictures of glass in the dreary world; if I picked up my camera again, I would use more colored ink I decided.  But we are getting off track here.  The priest came in saying Mr. Jones, you are a lucky man.  I smiled; that’s what I was supposed to do, right?  Before I knew it, this penguin was announcing for the first time Mr. and Mrs. Jones.  Applause were heard and people were standing.  As we walked down the aisle, the thought crossed my mind, finally, after all these years, I would get to have a good fuck.

Shortly after the honeymoon, we returned home to our little apartment in San Jose, and suddenly my suits were too boring for my important position.  Suits were the least of my worry, I tried finding my camera, and it wasn’t where I left it.  I am getting ahead of myself though.  One day I noticed that Linda didn’t seem to be looking good, she was pale, pasty, and throwing up everywhere.  She went to the doctor and when she came home she told me she had some good news.  I knew she was pregnant before she had left, duh, morning sickness.  This meant finding a house.  She informed me that she had already been looking into houses in Los Gatos Hills, because we could afford it and she had this thing about showing everyone else that we could.  I told her to pick the house and whatever she chose I would be happy with, because lets face it, I truly didn’t care, and to say I did would be a lie and so far I have not done that to you, so why start now.  Our new home in Los Gatos Hills was like a palace mocking the peasants about it.  It stood tall with two stories, an iron gate at the end of the driveway and a pool in the backyard.  It was okay I guess, I mean, it was now going to take me a half hour to get to work, so I would be losing sleep, but I guess that was what I got for lying to Linda.  Time passed and then one night Linda started shaking me and whispering frantically.  What the hell was her problem is all I could think.  I mean, yeah she was probably ready to give birth, I mean it had been nine months, but seriously, phone, 9-1-1 its not that hard.  I got up unwillingly and drove her to the hospital where I refused to go into the delivery room stating the fact that I was old fashioned.  A nurse came out and informed me that I had a new baby girl and that I should walk down to the end of the hall to see her through the window with all the other babies.  I proceeded down the hall, had to make sure I hadn’t screwed up something else in this world.  When I got there, the nurse who had come to tell me the sex of the baby walked over to a little plastic cart indicating my daughter surrounded by a pink cloth which I guessed they called a blanket, more like a wash cloth if you ask me.  I looked at her, and I suddenly had an off feeling, something I hadn’t felt since my mother had praised my first picture.  I think this was what my photo teacher in high school talked about photographing something you love.  Enough about that though, we don’t have much time before Linda gets home.  With the new baby came the new mini van, and of course this meant I would get to have sex with Linda again.  My mistake since she became pregnant a year after our first child was born.  We went through the whole process of having a baby again, and once again, I waited for the nurse to come out and tell me the sex.  I figured it would be a girl, but either way didn’t matter to me, it was just one more night of losing sleep for me.  This time, Linda wanted pictures since as she put it, I neglected to collect an important event in our lives, leaving for a gap in space.  What a load of crap, going off on me when she was the one who told me to give up photography, dumb bitch.  With a box camera in hand, truly heinous if you ask me, these box cameras.  The nurse came out of the room and congratulated me on having a son.  I smiled, because that is what you are supposed to do, and proceeded down the hall like once before.  I took pictures like ordered as our dog was to go out and take a shit.

A few years passed, and we took more pictures with box cameras.  I refused to disgrace my camera with such obscenities since I had been driven from my passion in the first place.  Linda would show them off at endless cocktail parties and dinners so our friends, leeches really, would pretend to be jealous and then as they left whisper about wages and try to put their noses where they did not belong.  What’s today?  Oh, that’s right, July 18^th.  Linda and I have been married for twelve years.  It was hot outside, and I was staring out my window at work, looking down at the people scurrying to find a relief from the cool.  There was some kid in my office blabbing about something and I wasn’t there.  I was back in elementary school, middle school, high school.  I was cruising around, camera in hand; taking pictures of what people that was sad and distant.  That’s when I decided to do it.  I came back to earth, but I was not in me, I was watching everything happen really.  I told the kid that was enough for the day, grabbed my car keys and left the office.  I hopped into my car, a grin on my face letting the breeze blow through my hair as I zipped up the hills into Los Gatos.  I arrived at the house and halted just short of hitting the garage door.  I threw open the door to the empty house and walked straight to the closet in the master suite taking the steps up two at a time.  When I got there, I reached in a box on the top shelf and proceeded to pull out my camera and portfolio.  I took the remnants of my good memories down the family room.  Spread the pictures out around the chair I was sitting in, they were my mother, beaten by that fuck of a father of mine; they were mob scenes being taken down by police, batons splitting heads; they were Linda, smudged face red dirt swirling around her.  I turned on the radio, and that popular song was on, yes, this was it.

            “Don’t make me take back the toys we just got you two!  Mary Jane Jones!  Stop hitting your brother! NOW!  Hmm, that’s funny, your daddy’s car is home.  Hey, why is the door flung open, and that music, its so loud.  You kids stay in here, I am going to check the house first okay, if you hear me scream, or anything call the police and keep the doors locked, do you understand me?  Okay good.”  Linda enters the house, weary of what she may find.  “So take the photographs and still frames in your mind.  Hang it on shelf in good health and good times.  Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial, for what its worth, it was worth all the while.  Its something unpredictable but in the end is right.  I hope you had the time of your life” blared at her as she came around the corner and let out a scream for the dead.  There was Michael, hanging from the ceiling by his camera strap, pictures strewn about the floor beneath him, and a note that read, “I could have had it all”.