out, and my gaze went to a fatigued woman with three dusty boys. She looked ready to call it a day. I had a beautiful photo waiting of her and her boys on the merry-go-round before they'd worn her out and gotten cotton candy on their clothes. The sun glinting on the gold paint had matched their hair, and the straight up-and-down lines contrasted beautifully with the curling manes and bright paint on the horses. Side by side, the family resemblance that had changed little from age to age was striking. I'd printed out a second one for me just because I liked it.
"It's ready," I said, gesturing to the tent, but she was busy holding the two youngest apart as they argued about the goldfish they had won.
"I'll be along," she said quickly, then raised her voice to tell them they were going to kill the fish if they kept jiggling it like that.
No one even noticed me as I slipped inside the tent and wove my way to the back table. The shade was a welcome relief, and I eased in behind the long table to settle into my chair. A pleased sound escaped me when I realized a good portion of the photos were gone, even the ones that I'd thought no one would want. Happy, I plugged the camera into the printer and told it to print everything. It felt good to have my efforts appreciated.
The photos began coming out one by one, and I busied myself arranging them on the table so people could find them. A shadow fell over me, and I looked up when Ms. Cartwright said admiringly, "Oh, I'll take that one." She reached for the picture falling into the hopper, adding, "Howard's my brother. I'd love to give that to him for his birthday. It's wonderful."
I glanced at a picture of a man sitting in the dunk tank, casually talking to someone in the crowd. He was dripping wet, and a blur of a ball was headed right for the target. What would happen next was obvious. "Really?" I asked, gratified. "Thanks," I added, handing it over.
She smiled at it briefly, her tired green eyes traveling fondly over the photo. "No, thank you. He's hard to buy for," she said as she tucked a long strand of hair that had escaped her thick ponytail behind an ear. "And this is a nice one of Mark," she said as the photo of the man and the little girl at the track came out. "He owns the car wash. He doesn't get a chance to be with Jem much. That's what they call their daughter. Jem." Her expression brightened and her fingers traveled over the pictures. "And Mrs. Hall. Oh my, look at that shoe size. No wonder she didn't pick her photo up. That hoof is front and center."
I fidgeted, embarrassed, but it was cool hearing about the people I'd been stealing bits of life from. It made me feel like I belonged somehow. I couldn't help but wonder if that was what I had been trying to do today - capture life because mine had basically stopped and the world hadn't. Continuing on without me. Circling like the seasons.
Looking closer, I squinted, wanting to take the picture out into the sun. It was almost as if I could see a shimmer about her. Her aura? Nahhh. "I thought the way the purple of the balloons went with the soles of her shoes was neat," I said, trying to explain why Mrs. Hall's back was so fascinating. Neat? I think it's neat? God! I am such a nerd.
"It is." Ms. Cartwright smiled at the photo of someone's van, the back doors open to show it was crammed to the top with undelivered papers. "You have a real knack for composition. Seeing what matters. What we miss if we don't slow down."
Another picture rolled out of the printer, and I set it on the table. "Thanks. I belonged to the photography club in my last school. I guess I picked up more than I thought."
Ms. Cartwright made an interested sound. "You're not on my class list. Why not? You have an eye for this."
She's the photography teacher? "Uh, I don't know," I said, suddenly nervous.
The woman's eyebrows arched, and she set the picture of Mrs. Hall down. "Oh-h-h-h, you're one of those, are you?" she said, and I stared blankly. "You don't want to be labeled a geek, so you color your hair