“she probably is just… nervous about getting older. Watching her weight, making sure she stays healthy.” It seemed to me her fortieth birthday must be approaching. As was Tom’s. Maybe instead of having Botox, she was simply working out.
I asked Ellie if she wanted something to drink and she said yes.
I brought out a can of Coca-Cola and two glasses filled with ice.
“To our cover,” I said.
Her eyes widened in the glow of the bright red can.
“It can be our tiny secret,” I whispered.
We drank deeply, the bubbles tickling our noses. This is how revolutions begin, I wanted to tell her. Just like this.
March 12, 2010
Tinsley and Tom seemed almost too thrilled by our idea for the cover. When they picked Ellie up on Saturday night, and she informed them breathlessly, their faces through the car window took on the animated bluster of clowns. It reminded me of a different kind of photograph, hand tinted, with the sky too bright and everyone’s cheeks unnaturally pink. Maybe Tinsley felt guilty because she’d been exercising too much, and was excited to have an opportunity to hover over her daughter one of the evenings she was supposed to be mine.
We met Tuesday evening at Doolittle’s Dog Park, near the enormous faux-bois birdbath at the top of the rise. At one time, this was just a park—no dog. It spanned thirty acres and had been annexed off from the main estate and donated by the Forrester family, so everyone could enjoy the rolling meadow view. Now, the township had renamed it after a fictional character and the sign had dog-biscuit artwork painted in the background. I could only hope that the Forresters had once had a dog, and that they weren’t howling in their graves.
Tom ran his hand over the birdbath. “Hey, Ellie, we don’t have to bathe in it, do we?”
Tinsley laughed loudly, too loudly I thought. She really had to be careful, with her broad bones and large teeth, of turning horsey as she aged. We all have animals inside, dear.
“No, silly!” Ellie said. “We’re going to do other bird things.”
“Okay, then, let’s go get some twigs, right, Tins?”
“You got it—I’m on twig patrol,” she said.
“Huh?” Ellie scrunched up her face.
“Your parents are off to build you a nest.”
“Yeah,” Tom said, “and then we’ll go out to dinner for a big plate of worms!”
“Daddy!”
Tom leaned over to tickle her. The light was thick and yellow as it filtered through the trees, and I didn’t want to waste a second of it, so I grabbed some candids of them laughing and joking around. Between giggle fits Ellie tried to explain to her parents what she wanted them to do: to run in circles around the bath, and to flap their arms like birds. Ellie went first, then Tom, then Tinsley. Tom started to squawk and make pterodactyl calls, which made Ellie laugh harder. Everyone’s skin glowed and I couldn’t help thinking what an exceptionally handsome family they were. Still, smooth skin and handsomeness aside, they weren’t moving in a coordinated way, and many of the shots I took were really quite terrible. I started to think I’d been mad to attempt it.
Still, they were having so much fun, who cared? At one point Tinsley flapped her way up to Tom and leaped on his back.
“Help!” he cried. “A hawk has its claws in me!”
He fell to the ground, and on her next lap, Ellie piled onto them and told them to get up and fly. They laughed together and tumbled around, Tinsley’s golden and caramel hair flying in all directions, and all my nascent fears about her faded away for a moment.
I took close-ups and wide shots of all their antics, but honestly, no matter what they did, it didn’t look like cover material. They just couldn’t seem to hit a rhythm; if one was up, the other two were down. Finally I took a nice shot of Tom and Ellie, flapping in unison, but Tinsley was out of synch. I’d never noticed before how oddly long her arms were, so thin in the forearm they appeared in danger of snapping in two.
They kept circling and eventually improved, smoothing their gaits, synching their arms. I just kept pushing the button, not even pausing to look, just hoping I was getting what I was seeing, and more. Those little in-between moments when people forget they are posing, and just keep moving. Thank god I’d left the Nikon at home and brought my little digital