NYC Midnight Madness 2010 Short Story Competition

Heat 12:
Genre - Drama
Subject - A Photographer

The Element(s) of Freedom
Synopsis: While in the process of completing a final assignment for her photography class, a young lady takes an unexpected soul journey.

“And the day came when the risk it took to remain tightly closed in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to bloom. This is the element of freedom.” Alicia Keys

May 13th:

At long last I have an idea for my final assignment, thanks to Alicia Keys and the birthday flowers my Aunt sent this weekend. This photojournalism final has proven to shipwreck my photography and life more than I anticipated. After wasting half of my assigned time deliberating, agonizing, brainstorming…Who am I kidding, PROCRASTINATING, I’ve finally chained myself to a topic. I’ve decided that over the remaining days I will attempt to go with a classic and extremely unemotional theme documenting the blooming of a yellow rose bud in my flower arrangement. The uninspiring idea seems to be a metaphor of my life, sort of tongue in cheek honestly. Because of that I feel confident I can do it justice and once I get this damn project done I will be free from the drudgery of assignments, deadlines and subjective grades for an entire summer. Ah the sweet element of freedom indeed. Focus Sarah, focus.

Hitting Control and S on the keyboard, Sarah pushed her chair back from the desk and drew air in through a small opening in her full red lips. It was the only efficient opening left to obtain oxygen from today since her sinuses were now thoroughly clogged. Pressing her thumb and index finger to the bridge of her nose no longer pacified the throbbing of her head and the flesh above her lip felt as raw as she imagined it might be had she been using sand paper as tissues over the last 24 hours.

“The combination of this assignment and cold just might be the death of me,” she muttered sarcastically and grabbed the vase of flowers before heading to the kitchen for coffee and her Nikon D90 camera.

It was the end of the spring semester and all that ominously barricaded Sarah Webber from her summer retreat was this assignment and an epic head cold. She wanted so desperately to knock this final out of the park and pay tribute to her father’s legacy. She had spent the last four days agonizing over it. The more she toyed with ideas and concepts the less inspired and creative they felt. On the verge of utter despair and questioning her merit as a photojournalist she was interrupted by a brisk rap on her door. A happy little flower delivery man had stood there with outstretched arms holding an arrangement of flowers. A lone yellow rose bud caught her eye in the center of the vase and it was there that her lack-luster concept was born.

Sighing she set the vase down on the cluttered countertop. The beams of morning sunshine seemed to part the surrounding chaos like the waters of the Red Sea in Biblical times, as they rushed in through a nearby window. “At least the lighting is brilliant,” she thought and picked up her camera. Focusing in on the tightly closed rose bud Sarah snapped a couple of shots, zooming in with each successive click. Pausing in cynical revelry she stared at the little bud through the camera lens, “Ha, if this isn’t an accurate representation of my creativity, all clamped down and locked up. Shall we bloom together Rosie?” The austere posture of the rose seemed to bite back in ridicule. Second guessing the virility of her decision and discouraged, Sarah grabbed her travel coffee mug, filled it to the brim and headed out to survive the rigors of her day.

“I’m challenging a rose bud? Awesome.” The door clicked behind her.

May 14th:

Ah, so the photojournalism assignment is underway. I found that my first round of pictures looked best in black and white when I manipulated them in Photoshop yesterday and I also found them extremely ordinary and boring. Score one for the snobbery of the bud, zero for Sarah. I’m affectionately dubbing my bud ‘Rosie’. Ah so clever, I know. But it’s par for the lack of creativity course and right on track in the irony department.

In comparing today’s photos to yesterdays, any definite change is indecipherable. I’m beginning to wonder on many levels what the required elements are for blooming. What is it within this living being that prompts it to open up and spread out in cascading beauty? Light, nutrients, is that all it really needs…I wonder? Note to self: Research.

I have wasted most of my assigned time digging deep for a concept of riveting interest and the only one I tend to relish is whether or not I’m even cut out for Photography in the first place? I mean, in retrospect my decision to attend the community college was entirely an irrational one. Resolving to enroll the day of my father’s funeral, in the midst of remorse and bitter grief is hardly categorized as anything more than that. I had always wanted to make him proud, and at that moment standing there by his graveside, with a lifetime of his photographs surrounding me, I thought that would be the best way to do it. I’m sure in my sophomore year of college I’m not already supposed to feel imprisoned by my degree. That comes later when one is all grown up and deadlocked in career drudgery, right?

Ah, but I digress - again. And with two days left I feel like Rosie is determined to stay clamped shut just to spite me and my procrastinating ways.

The trash beside Sarah’s desk was now full of soiled tissues and her nose was officially Rudolf red. “I’m certain I could lead Santa’s sleigh,” she thought as she glanced at her reflection in the darkened window beside her desk, “Lead it no particular direction but lead it just the same.” With that Sarah sauntered to her room hoping to find some relief in medicine and rest.

May 14 ¾:

Yes, I’m back already. I can’t sleep a credit to this epic head cold that is messing with more than my sinuses. I’ve decided to give Rosie some 24/7 artificial stimulation by way of my desk lamp. I’m hoping to SHOVE her in the direction of blooming, in the most nurturing of ways. My artificial stimulant, coffee.

I decided while I was awake to snap some low light pictures and play with reflections. Fascinating how lighting can affect the desired subject of a photo. These could perhaps be some of my best photos yet. Nothing compared to my Father’s work though, his pictures were anything but ordinary. They were a glimpse into his soul, to the way he saw life, the way he saw us. To me it seemed almost effortless how he could capture the best of everything from a brilliantly painted sky at sunset - bright orange hues and pinks melting into each other amidst their airy cloud counterparts, to a the simplest luxury in life, like a pair of shoes thoughtlessly kicked aside by the front door. The lens of his camera was a second set of eyes for him and the way he captured life was enchanting.

He hung a quote on the wall of his photo studio that read, “I see before me a man, with all his flaws and all his goodness; I simply see a man.” and when I was younger I would read that relentlessly trying to grasp its meaning. But I never understood it until I looked into the eyes of one of his photographed subjects. He had taken a trip to India to tell the story of a commoner there. En route to a tiny village center he paused to photograph a small boy begging by the side of the road. He held out his hands to my father and lifted his tear stained, dirt streaked face to the camera. Most stunning though, was the tangible reflection of hope in his eyes. I felt I could really see his soul like he was standing right in front of me. Dad had a knack for capturing personality, the human spirit, life unfiltered…

May 15th:

I woke up this morning with my head pressed to the keyboard and a whole bunch of eeeeggggrrhhh and many other choice letters filling my document. The NyQuil must have finally kicked in. The good news is that my 24 hour “nurturing” experiment seemed to have worked!! With one day left, Rosie has begun to extend her soft yellow petals outward. And, adding to my optimism the pictures I took last night are genius! I mean the lighting and reflection, the angle of the camera made the ordinary look like; dare I venture the adjective, extraordinary? I think I’m finally getting somewhere with this.

And, for now I must pull my battle haggard body somewhere too, class starts in 20 minutes.

It was all Sarah could do to pull her hair up in a ponytail and dab some concealor on her reddened nose. The coffee pot had the remains of yesterday’s stale, corrosive caffeination it and she mindlessly poured it into a mug, microwaved it and headed out the door. “This is really too much.” She thought as she trudged toward her car.

May 16th:

Wow what a difference a little sunshine and nurturing make! Rosie is in full bloom and we almost have a photography series. I am also feeling a little more human today. THANK GOD for Mom’s secret recipe chicken soup! She dropped some off today for me after calling yesterday and saying I sounded like, I believe was her precise choice of words were, ‘Death warmed over’. And then when she saw me she said it again, only this time that I looked it. Thanks Mom.

Anyway, she brought with her this odd photo of me. She said she thought it would help the creative process. It’s a picture Dad took of me just days before he died. And you know how I was saying he could see into someone’s soul with that camera of his? Well I didn’t like what I saw of mine. I always resented the way he hid behind that thing. How he refused to take time off from his trips and events or breakthrough leads for the important days of our lives. I used to stare that dumb camera down to show him how unimpressed I was. That he would think he could capture a memory of me to make up for all the time he wasn’t spending actually making them alongside me was infuriating! He saw the world and captured on film some of the heights and depths of humanity and the human experience but he missed out on us, on me!

How I resented him that day, the day before I graduated from high school. He got a call to ‘duty’ to document a day in the life of an American Hero, before leaving for war. He promised me, “Sarah, I’ll be back in less than 24 hours, I’d never miss my only daughter’s graduation.” He was only supposed to fly to a base, spend a few hours following a solider through their regimen and then fly home safely. That was his promise. “I’ll be back hours before the ceremony, I promise.” In classic style he held up his camera to document the look on my face at that moment. He said, “You’ll look back and laugh at this photo someday love, when I include it in your wedding collage, you might even blush.”

“I’m not laughing Dad.” She traced her fingers around the edge of the photo as the tears pooled in her eyes. The face of the girl in the photo blurred. She was younger then, her hair was blonder but the scorn caught in her eyes almost burned through the paper, through the photo itself. “I’m sorry Daddy, I’m so sorry that was the way you saw me last. I’m so sorry.”

He never made it home. The naval base said he was assigned to shadow a lieutenant readying his troops for the war zone. He followed them for meals, he followed them to briefings, and he followed them to the shooting range for target practice. They told us it was a freak accident that it never happens. They told us that he wasn’t paying attention. That he was engrossed in his documentation, hiding behind the camera and that he just got too close. They told us he didn’t suffer. That he died the instant his heart caught that ricocheted bullet.

Mom said today that I’ve been much like Rosie ever since.

Unable to see through tears, Sarah picked up her camera with disregard. Adjusting nothing she began madly snapping shots of her yellow rose, from every angle, direction and in as many lighting situations as she could. And later when sorting through the photographs she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the darkened window behind the rose. She recognized her Father’s furrowed, determined brow behind the camera. And she saw for the first time, the simplicity of blooming.

May 17th:

The day has arrived. The assignment is due and Rosie has put on quite a spectacular show. I’m happy to report that I have completed the, eh let’s stretch and call it, compelling photo series of a rose in bloom boldly crowned with the title, The Element of Freedom. Perhaps I didn’t capture the essence of humanity in anyone’s eyes or the desperate plight of struggle but what I found in Rosie indeed encompasses it.

There is an aching potential in all of us, this desire to be utilized and to be seen, to be beautiful and contribute something of beauty to society and life. So often the human struggle begins and ends with the means of discovery and unlocking that potential. And sometimes the risk it takes to expose that raw element of our core being seems more painful than missing out on meeting the fullness of the life we could attain. The unknown is just that. Who knows what obstacles, barriers, rejections and hardships we may or may not face on the road to blooming?

In my research I found that a flower simply requires warmth and light and just the right amount of water to bloom. Our souls require the warmth of relationship, the light that exposes, teaches and leads us and just the right amount of tears in order to reach our potential. And when you find that staying tightly closed in a bud of mediocrity is more painful than the risk that’s required to bloom, then and truly then, you will know the element of freedom.