The Photograph

Today was the deadline for submission of either fiction, poetry, or screenplay at the university for competition in the President's Prize challenge. Being so swamped with school work and other writing, I didn't get enough time to edit a complete draft of a short story I wrote entitled The Photograph.

I particularly enjoy what I've written, but after much consideration came to the conclusion that it needed to be edited down; particularly characters removed to centralize focus. Thus, I submitted Clara and dread that nothing will come of it. I'm hard working on editing The Photograph, and will be publishing it on this site soon. Here's an excerpt:

The Photograph:

Stephanie hid her face under the lip of her jacket, fighting off a cold blast of air.

Here she goes again, she thought, watching Lily tug on her sweater and examine her breasts for the thousandth time that morning. Doesn’t she know what day it is today? Apart of her understood it: they were new a new toy, foreign, continuously growing, and she knew how much Lily liked them … a lot. How could she not? They made her feel beautiful and confident; they made her feel like she was part of a secret club. Stephanie couldn’t understand it by experience, but she wasn’t dumb; she knew how the world worked – sex appeal went a long way. But the other part of her was starting to feel left out.

Watching Lily was like watching her baby cousin open his eyes for the first time: she kept touching her breasts, shaking them, flaunting them. She was so sure she could get Tommy Hornerbeck to notice her … and she wouldn’t shut up about it, either. It was driving her mad.

‘God, I love these things,’ said Lily, pressing her breasts up against her chest. ‘They’re so firm!’ Lily sidled up against Stephanie, shook her chest from side to side, and said, ‘check them out, Steph; they’re like jello.’

Stephanie smiled half-heartedly.

‘Aw, Lil, get away,’ she said, pushing her aside. ‘Keep ‘em to yourself.’

Lily let go of her sweater and zipped up her jacket, frowning. She shivered impulsively and snuggled back into warmth. It had been snowing all morning, and the city was slowly starting to erase under a sea of white.

Ahead of them, a couple of older boys were grouped together exchanging cigarettes. The sound of their arguing carried in the air and Lily couldn’t help it:

‘Think he noticed them?’ she asked.

‘Hell, they’re probably talking about ‘em right now,’ said Stephanie, flippant.

‘I think he loves them,’ said Lily. ‘He wants to touch them.’

‘Don’t be gross,’ said Stephanie. She crossed her arms self-consciously and stared at the footprints leading them on.

‘You’ll be getting yours soon, I expect,’ said Lily hopefully.

‘Can’t wait,’ said Stephanie. What else am I supposed to say? she thought.

All Stephanie wanted was to talk to her best friend about what was piling up on her. But Lily was too focused on the idea of growing up. She loved it, absolutely loved it, everything about it, and to her breasts meant exactly that. Again, Stephanie understood that, but again because Lily was her best friend, she wondered why she couldn’t shut up and think about what maybe she was going through for a moment.

Okay, thought Stephanie, so maybe I’m always complaining about growing up. Sure I want to know what it feels like to become a woman, but do I want it to happen right now? No. I don’t. And I know that it will because I’m a girl, we all go through it.

Stephanie bit her lip and reflected on the neighborhood around her. She liked the area a lot. The houses all looked different from one another and that amused her. They were assembled from a time before suburbia. If she could live anywhere when she grew up, she thought, it would be here.