On an Edge of Glass (32 page)

My movements are shaky, uneven.  I’m not really sur
e how to do this.  Do I open my portfolio on the desk?  I look around the office. 

“The desk,”
Michaela suggests gently understanding my consternation.  I wonder just how obvious it is that I’ve never done this before.  I feel my chances getting slimmer and slimmer by the second.

I hois
t the portfolio onto the black surface of the desktop.  I fumble the snap and Michaela has to help me with it. 

There, s
pread out in two distinct halves, is my heart made into thin sheets of glossy paper.    

I pay attention to the way that Michaela breathes as her eyes move through the
pictures.  The slightest change in the pattern of her breath causes my insides to twist tighter.  She pauses on the photo I’ve included of Ainsley, her slender finger tracing the outline of Ainsley’s lovely face.  I’ve captured my friend in profile—head bent, backlit by the sun, wisps of blonde hair floating over the bridge of her nose. 

Next,
with her neck held at an awkward angle, Michaela looks at the photo I took the night of my first date with Ben.  It’s the largest of the grouping.  He’s standing in the doorway of my bedroom with his hands crossed over his chest.  His head is tipped forward.  His smile is thin, enigmatic.  Even like this—stilled on paper—his eyes are so full of passion that they crack me in half. 

“This boy,” Michaela says, her index finger pointed at the photograph.  “He’s the same as in these other two.”

“Yes,” I say and shift my weight, hoping that my voice doesn’t give me away.

Michaela looks up.  Her large eyes drill into me. 
Finally she asks, “Do you have a title for the collection yet?”

I clear my throat.  “I do.”

Her eyebrows lift in expectation.

“Starstuff,” I say.

“Hmmm…”  She turns back to the photos on her desk.  “This is a large grouping of photos.  Mostly, I’ve been choosing one or two to pull and use for the exhibit.”

“But, they go together.  As a collection, this is a story.  Apart you don’t really get that, do you?”  I cringe a
t how pompous I sound even to my own ears. 

Michaela
’s eyes crinkle.  She shakes her head.  “No you don’t.”  She pauses, touches another photo.  “Are you a student?  I don’t recognize you from any of my classes.”

“
Yes, I’m a student.  I’ll be graduating this May.”

“
And your major?”

“Pre
-law,” I say, biting the inside of my lip.

Laughter burbles out of her. 
“I didn’t see that one coming.”  She looks at the photos one more time, then sideways at me.  “I’ll be in touch soon Ms. Glass.”

That’s my cue.  I thank Michaela and cross to the door.  Her voice stops me. 

“Do you mind if I ask what inspired you?”  She asks.

I think about it.  I let the be
ats settle inside of me.  They make up one word: “Love.”

“What do you think the odds are?”  Ainsley asks. 
She’s got her feet propped on the low coffee table so that Mark can paint her toenails. 

             
I shake my head lightly.  “I’m not sure.  It’s not like I had a chance to look over any other submissions.  Michaela just said that she’d ‘be in touch soon,’ whatever that means.”

             
“Well…”  Mark pauses and wipes away excess lavender nail polish from Ainsley’s big toe with his thumb.  “The exhibit is a week from Saturday so I assume you’ll hear from her one way or the other in the next day or two.”

             
“Yeah, probably.”  I let my head fall against the couch. 

             
Ainsley grabs my wrist.  “Hey!  Even if your photos don’t get chosen, at least you tried, right?”

             
“And that’s more than a lot of bitches can say,” Payton adds, grabbing hold of my other wrist.

             
I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be pleased or offended.  I laugh.  “Umm… Thanks?”

             
The University Symphony has out of town performances tonight and tomorrow in Richmond, so it’s just Mark and us girls here at the house.  Mark asked us what we wanted to do and Payton held up her chipped nails and suggested manicures all around.  Ainsley is being a daredevil with her choice of lavender nail polish.  Payton’s pulling no punches with midnight blue and a topcoat of bright pink glitter.  And I’ve picked out a subdued shade of grey.

             
“Grey?”  Mark looks appalled when I pass him the small bottle.  “Why do you even have grey nail polish?”

             
“It’s not that bad,” Payton defends.  “I think that I bought to go with some outfit.”

             
“Were you dressed as a hobo?  Because otherwise, I think there are like five hundred thousand other colors that are more suitable.”

             
“Dude,” Payton says dryly and then glances back to the text she’s typing out on her phone. 

             
Mark looks at me.  “I’m just saying that I think you should pick a shade that’s more fun.”  He picks up a bottle of neon pink polish.  “Like maybe this color.”  When I lift one side of my mouth up in a grimace, he sets it down and grabs another bottle.  It’s an obnoxious shade of orange.  “
This
is Mango Madness.  Who wouldn’t want to have that on their fingernails?”

             
“Me.  I don’t want that horrible color anywhere on my person.”

             
Mark frowns. 

             
“Why does it even matter?”  Payton interjects with her eyes on Mark. 

             
Mark looks at her and then at me.  His face is serious.  “I just want Ellie to be happy and this color isn’t going to get her there.”

             
I roll my eyes.  “Fine.  But not the orange.”

             
He grins.  “Okay, what about…”  He sifts through the glass bottles in the plastic bin at his feet and pulls out an iridescent blue shade.  “Starry Starry Night?”

             
“Deal,” I say and stick out my right hand. 

I don’t really expect to hear anything
about the exhibition until Monday, but Michaela calls me on Sunday afternoon while I’m reading through my notes for school and watching reruns of
Family Feud
.

             
“All of them?”  I ask the question for a third time.

             
I can almost hear her smile through the phone.  “Yes, Ms. Glass.  All of them.  I told you that I’m very impressed with your work.”

             
“Wow!  I-I’m—”

             
“Hopefully you’re about to say that you’re thrilled and will be able to come by the gallery on Tuesday and again on Friday to help out with the placement of your photographs.”

             
“Of course! Just let me know what times I need to be there.”

             
“I’ll be sending out an email with that information to all of our artists shortly.”

             
I thank Michaela a hundred times.  I’m bubbling over.  So much so that, with a note of exasperation in her voice, she finally says, “Ms. Glass, I’m not the one that took your beautiful photographs.  If you need to express your gratitude, thank yourself or one of the subjects of the collection.”

             
“I will.  And I’ll see you at the Pratt Gallery on Tuesday.”

             
I bounce out of my bedroom, calling for Payton and Ainsley.  “Girls!  Girls!  You aren’t going to believe it!”

             
“Is everything okay?”

             
I turn.  It’s Ben.  He’s standing in the kitchen eating cold pizza off of a paper plate.  His long hair is rumpled and hanging in his face.  His eyes are dark with concern.  “Is everything okay?”  He repeats.

             
“Yeah, it’s fine.  I-I didn’t know that you were back.  How was Richmond?” I ask, catching my breath.  I don’t know why I’m so surprised to see him—he does, in fact, live here.  It’s just, the way things have been recently, we haven’t interacted much.  And, with my revelation about the way that I feel about him, things are… 

             
“Different,” he says, and for a second I think that I’ve spoken aloud.  Then I realize that he is simply answering my question.  “I actually met a guy who plays in the San Francisco Symphony and he told me that they have a cello chair opening up.  He set up a remote audition for me.”

             
“Wow.  San Francisco?  That’s really ummm… far.”  I’m stumbling over my words. 

             
“We’ll see.  I’m sure that there are tons of cellists applying and I’d have to nail the audition.”

“
I’m sure that you will.”

He smiles and it’s like a fan to the fire that’s burning inside of me.  My heart skips.  It bounces.  It dances. 

              “Have you seen Ainsley or Payton around?”  I ask quickly, not trusting myself to manage much else.  I’m a ball of nerves.

             
Ben looks disappointed.  “I don’t think they’re home.  Do you need something?”

             
“No.”  I start to turn away then think better of it.  I have to do this sometime.  “Actually, I do have some news to share.”

             
Ben’s eyes widen and he sets his plate on the counter.  “Did you hear back from other law schools?”

             
I squint, confused for a second.  “Yeah, I did actually.  I’m deciding between a school in New York and one in Boston.  But, that’s not my news.”

             
“Oh?”

             
I take a large gulp of air.  “Remember that flyer you gave me last month for the photography exhibit?  Well, I ended up submitting some of my photos.”

             
Ben takes a step closer.  “You did?  That’s great Ellie.”

             
“Yeah, thanks.  Ummm…  So, the thing about it is that my photographs were chosen and they’re going to be in the exhibit.”

             
His mouth drops open.  “That’s wonderful.  I’m really proud of you for putting your work out there.  I know that it’s hard.”

             
I shake my head.  “Well, I wouldn’t have done it if not for you, so thanks.” 

“What pictures did you submit?”

I chew on my bottom lip.  “Let’s just say that I took your advice.”

Ben cocks his head.  “Oh yeah?  And what advice was that?”

I lean back against the wall for balance.  “You told me to take photos of what I care about,” I say, stretching my fingers along my thighs.  Before Ben can ask me to clarify, I spit out the words that I need to say.  “And, I’d really like you to come, if you can.”

             
“Of course I’ll be there.  When is it?”  He hedges even closer to me.  My body tingles.

             
“Saturday night.”

             
“This Saturday?”

             
“Yeah, at the Pratt Gallery downtown from eight to ten.”

             
Ben pauses then he tucks his hair behind his ears and grins.  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Paper Promises

Over the next week, I go through the gamut of emotions: excitement, dread, worry, frenzy,
dreaminess.  You name it, I experience it. 

             
When I first came up with this implausible idea over a week ago, I wanted a lot of things, but there were so many obstacles that I wasn’t sure any of those things would actually pan out.  Now that
wanting
is meeting up with
getting
head-on, I’ll admit that I’m on the verge of a major freak out.  What if Ben shows up and sees my collection and he doesn’t connect the dots?  Or what if he
does
connect the dots and he still doesn’t want to be with me?

Then what do I have?

Rejection. 
That’s what.

It’s like this huge, dark cloud looming over me. 
But, I’ve let that kind of fear control me before and I’m through with it.  It’s one of the ways that Ainsley says that I’m becoming a better person.  At least, that’s what she told me last night while we were in my room deciding how I should do my hair for the exhibit. 

“You are,” she insisted
vehemently as she twisted my hair back into a low chignon.

I rolled my eyes.  “Well thanks.  I guess that after Columbia and everything else, it’s like, what do I have left to lose?”