i think i promised i'd post this sometime

here is the first story i submitted for my english class...i am not completely happy with the ending. needs more development. but it was 400am and i was in the library and i didnt care much. lol...sorry if the format is screwy....i don't how to get it better


Green Chuck Taylors. Orange laces and frayed blue jean cuffs. Probably an angst-ridden poet-wannabe – wouldn’t surprise me in this neighborhood. She glances up quickly – just long enough to see the faded vintage tee and the thick plastic-framed glasses partly hidden by jagged jet-black hair as he passes her on the left. A split second to validate her assumption, but not quite long enough to make eye contact. By the time Green Chuck Taylors feels her eyes on him and turns to see who is looking, they have already darted back to the ground, and she is back on her way – her own navy blue suede Pumas pounding out a steady rhythm on the cracked sidewalk.

Coming up on her right – a pair of black, slip-on, leather dress shoes. Perfectly shined and not a scuff on them. The shoes scream young professional who’s trying too hard, perhaps an upcoming lawyer or advertising executive. Raising her eyes confirms it. Well, at least the man is wearing a three-piece suit and carrying a very chic-looking attaché case. Two for two.

About five blocks from the train station exit, she stops to search for the little piece of paper in her pocket, fingers plunging into the front pocket of her jeans. Sliding past a tube of chapstick, they search and, after finding it among two dimes, a quarter, and a few pennies, they resurface. Palms sweaty and fingers jittery, it takes a second for her to unfold the yellow post-it and realize that she is in the right place. The black iron numbers above the door, 5447, match the boxy ones printed in red ink on the crumpled note in her hand. Scanning the labels next to the buzzers she finds about two-thirds of the way down “2B-MacNamara, A.” It occurs to her that the girl never mentioned her last name, but she presses the button anyway.

“Yeah?”

“Uh...Allie?” the girl half-says, half-squeaks. “It’s Sam… from the other day at the gallery.”

“I remember,” she says, and it sounds as if she is smiling, if that is possible through a speaker. “Come on up.”

The door is heavy as Sam pulls it open, or maybe it is just that all of the muscles in her body have suddenly gone lax. Climbing further up the staircase, she can feel her stomach seeming to drop lower with each step. Allie’s waiting when she reaches the second landing. Bare feet. A small tribal-looking tattoo wraps around the instep of her left foot and seems to disappear as it curves down toward the sole, one that, from the looks of it, is not often unclad.

“Come on in, Sam,” Allie says as she motions to the open door behind her. “I was just finishing setting up my camera when you rang. It’ll just take me a few more minutes. Make yourself comfortable. We’ll be shooting in here,” she says, gesturing to the studio which seems to double as a living room, “but the bathroom is the door at the end of the hall. You can change in there."

Mumbling a thank you, she trods down the hallway. The bathroom door shuts with a dull thud. Turning the lock and sitting down on the edge of the bathtub, Sam can feel the cold tile pressing on her legs through her blue jeans. Putting her elbows on her knees, and resting her face in between cupped hands, she thinks back to the previous weekend.

She and Phil had been down in the Fishmarket district trying to find the piece that would complete his collection of Max Burns prints – hideous drawings of half-man, half-vehicle creatures. Sam absolutely hated these pieces of “artwork.” Not that it really mattered, though. Phil had them plastered all over the walls of their tiny apartment. After dragging her into just about every gallery and boutique in the four-block radius that made up the Fishmarket, they still hadn’t found it. It seemed promising as they walked into the next place, almost like an indoor mall with several gallery shops under one roof.

Sam tried to keep up with Phil as he plowed through the door and let it swing back, almost hitting her in the face.

“I’m gonna run to the ladies’ room. I’ll come and find you.”

“Huh? Yeah, whatever,” he said, barely acknowledging as he walked off.

Sam turned and headed toward the bathroom, grateful for the few minutes she would have to herself that day. As she strolled down the hallway, she watched as her feet hit the tiled floor. It was impossible to avoid stepping on any of the cracks. Good thing she wasn’t too superstitious. As she turned the corner, following signs to the restroom that directed her down another corridor, she found herself looking at a pair of black and white Mary-Janes. It was too late. She tried to stop herself, but she hadn’t noticed fast enough, and she collided with the owner (and wearer) of the Mary-Janes.

“I’m so sorry,” she said as she instinctively took a step back and raised her eyes a bit. “I didn’t see you.” As those last words left her lips, she stole a look at the unfortunate object of her clumsiness. Long, dark, curly hair sat atop a beautiful brown face about six inches above Sam’s own. A complexion that hinted at Mediterranean roots, blending perfectly with the dark brown glasses worn in front of dark, green eyes.

Having recovered from the initial shock of having been run into, the girl looked at Sam and uttered, “No worries. I wasn’t really paying attention either. Don’t freak out. Hey, you have really beautiful eyes, you know that?” Feeling she had let her eyes linger just a second too long, Sam looked back down at
floor.

“No, I don’t,” she replied as she stepped sideways.

“No, you do. I’ve never seen such intensity in brown eyes before,” she said as she gently reached out and lifted up Sam’s chin to get a better look. What ethnicity are you?”

Again, Sam stepped backwards. “I’m half-Indonesian.”

“Are you serious? Would you consider modeling for me? I’m totally lacking representation from the Pacific Islands.”

“Huh?”

“My current project. I really need more Asian and African women.”

It registered then. Sam realized that the girl she had just run into was one of the artists who had gallery space in this building. In fact, she was standing right outside the girl’s exhibit. Peering inside the window, she saw photographs of women of all different ethnicities, presumably, wearing nothing but the flag of their heritage’s country. The images were striking – and the women were beautiful.

“Wow. No, I don’t think so. I don’t think I could ever look that good.”

“Sure you could. Here,” she said, as she wrote down her name and an address, “I ran out of business cards yesterday. This is the address of my studio. Drop by on Wednesday afternoon.”
Before she could refuse, she felt a tug on her arm.

“Where the hell have you been? Seriously, Sam, I’ve been looking for you for like the last ten minutes. Let’s go. They didn’t have what I was looking for. What a waste of time.”

Sam hesitated for a second.

“Now, Sam. I’ve got other stuff to get done today.” Phil pulled harder on Sam’s arm this time.

Sam yielded to Phil’s grasp and started to follow him out, stuffing the photographer’s address into her pocket as she went.

“Think about it,” the photographer said as the two walked away from her.

“What was that about, Sam?”

“Nothing…it was nothing.”

“Sam, are you all ready?” The words interrupt Sam’s daydream. Suddenly, she is back in the bathroom and everything is so real again.

“Yeah, almost. I’ll be out in a second,” she replies as she hurriedly undresses. Hanging on the back of the door is the Indonesian flag, ready for her to drape around her. She gently removes it from the hook. Seeing no pins or fasteners of any type, she wraps it snugly around herself, enveloping her body in the red and white fabric. Exiting the safety of the bathroom, she makes her way to the studio.

Allie is waiting there with her camera. It all seems so threatening – the lights, the draped white sheet hanging as a background, the openness of the whole room. Hesitating slightly, Sam takes a deep breath, clenches the flag a little bit tighter around her body and waits for Allie to notice her.

“So…um…where do you want me?”

“Let’s try to have you sit right here on this,” Allie replies as she places a wooden crate in front of the sheet.

As Sam takes a seat, Allie steps back silently. She moves her hands up close to her face, making a box-shape, and takes a good look at Sam. She walks to the left and then to the right; she crouches down and then stands up again. She is trying to envision the best angle for the shot.

“Okay,” she says. “I think I know how I’m going to approach this. Now…let’s see. How ‘bout we start by you choosing a comfortable pose. We’ll take a few shots, and then I’ll try to tell you how to adjust to get the shot that I want. Sound good?”

Sam is silent. She watches as her toes wiggle back and forth against the hardwood.

“Well? Does that sound okay, Sam?”

“Huh? Yeah. That’s sounds fine,” she utters, shocked that Allie didn’t mean the question to be rhetorical. It has been a long time since her answer to a question has actually been valued. A little smile starts to form inside her, but it quickly goes away when she hears the click of the shutter.

Sensing how tense the moment has just become, Allie says, “Relax. Take a deep breath. You’re fine. “ She takes a few more shots and then says, “Okay, why don’t you relax your grip a bit on the flag and lower it a bit off of your shoulder…Good…Now, try closing your eyes and lean back just a bit on your arms…Lift your chin up to the ceiling…Good.”

Sam can hear the shutter closing, letting her know that Allie is taking lots of photographs. Feeling very exposed and slightly uncomfortable, quite the opposite of what she expects, she lets out a laugh to reduce her uneasiness.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. I’m just a little nervous, that’s all.”

“Just try not to think of the camera. Act naturally and your beauty will shine through. The film and camera have no control over that.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

“What? What kind of question is that, Sam, really?” Phil was in even more of a hurry this morning as he tried to get out the door to work. He grabbed his lunch, then quickly leaned over Sam’s left shoulder and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Now…Heidi Klum…that’s a hot woman, he said pointing to the picture on the front of the magazine in Sam’s hands. “Just look at that body. Damn. You think you could ever be that beautiful?” A chuckle escaped his mouth and with a swift pat on the shoulder, he left the kitchen, grabbed his keys, and headed off to work.

Of course I could never be that beautiful? At least not to you. Sam then got up and went into the bedroom where her jacket had been thrown on the floor. Reaching into the pocket, she pulled out a piece of paper. Looking down at her watch, she thought for a second, considering the time of day. It wouldn’t take her but eight minutes on the subway to get to the photographer’s studio.

“Are you okay? You spaced out there for a minute.”

“Yep, I’m fine.”

“Good. Let me just change film real fast. I’ll take a few more and then we’ll be done.”

As Allie loads the film, Sam recalls Phil’s words from earlier that morning and Allie’s from when they met. “Can I keep my eyes open in the rest of these?”

“Hmm…yeah, I think that will work. Like I said…do what feels natural.”

Sam really starts to pose, looking straight into the camera’s lens without shame. Less conscious of the position of the fabric around her body, the remainder of the film is snapped off in no time at all. Sam barely notices as Allie walks back to her equipment table to remove the completed roll of film.

“Is that it? I can pose for a few more if you’d like.”

“Nope. That’s okay. I got all the shots I wanted.”

“You sure?”

“Yep. You can change back into your clothes. Just leave the flag in the bathroom. I’ll take care of it later.”

Allie hands Sam her business card before she leaves. “Here you go. Give me a call sometime next week if you want to come see the prints. I’ll let you get a look at them before I display any of them.”

Sam leaves. At the bottom of the stairs, she struggles for a moment to push the door open, but then emerges into the fresh air. The sidewalk is full of people trying to make their way home at the end of the workday. Sam hangs a left and joins them on the procession to the East Street station. It’s only a few blocks.

Straight ahead. Black leather boots. Poking out from under tailored jeans. Casual but with a slight flare of elegance. Could be a young professor from the university. Eyes moving upward – a sportcoat. Shoulders covered by the straps of a backpack. Right again. He looks her way and gives her a polite nod. Beautiful green eyes. Smiling, Sam nods back and heads down the steps to wait on the platform for the next train.