Through The Lens
Authors: Shannon Dermott
This
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of
the author’s imagination or are used factiously and are not to be construed as
real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this
book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written
permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical
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for the author’s rights is appreciated. For information address Wicked Truth
Publishing.
First Edition
Copyright 2012 Shannon Dermott
All Rights reserved
This book is dedicated to my
daughters
. You know how you are.
This book would be nothing if not for
several people.
First, Danyele Johnson, it is with
your editing skills that this book exist. If not for your words of wisdom and
writing skill, this couldn’t have happened.
Then, to all my beta readers whose
advice shaped this book to what it is. I couldn’t have done it without you. Many
thanks to Heather Youse, Michele Hammel and Jennifer Smith, you guys are like
gold.
To my graphic artist who did this
cover as well as many of my other covers Amber McNemar from eThink Graphics.
And thanks to Phyllis Cox, my editor.
Contents
People say right before death, your life
flashes in front of your eyes. Well, choking and gasping for mine, I can
testify that it’s sort of true. But the likelihood of my telling was drifting
away as I could no longer get air into my lungs. Coasting into the blackness,
I looked through the haze that was my vision and wondered why, why was he doing
this.
My
life in surround sound didn’t start at the beginning. No, it isn’t my whole
life. It started just months before at a crucial moment in my life when I
brought my camera up to my face and looked through the lens for the first time.
Blowing dust off the box caused billions
of particles to shoot out catching in the air. They swirled and floated around
me seemingly to twinkle in the light that passed through the dormers of our
attic, creating a show that I couldn't help but watch for a few moments before
I got back to work.
“Dad, why did you let Mom
talk you into this?” I asked absently. Though of course, I knew the answer. My
Mom had my Dad wrapped around her finger.
Laughing, he said,
“Jessa, I promised your mother for years that I would clean this place up.”
The joke, however, was
on me, because here I was up here with him. Granted it was cool despite the summer
heat, but it was still a Saturday. And while Mom was at her bistro, no doubt
driving the staff crazy, my life held no plans. Jenna, technically my
identical twin, although we don’t look much alike, was off at cheerleading
camp. And my best friend Madison was off on a date with her new boyfriend, my
other best friend Bradley. Therefore I was relegated to chores like this with
nothing better to do.
Opening the box in
front of me, I took out what looked like giant CDs. Sliding one out of its
slip cover, I blew more dust off its black vinyl-like surface. “Dad, what are
these?” I asked with a frown on my face. All the dust had me wrinkling my nose
from a threatening sneeze. Just when he spoke, however I did, in fact, sneeze.
“Gesundheit,” my Dad
said.
“Thanks,” I said. “Now
what did you call them?” I asked because I hadn’t heard over the noise I made.
“Records, albums,
vinyls,” he said, exasperatedly.
Giggling, I thought
about how my Dad was forever explaining the difference of his world “back in
the day” and ours now. Not saying anything, I put the record back in its place
and moved to open another box. This time, I pulled out a clear plastic box
that held a cassette. The picture that showed through the top had four guys
with the words Mötley Crüe underneath it. So I knew it what it was, but I
couldn’t help again teasing my dad about it.
“Dad, what about this?”
I asked.
Lifting his head from
his perch on the side of the other dormer, he pushed a hand through what my Mom
liked to call his “Clark Kent” style hair, referring to Superman’s secret
identity. “Those are cassettes,” he said. “I’ll have you know those are
classics and can never be replaced.”
Mumbling more to myself
with raised eyebrows, I said, “Sure, sure, sure. Whatever you say, Dad.”
I was about to take a
break, the novelty of this chore wearing off when I saw the weathered brown box
sitting abandoned on a stool. This box would change my life forever. A lot of
people claim to know the moment when their life changed, but I was sure.
Because lifting the camera out of the box had introduced me to the very thing
that would influenced the actions that led me here. If only I had been aware
that
the very strap of that 35mm SLR camerawas the noose that was now killing me at
this very moment, maybe I would have put it back down. Maybe I'd dropped it
instead of cradling it preciously in my fingers.
Easily, I sank back
into the flashback and out of my predicament. “Wow,” I said a little loudly.
But I heard my father
move. He walked over to me and lovingly touched the camera. “Ah, this brings
back memories,” he said, looking like he was reliving his own slice of the
past. “This camera is how I met your mother.”
Now that was a story I
wanted to hear. My Mom was an older version of my sister. She had been head
cheerleader in high school. She was voted most popular. She was a stunning
beauty. She had been in a different world from my Dad. My geeky father was
handsome, I guess, but he hid behind his spectacles. Still his bright blue
eyes shown through. And when he smiled, little dimples appeared giving a peak
into how handsome was. But then again Dad was a CPA not some model. And even
though I found him attractive and he would forever be my hero, I knew people
thought that Mom was out of his league.
Taking off his glasses,
I saw the guy that could stop hearts. And as he wiped his eyes from all the dust
I couldn't understand why he would hide behind those things when he was lucky
enough to look like that. But he puts them on again, like a shield and said, “I
was taking pictures on campus, and there she was. She didn’t recognize me even
though we’d gone through high school together. I’d had a crush on her for
years. But behind the lens...she saw me.”
Then he was off in
dreamland, still holding the camera like it was his prize possession. I gaze
at him absently, admiringly, until I turn back to the box, giving him his
privacy, continuing to work while he reminisced. He shocked me when he spoke
suddenly. “You should try. Do you want me to show you?” he asked, while holding
the camera out to me.
And for the next hour,
at least I think it was an hour, too engrossed in the camera to be aware of the
time, Dad showed me how to use it. There were rolls of film, so we loaded the
camera with it, though he wasn’t sure if the film was any good. Still, he
thought I should give it a try. “Why don’t you go down to the mall and take
pictures. You were going to run anyway. Today is supposed to be a beautiful
day in the eighties. You really should be outside.” By mall, he meant the
National Mall which was more of a park between the Capitol and the Lincoln
Memorial. Not the place where my sister frequented like a second home. And the
distinction, didn't need to be said aloud, he knew better than anyone how
different Jenna and I were. It would be nice, and I’d been on a mission. I had
been fat… well, overweight. That was the main reason why my sis and I didn’t
look alike. She was like a size zero and, well, I wasn’t. We ate nearly the
same things, but that didn’t seem to matter, I had been the unlucky one my Mom
said I got those genes from Dad’s side of the family. Looking at him, you
wouldn’t know it. He was still rail thin like my Mom and sister. And I'd been
the only piglet in the family.
Well, that was before.
I’d made new resolutions. My Mom had started a new healthy menu at the bistro
which helped to inspire me. And this was my senior year. Things could be
different. Maybe I’d even get asked out if I wasn’t the fat girl because no
guy had ever asked me out before. And now my two traitorous best friends
decided to date each other. I think that had been the final straw to break
that pushed me to make changes in my life.
So only after a few
months, I was running at least two miles per day. I wouldn’t win any prizes on
time, but I was doing it. And I’d lost quite a bit of weight. I’d never
tipped the scales under average recommended weight for my height, but that was
okay. I was happy to be considered “average” sized, not skinny. But no one
would call me fat anymore.
