Page 114 of Better Than Gelato
As a visual, it’s not bad. A nice contrast. I’d like to show a transition from one to the other. I pull out the giant Italian flag from my suitcase and lay it between the two outfits. Then I fold the edges down in front so it forms an arrow, from the American outfit to the Italian one.
After it’s all laid out, I start photographing. It takes a while. The first few have one of Maggie’s socks in the corner. But I tweak and adjust and finally get there.
Two days later when I walk into my photography class, I’m greeted by glossy eight-by-tens hanging from each wall.
“I was delighted to see the creativity we have in this group,” Professor Melvin says. “Since we’re going to be working together for the next few months, I thought we’d better get to know each other. I find the best way to get to know someone is to understand the way they see themselves.”
We go around, one by one, and talk about our photos. There are twenty of us, so it takes some time, but it’s interesting. There’s a superb photo of a guitar. One of a dog. Someone photographed their friends.
When it’s my turn to explain my photo, I’m not sure what to say.
“Well,” I start, and then stop. “I was trying to capture a transformation. I spent the last year in Italy. The people I met there and the experiences I had shaped me into who I am at this moment.”
Professor Melvin nods, and we move on to the next person. After we’ve gone through everyone, we settle in for the lecture. It’s so good I’m still scribbling notes when class ends, and I’m the last one to collect my photo.
“I really enjoyed your take on this assignment,” Professor Melvin says. I jump a little. I didn’t notice he'd come up behind me.
“Thank you.”
“So many people choose to focus on one aspect of who they are, and you chose to capture the recent circumstances that shaped you into who you are.”
“I wasn’t sure I explained that very well,” I say.
“Yes, well that’s why we have photography, isn’t it? So we can express those things we don’t have words for.”
When I leave the classroom, I look at the back of my photo. One hundred percent with a little handwritten note that says, “Looking forward to getting to know you and your work.” I walk to my apartment grinning like an idiot.
Before I know it, I’m deep in the routine of things. Classes in the morning, studying in the afternoon, and serving the students of UC San Diego delicious smoothies in the evening. I make up nicknames for some of the regulars that come in every day and order the same thing. Caribbean Passion Polo, cause he’s on the water polo team, Watermelon Breeze Brunette, because she has shiny brown hair like a Disney princess, and Orange Dreamy Dream, an attractive preppy type.
Jake and I talk in the morning before my first class, and in the afternoon after his last class. Sometimes we talk for an hour, other times we barely squeeze in two minutes.
Considering how I bawled my eyes out all the way home from Italy, I feel surprisingly good in my life here. I’d forgotten how gorgeous the campus is. How fun it is living with roommates. How great it feels to work hard on an assignment and get an A. Even though I’m in the same apartment with the same job and roommates, it doesn’t feel like I’ve fallen back into my old life. I feel like a new person, creating a new life for myself.
And the fact that I’m taking photography classes instead of business classes makes me feel like the luckiest girl alive. Professor Melvin has stolen my brain. It’s like when someone steals your heart, but intellectual instead of romantic. I give my roomies summaries of every lecture. I can feel myself driving everyone crazy, like the time my Aunt Marla went vegan and worked it into every conversation, but I can’t stop myself.
Last week, it occurred to me that the new nanny must have arrived at the Rossi house. I sent a welcome text to my old phone number and ordered the nextHarry Potterbook in Italian for them to read.
I’m excited for her and the year she has in front of her, and I’m also excited to be right where I am.
* * *
“And then I cut right through the chest cavity. It took longer than you’d think, even with the surgical saw. And then we pried up the breast bone and took out the heart. It was slippery. Lucas almost dropped it.”
I put my PB&J back into its Ziploc bag and adjust my phone against my ear.
“Wow, that’s really interesting.”
I listen to Jake as I walk the hilly path home from campus. I’m exhausted. I worked a double shift at Jamba Juice yesterday because someone called in sick, then just as I was going to bed I remembered an English assignment that was due. It took me until nearly midnight to finish it. And then I woke up at 6 a.m. to talk to Jake.
“The surgical resident is super cool,” Jake says. “He says he thinks I would be a good fit for surgery.”
“That reminds me of my photography lecture today,” I say as I push the door to my apartment open with my shoulder and throw my backpack on the couch. Maggie is eating cereal at the table and gives me a wave.
“It was about fitting your subject into the right frame.” I’m about to launch into a description of the lecture, when I hear a thumping sound on Jake’s end.
“I want to hear all about it,” Jake says. “But can I call you back later? I told Gilbert I’d help him prep for clinicals tomorrow.”
“Of course. No problem. I’ll talk to you later.”
