Page 129 of Better Than Gelato
“Strawberry Surfrider is my favorite,” I say.
“Okay, I’ll give it a try.”
I make him his smoothie, and he pays for it.
“Enjoy,” I tell him.
“Thanks,” he tells me.
I get my photo series back next class, and I’m pleased to see the red A on the back. Professor Melvin also wrote, “Nice job capturing the different textures of your subjects. I appreciated this fresh take on an old theme.”
I’m glowing with pride and can’t wait to show Maggie. She’s eating sunflower seeds and conjugating Latin verbs when I get home.
“I have something for you,” I say.
“Perfect, I’m starving.” I’ve been bringing home leftover Jamba Juices after my shifts, and the roommates have grown accustomed.
“It’s not for eating, it’s for looking at.”
I spread the three pictures out on our beat-up coffee table.
I spent hours working on them before I turned them in, but I try to look at them with fresh eyes.
On the left is my photograph of the bleeding heart flower. It’s a vibrant pink and looks young and fresh and delicate. Next to it is the dark heart-shaped rock. I magnified it so the crack through the middle is clearly visible. The third photo, on the far right, is my giant puffy cloud heart. It looks weightless and somehow content.
I only had forty words for the caption, and I tried to make each one count.
“Hearts start out young and fresh like a spring flower. Sometimes they get broken and feel as hard as stone. But time and love can transform heavy hearts into hearts as light and full as summer clouds.”
“Do you like it?” I ask.
“I love it,” Maggie says.
“It’s for you. I couldn’t have made it through the last month without you,” I say. “Thank you for being there for me and for healing my broken stone heart.”
“That’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard,” she says, wiping tears from her cheeks.
“I know. Very cheesy. But true.”
She gives me a hug and wipes her nose on my shoulder. “I’m glad your stone heart is a happy cloud now.”
“It’s not quite a cloud heart. That was an exaggeration for artistic effect, but it’s getting better.”
* * *
What I wanted was a perfect beach photo capturing the feel of waves and sun and sand. The kind that makes everyone who doesn’t live in Southern California feel stupid for not living in Southern California.
What I have instead is a thundery sky filled with dark purple clouds and an ocean churning like somebody’s pissed it off and is about to pay.
I’ve spent all week trying to capture something amazing for our midterm photography exhibition next week. And so far, I’ve come up with nothing. I don’t know what you call the photography equivalent of writer’s block, but I have it. I decide to head home before I get soaked or struck by lightning.
I take a shortcut around the boardwalk, and I end up by some fancy shops and a gelateria. It’s been months since I’ve had gelato. I stop and look at all the flavors, then get a small dish of Nutella and raspberry. I take a seat at the wrought iron table out front. The first bite brings back a dozen memories. The second bite brings back Marco’s words. As I think about what they mean, there’s a shift in the clouds and a few rays of sun break through.
I take my camera out of its case.
* * *
All the roommates come to the photography exhibition. I told them it’s not that big of a deal, but they come anyway.
