I wanted to take Terry Sue’s picture because the mirror in her bedroom was lying to her. Before we went outside, I reread the instructions that came with my Brownie Hawkeye, this time more carefully to take the truest possible snapshot.
#1 Make it interesting. Your picture should tell a story at a glance. Always stand steady, hold your breath and release the shutter with a smooth squeeze action.
I told Terry Sue to stand facing the sun and do something interesting, like wave goodbye at the front door. She was wearing a cardigan sweater and a satin bow anchored with a bobby pin to her thinning hair. The scratches on her scalp—I could hardly see them—came from the sharp metal end of the bobby pin. The rubber tip fell off when she opened it with her teeth, a habit Mother hated.
“Don’t breathe,” I said to Terry Sue. My eye focused on the viewfinder image of her, stiff as a skeleton. Her skin was greyish blue, the bones in her hands jutting out from her flesh. Standing on the porch, skinny and shivering, she looked the opposite of our family’s favourite saying: “Thin is good; thinner is better.” My older sisters, Hetty and Tilya, made up that gem, but even they would agree that our third sister had gone too far.
“Stop,” she said to me on the porch. “Your finger is covering the lens.” I moved it, trying to keep the shrunken Terry Sue centered in the frame at least until...
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