My eyes abruptly opened to the noise of a family in chaos.
My head, absent of thought, lazily rolled to the right. I release a sigh as I dread the day at hand. Picture day. Sluggishly, I swing my lanky legs over the edge of the mattress and get the energy to force myself onto my feet. To put it blatantly, I'm a mess. My hair tied into a messy not, now resting against the back of my neck, and as for my clothing. A simple white tank top completed with grey sweatpants. My eyes, drift over and land on a white dress sitting in the corner of my room, and below it, white shoes to match. Light invades my room through little parts in the curtains. I step carefully, as my bedroom looks as if my closet spewed my clothes and it all landed in several heaps throughout the small space, and make my way to the window. I part the drapes and let the light take over the dark. Kids playing, birds chirping, neighbors sharing a laugh. I turn my back to the scene that is beyond the window, and carefully select an acoustic song to make myself 'ready' to. With hands of precision I start painting on a face, not at all because I want to, rather to prevent conflict among my mother and myself. She believes a woman with a face absent of makeup is nothing but a little girl. I slip into the dress, which if I'm honest, is gorgeous, my mom takes extreme caution into making sure all family pictures are perfect in any way that you look at them. She is such a perfectionist, but I appreciate that about her.
Hair done, fully clothed, and makeup completed, I walk into a kitchen filled with children bouncing off of the walls, and a parent with stress incredibly evident in her face. She looks up to see me and her face softens as her eyes become much more relaxed.
"Oh Indie," she said incredibly quiet. Her feet shuffled across the hard-wood floor and embraced me warmly. It took me a long minute, but I accepted, and returned her hug. "You clean up so well," she whispered with a smile into my ear. My arms became jelly as our once wonderful interaction became spoiled. I became numb, as she let go of me, and she went back to rounding up my rambunctious siblings. A half of an hour later there we were sitting in the mini-van, all 9 of us, my mother, my seven siblings, and I. I plugged into my music, where I lost myself. The rhythm was my boat and I drifted through the various melodies and instruments of each individual song. I envied the music in my head, I envied their capability to be so different, in such a beautiful way. I, however, could only ever hope and pray that I'd be able to work up the nerve to go against the current that is everyone else. I closed my eyes and completely became completely indulged into the music. Feeling their emotions, and never missing a beat.
"Indigo, dear," my mother started, placing her hand just above my knee. She knows very well that I try to drown out real life through my music. I glanced at her and in turn she gave a small grin. I tentatively removed an earbud out of one of my ears,
"Yes?" I awaited a lecture, because these are the symptoms of the beginning of one of my mothers infamous rants about me, her eyes returned to the road.
"You know, I've been thinking," She had a lot of concern in her voice and it was incredibly noticeable. "And," she hesitated. "You're not happy," I was taken aback.
"What?" she got irritated quickly.
"Don't act like I haven't noticed." a small part of me lit up at the fact that she actually paid attention to my emotions.
"I don't know," I shrugged it off just hoping she wouldn't get into a debate with me about how I feel and what I'm allowed to feel.
"All I ask," she paused and looked at me. "Is that you smile for the picture today," She smiled at me. I couldn't believe what she had just said to me. The fact that she cared more about a photograph, than she did about me really left a stinging sensation. Slowly, I replaced the absent spot in my ear, where an earbud gladly found its home. My mother was so fake, my house is so fake, the whole neighborhood is fake. Just a community of people trying to coexist by being the exact same. The lack of diversity honestly killed me from the inside. That's when we pulled into the parking lot, and my mother released the children and of course they scattered like marbles being dropped onto a floor. I go directly into the studio, and sit on the end of a sofa awaiting my family to raid the small building. Right as my mother walks in the small blonde says smoothly from the desk.
"Are the Ray's present?" My mother makes her way to the front desk and signs us in, then we walk into a room with walls composed of different colors and backdrops with elegant, beautiful designs and textures all to make families such as mine to be artificially gorgeous. The photographer asks and places us in front a rustic, vintage looking brick wall. I ran my fingers and felt the bumps, again each brick differing from the others. I sat where the woman directed me to sit and I awaited to be immortalized in a photograph. It took a while for the nice lady to get all my siblings in their spots. I pitied her because her efforts were futile. When all was in place, she got behind her camera. She looked up and smiled at the torn family in front of her. 1 mother, and eight children, I wondered what she was thinking. However, my thoughts were cut short when I heard her gladly announce "Ready? Smile in 3-2-,"
But I didn't listen.
I wasn't happy, so why was I smiling?
If this photograph was taken, I'd be just like my mother, just like my neighbor, my sisters, and my brothers.
So as she counted down and she finally reached one, I realized I didn't want to be fake. I wanted to be me. Quickly and swiftly, she took the picture.
But on my face did not lay a smile, but instead, it displayed a warrior-like gaze that seemed never ending, there I was immortalized in the most unpleasant way, however
I was immortalized as myself.
