The Photographer, Mary Carter [the best novels to read .TXT] 📗

images of his small white teeth with separate images of his mouth. My Content-Aware Move Tool was useful in shifting the shape of the mouth and turning the corners up into a cheerful grin. Then I pulled the corners of his eyes and cheeks up to make crinkly laughing eyes and a variety of heartwarming smiles. I wanted at least one picture of Jasper and his father embracing, but unfortunately, I hadn’t witnessed a lot of affection. So I used Puppet Warp to move their limbs into the correct position. One shot with both of Jasper’s arms around his father’s neck. Another one with Jasper leaning his head on his father’s shoulder. And finally one with me and Jasper, my hand on his face.

Later on, just for my enjoyment, I’d layered my own image onto a photo of Robert, and adjusted my head so it appeared that I was sitting next to him and leaning my head onto his shoulder. The photo of me and Jasper unwrapping the present had posed an even greater challenge, but it actually came out quite well. I’d successfully fabricated an expression of hopeful anticipation on his face.

Before closing the folders from the night before, I set to work on one more version of Jasper—placing him at the beach in California. I felt the need to give his life more dimension. I printed an 8 x 10 of Jasper surfing, and hung the photo in my living room alcove. It was exquisite. It’s amazing what you can do with visualization. All you need to do is create memories. Memories are images that we play in our minds. If I purposefully played certain images in my mind, they would become memories. In fact, if I played them often enough, they might become stronger and more vivid than “real” memories.

I only edit photos when absolutely necessary. People remember events selectively. It’s a matter of self-preservation, and I don’t see anything wrong with it. Who’s to say that the memory I create is any less “true” than the original one?

Finished with Jasper’s folder, I uploaded the photos from Natalie’s party. As I scrolled through them, I could feel the tension in my shoulders dissipate. The photos of the Straubs provided me with terrific comfort. I clicked through several of Natalie and her friends and several of Natalie alone. Then I landed on one of Fritz, leaning against the library wall, laughing, his intense green eyes looking straight into the camera. It was his kindness and intelligence that made him handsome. I’d sensed those qualities in him the instant we met. I felt a tug of longing in my gut—some combination of emptiness and desire.

I pulled up some shots of myself that I’d used for my website and superimposed my body, in profile, next to an image of Fritz in profile. I moved his face close to mine, so it looked as though we were confiding in each other, in a close conversation that others couldn’t hear. And then, practically feeling his breath on my face, I closed the gap between the two mouths. His warm lips pressed against mine. Then his fingers were in my hair. A frisson of surprised delight surged through my body.

My first attempt wasn’t perfect. Fritz’s lips and mine were puckered in an awkward and artificial way. In my second attempt, I altered the shape of Fritz’s mouth in profile and the muscles around it. I brought his arm up so that his hand was caressing my face. It was an arresting photograph. I hadn’t kissed a handsome man for a few months, but the photo was almost as good as the real thing. It lifted me up. Previously, I hadn’t taken my photos in quite so personal a direction. Perhaps some ill-defined scruples had held me back. Or perhaps Fritz elicited a feeling in me I wasn’t able to ignore.

I imagined Amelia’s reaction if she were to see this picture. She would roll her eyes in an amused manner. I would laugh and say, “So ridiculous, right?”

Returning to the folder of Natalie’s birthday, I clicked through the photos until I landed on one of Amelia embracing the mother of one of Natalie’s friends. It was clear from the nature of the embrace that the women were peers and that their relationship was one of mutual respect. I replaced that woman with a photo of myself. The woman’s stance was a challenging one to replicate, because I didn’t have a photo of myself from the same angle. After several failed attempts, I combined my face with the other woman’s body. The final product was barely satisfactory.

I scrolled through more pictures until I reached the end of the party, when everyone was singing “Happy Birthday” to Natalie. Amelia was kneeling by her daughter, looking up at her with pride. I replaced that image of Amelia with one of myself. Now it was me looking up at Natalie as she blew out the candles on her cake.

Finally I landed on the one I’d been thinking about all night. Amelia and Fritz were sharing a piece of birthday cake. Amelia was holding out her fork so Fritz could have a bite, and he was leaning toward her with his mouth around the fork. I replaced Fritz’s image with my own. I was eating cake off Amelia’s fork, chocolate frosting around the outside of my mouth. We were laughing at a private joke. We were intimates. I contemplated the picture, and optimism bubbled up in me.

It was fascinating to me that an image of a relationship accomplished much of what I was looking for, so that the relationship itself wasn’t altogether necessary. The efficiency of this pleased me.

I printed the picture of Fritz kissing me, and the one of Amelia feeding me cake. I placed each 8 x 10 in one of my large supply of clear acrylic frames and hung them side by side in the alcove next to the photo of Jasper and me.

It was already