Brooks C. Mendell, author of Family Picture, writes and works in forestry near Athens, Georgia. His stories have appeared in venues such as Spank the Carp, DSF and The RavensPerch.
Mystery Tribune has previously published Tour De Forest and Short Books for My Cellmate from Mr. Mendell.
Uncle Chip got the job of taking our family pictures because he owned a photo studio and a pawn shop with a shelf full of cameras. Each year, he came to the house with different photographic equipment to try, and days later he’d return with a packet of pictures for Mother to review. Mother would organize Uncle Chip’s pictures on the dining room table and examine each one in detail with a hickory-handled magnifying glass.
“What does she look for?” I asked Father.
“She looks for the cover of Vogue.”
Mother studied every photo, dropping rejects into a wastebin. With a snort, she looked at Father and pointed to the picture in front of her. Father walked over and turned the photo his way. The shot captured him winking at the camera.
“Just having a bit of fun with your brother,” he said. “Kind of him, you know, to take these pictures for us.”
Mother studied every photo, dropping rejects into a wastebin. With a snort, she looked at Father and pointed to the picture in front of her.
Mother slammed the magnifying glass on Father’s hand. “Have fun on your own time,” she said as he lurched from the room, holding his hand.
“Forget Vogue,” said Father in the kitchen, wrapping his pinky finger in ice. “Your Mother needs a mug shot.”
*****
For college, Mother expected me to follow the family line to Ole Miss. I wanted out of state and far from home to Texas or east to Georgia.
“You too special for Mississippi, Princess?” said Mother. “Well, you can do what you want, but our family’s money gets spent in state.”
During my senior year in high school, I earned a half scholarship to Elon University in North Carolina. My family just needed to cover room and board, which cost less than sending me to Ole Miss. Father stepped up and mailed in the deposit. Mother dumped his wardrobe on the front lawn the next day.
One week before classes, Mother made nice and drove me and my luggage in her Cadillac SUV to Elon. At the Visitor Center, she pulled up, watched me unload and drove away.
“I’m sorry, Honey,” said the lady behind the registration desk. “Someone called three days ago and cancelled the deposit. You don’t have a spot here anymore.”
*****
Meanness doesn’t happen overnight. When I bussed back from North Carolina, Mother called me “selfish.” I got defensive before striking back and, new to the game, overcompensated.
After I pushed Mother down the stairs, Father came over and swore he did it. The Sheriff, who attended the same schoolhouse as Mother, made a few inquiries and called it an accident.
A life spent betraying and abusing others leaves a trail of bankrupt relationships.
Weeks later, Uncle Chip invited me to his photo studio behind the pawn shop. We stood in front of a wall covered with pictures. “My favorite projects,” said Chip. “Mostly casual shots.”
My eyes untangled the overlapping pictures and memories. The laughing children, family trips and silly poses made me smile.
Chip handed me an oversized envelope. “Your father picked the shots.”
The envelope contained a framed print with four pictures. I recognized three. The upper left included our family in front of the fireplace, with Father winking at the camera.
“Your father used to pull pictures from the garbage and file them,” said Chip.
The picture in the upper right showed me in cap-and-gown receiving my college scholarship at our high school graduation. The lower left had me covered in flour trying to bake muffins in the kitchen. A black-and-white photo in the lower right framed a young family outdoors, the pregnant mother holding tight to a small girl in high grass while the father, wearing a uniform, glanced off camera to his right.
“That’s the closest we got to a family picture before Daddy shipped out,” said Chip. “I’m in the belly.”
“The girl is Mother,” I said. Chip nodded.
“Things weren’t always easy in our house,” said Uncle Chip.
I looked back to the wall of photos. “Why keep photos of these other families?”
“If you forget about kindness and compassion, you lose yourself. These pictures, a lot of them, tell stories,” said Chip. “They let the light in.”
*****
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