photographs. It was a lost cause. There was no photograph that she could send to Septimus. Their relationship would end for Lack of Photograph.
Cosmopolitan
had occasionally given lists of reasons for relationships' ending: lack of love, lack of rapport, lack of honesty, lack of
money,
even. But they had never mentioned Lack of Photograph.
Now she was absent from the photographs entirely. She was back on the pages before she was born.
Here was another photograph, suddenly, of her mother's face looking like hers, but older and more mature. Maybe she could—no. It was a wedding picture. She couldn't send a wedding picture to Septimus.
A few loose photographs, not glued to pages, fluttered into her lap. She picked one up and looked at it, startled.
"Wow, look at this," she said to her mother.
Her mother glanced over and smiled. "That was the day I graduated from art school," she said. "I was twenty-two."
Anastasia studied the photograph of her mother at twenty-two. It was the face, she realized, that
she
would probably have at twenty-two. No glasses. By then, Anastasia was certain, her parents would let her get contacts.
Long hair, but not messy like Anastasia's hair.
A lovely smile, and beautiful teeth.
Anastasia ran her tongue over her own teeth. Maybe I
will
floss, she thought. Any day now. Before I'm twenty-two.
"This isn't glued in," she pointed out. "Can I have it?
"May," her father said.
"
May
I have it?" Anastasia said patiently.
"Sure, " her mother replied. "Just don't draw a mustache on it."
"
Mom
," Anastasia said, "I wouldn't dream of doing an immature thing like that."
She returned the album to the bookshelf and took the single photograph to her room. Sitting at her desk again, she stared at the lovely face that
could
be her own in nine years.
She took out a fresh sheet of stationery.
But she hesitated. It would be a lie. She didn't really want a relationship based on a lie. But—
Anastasia took out the one letter she had received from Septimus Smith. He sure isn't much of a correspondent, she thought. I've written him
twice
since I got this one, and he hasn't answered yet.
But maybe he's waiting for the photograph. Maybe he'll
never
write if I don't send a photograph.
She fingered the photograph of her mother tentatively.
But I've never been a liar, she reminded herself.
Slowly she reread his computer-written letter. And suddenly she realized something. He hadn't said, "PLEASE SEND A PHOTOGBAPH OF YOURSELF."
He had simply said, "PLEASE SEND A PHOTOGRAPH."
So that's what she would do. And it wouldn't be a lie at all.
Dear Septimus,
Please consider this page 3 of the letter I have already sent in two parts. I don't want you to think I am overdoing the correspondence.
You said in your letter to please send a photograph.
Enclosed is a photograph.
Sincerely,
SWIFTY
(So: What Is Forthcoming To Yours-truly?)
8
Two weeks before Kirsten Halberg's wedding, everything began going wrong for everybody.
Kirsten announced on Tuesday that she was thinking of calling the whole marriage off because she had just discovered, when they went to get the marriage license, that her fiancé's middle name was Neptune. There was no
way,
she said furiously, that she could be married to someone whose name was
Neptune.
What were they supposed to do: name their kids after planets? Was she going to have a son named Pluto?
Anastasia agreed with her completely, though she couldn't understand why someone would get involved with someone else romantically without knowing that person's middle name. She herself planned to ask Septimus his middle name the minute their relationship began to jell.
But she was desolate, for the two days that Kirsten's fury lasted, thinking of a called-off wedding, thinking of her beautiful gown unworn.
On Thursday Kirsten grouchily announced that she would marry Jeff anyway if he promised never to
use
his middle name. And no planet babies.
On Friday Sam announced that he would not go to
Cosmopolitan
had occasionally given lists of reasons for relationships' ending: lack of love, lack of rapport, lack of honesty, lack of
money,
even. But they had never mentioned Lack of Photograph.
Now she was absent from the photographs entirely. She was back on the pages before she was born.
Here was another photograph, suddenly, of her mother's face looking like hers, but older and more mature. Maybe she could—no. It was a wedding picture. She couldn't send a wedding picture to Septimus.
A few loose photographs, not glued to pages, fluttered into her lap. She picked one up and looked at it, startled.
"Wow, look at this," she said to her mother.
Her mother glanced over and smiled. "That was the day I graduated from art school," she said. "I was twenty-two."
Anastasia studied the photograph of her mother at twenty-two. It was the face, she realized, that
she
would probably have at twenty-two. No glasses. By then, Anastasia was certain, her parents would let her get contacts.
Long hair, but not messy like Anastasia's hair.
A lovely smile, and beautiful teeth.
Anastasia ran her tongue over her own teeth. Maybe I
will
floss, she thought. Any day now. Before I'm twenty-two.
"This isn't glued in," she pointed out. "Can I have it?
"May," her father said.
"
May
I have it?" Anastasia said patiently.
"Sure, " her mother replied. "Just don't draw a mustache on it."
"
Mom
," Anastasia said, "I wouldn't dream of doing an immature thing like that."
She returned the album to the bookshelf and took the single photograph to her room. Sitting at her desk again, she stared at the lovely face that
could
be her own in nine years.
She took out a fresh sheet of stationery.
But she hesitated. It would be a lie. She didn't really want a relationship based on a lie. But—
Anastasia took out the one letter she had received from Septimus Smith. He sure isn't much of a correspondent, she thought. I've written him
twice
since I got this one, and he hasn't answered yet.
But maybe he's waiting for the photograph. Maybe he'll
never
write if I don't send a photograph.
She fingered the photograph of her mother tentatively.
But I've never been a liar, she reminded herself.
Slowly she reread his computer-written letter. And suddenly she realized something. He hadn't said, "PLEASE SEND A PHOTOGBAPH OF YOURSELF."
He had simply said, "PLEASE SEND A PHOTOGRAPH."
So that's what she would do. And it wouldn't be a lie at all.
Dear Septimus,
Please consider this page 3 of the letter I have already sent in two parts. I don't want you to think I am overdoing the correspondence.
You said in your letter to please send a photograph.
Enclosed is a photograph.
Sincerely,
SWIFTY
(So: What Is Forthcoming To Yours-truly?)
8
Two weeks before Kirsten Halberg's wedding, everything began going wrong for everybody.
Kirsten announced on Tuesday that she was thinking of calling the whole marriage off because she had just discovered, when they went to get the marriage license, that her fiancé's middle name was Neptune. There was no
way,
she said furiously, that she could be married to someone whose name was
Neptune.
What were they supposed to do: name their kids after planets? Was she going to have a son named Pluto?
Anastasia agreed with her completely, though she couldn't understand why someone would get involved with someone else romantically without knowing that person's middle name. She herself planned to ask Septimus his middle name the minute their relationship began to jell.
But she was desolate, for the two days that Kirsten's fury lasted, thinking of a called-off wedding, thinking of her beautiful gown unworn.
On Thursday Kirsten grouchily announced that she would marry Jeff anyway if he promised never to
use
his middle name. And no planet babies.
On Friday Sam announced that he would not go to
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