1st 5 Pages March Workshop - Schafer Rev 2

Name: Jennifer Schafer
Genre: Young Adult Contemporary
Title: BITS & PIECES

My favorite family photo was snapped by a night nurse. She nearly cut off my dad’s head in her off-kilter focus. No matter. The absolute adoration on his face for the tufty-haired bundle in his arms transcends the two dimensional. I’ve felt nothing less in the seventeen years since, despite the woman who bore me and disappeared without the first glance.

Her absence made honorary membership in my best friend’s two-parent, five-child family quite natural. Hence, my presence as designated photographer at the Donohue family reunion, and the reason Zoe and I sit side by side this afternoon on her screened porch with my Canon EOS DSLR camera connected to her laptop.

“You’re a real pro, Bits,” Zoe says as she scrolls through the images. “I love this one of my grandparents.” She grins. “I can hear their laughter.”

“Thanks. I’ll pick a dozen or so for my AP portfolio. Your family won’t mind, will they?”

“Are you kidding? They love you.” She pauses and clicks. Several images overlap on the screen of a tall, lanky teen on a grass volleyball court. “And I’d say you have a thing for my cousin.” Her raised eyebrow dares me to contradict her.

“If you notice,” I reach for the touch pad, and she blocks me. “I took pictures of everyone at that game.”

“Um, hmm.” She continues to preview the photos.

A low rumble up the street diverts our attention. A large moving truck pulls in front of Zoe’s house and backs into the driveway across the street.

“Uh, oh.” Zoe reaches for my hand. “Let’s go inside.”

My dad lost his job five months ago. Twelve weeks of dead end interviews sapped his confidence, and he put our home up for sale. Today, the new family moves in.

“Bits, come on.” Zoe moves the laptop to the chair next to her. “Don’t be morbid.” She stands and tugs on my arm.

On my feet, I shake her off and move toward the half wall of the porch. My fingers itch for my camera. A crew of movers unload the new neighbor’s furniture. I frame the scene in my mind’s eye.

“I could totally use this for Photo.” I say more to myself than my friend.

I’m not a stalker. Really. I always ask permission before I take pictures of strangers. When I explain about my Advanced Placement Photo project on families, people are usually happy to help. Especially when I produce an Elizabeth Callahan, photographer business card and offer them access to the JPEGs.

Zoe disconnects my camera, snaps her laptop closed, and moves next to me. She holds her hands to frame the scene across the street, one eye squinted closed. “If you say so. All I see are a bunch of sweaty guys in baggy pants who need to shave.”

The small army of professionals empty the super-sized truck in about half an hour. A man and a woman arrive and work together with practiced communication to back a smaller moving truck into the drive. Each imagined photo I take captures the undercurrent of excitement in their conversation. They tease, they get it done.

“They remind me of your parents,” I say.

The man jumps out of the truck and gives his wife a feet-off-the-ground hug.

“Yeah.” Her reply comes warm and smiley. “They kind of do.”

The dad swats the mom on the butt in passing. She laughs and pays him in kind. My heart makes a sudden and very violent U-turn. So stupid that something nonexistent, like the four molars I never grew, can hit a nerve. My mother’s absence sucks at my soul like a piece of space dust into a black hole. Right now I want nothing more than my own mom to partner with my dad. I bet I’d still live across the street.

“Earth to bits.” Zoe hangs my camera around my neck. “Are you going over there or what?”

A late model SUV parks in the street and a young teen girl appears from the passenger seat.

“Hands to self, children.” The girl comments with the inflection of an eye roll.

The driver of the SUV lifts the rear gate and calls to the girl. “Hey Brooke, come help me with these clothes.”

“Oh. My. God.” Zoe nearly chokes on her surprise. “Is that Chase Dobson?”

No way can I go over there now.

Chase Dobson, can’t catch me star running back. Straight no chaser, party every weekend. All about the chase, no girlfriend just an entourage wherever he and his teammates congregate.

“Where’s the Cro-Magnon Clan?” Zoe scans up and down the street. “You’d think they’d jump at the chance to show off their brute strength.”

“Football practice maybe?”

Zoe’s gaze sticks to Chase’s solid six foot frame as he loads clothing on hangers into his sister’s arms. Brooke waddles under her load into my—her house.

“What a weird thing to do, move your senior year. It can’t have been far. They’ve lived near the golf course as long as I can remember.”

“Weird to move your senior year eight blocks with your dad to a tiny apartment, too.”

“Not when your dad spends three solid months on the wrong end of every interview.” Zoe throws an arm over my shoulder. The scent of her strawberry lip gloss tickles my nose. “I just wondered what caused Mr. All-American’s change in scenery.”

“Not that you mind.” I give her a sly smile. “The view.”

She squeezes me close, the natural rose on her cheek spreads. “Hard not to appreciate a fine form, my friend. You’ve got to go over there. Now.”

She releases me toward the stairs, but I resist.

“I don’t know.” Chase Dobson? It’s one thing to follow him on the football field with my camera for the school newspaper, another entirely to invade his family, regardless of the photographic possibilities.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Zoe moves around to get in my face. Her voice gains volume, so much so I’m afraid she’ll blow our cover. “This is a perfect opportunity.” She flings one arm toward the boy voted least likely to notice my existence. “Look how human he acts without the rest of the team around.”

Chase gathers a closet full of clothes to his chest, but not before a large, black coat slips to the ground.

“Hey, Mom.” He calls. “I dropped my coat. Can you grab it?” He leans his head to indicate the coat. “My hands are full.”

Mrs. Dobson appears out of the back of the moving van parked in the driveway and walks toward the SUV. “Sure, honey.”

“Thanks.” Chase strides after his sister.

His mom bends to pick up the letter jacket laying partially open on the ground. Crouched halfway, she hesitates, then lifts the coat as if it might bite her. She braces herself against the vehicle with the other hand and slowly collapses onto the bumper. The coat swings around, with the back toward me and Zoe. A sob escapes Mrs. Dobson’s throat. In unison, Zoe and I catch our breaths.

Stitched in two-inch high, all caps across the back of the wool and leather jacket is the name MITCHELL.

“Oh, my God,” Zoe whispers from behind her hand. “I forgot.”

“Me too.”

Across the street, Mr. Dobson trots toward his wife and folds her into his embrace.

Zoe hugs herself as she turns away.