Beyond the Black and White

An aspiring photographer must deal with always being second-best, even in her own home. Her quest for approval takes her on a journey of self identity.

“What’s beyond the black and white, Lexy? Do you ever wonder?”

 

My little brother asked me that once, about one of my photographs. I had taken it at a wedding, and if I do say so myself, it was a great shot.  It captured the moment perfectly. The young couple did not stand in a formal pose, but rather held hands intimately, smiling at the beauty of the day and of each other. I had originally thought to put the shot in grayscale because I thought it would look classy and upscale, but I also liked the level of simplicity it leant to the piece. John just couldn’t leave well enough alone. Not that that was unusual.

 

He was what all of our family friends called a prodigy, a gifted son. I called him a precocious annoyance. I knew many smart people, people much smarter than him, but none as pedantic in the least. 

 

“What’s there to wonder? I took the picture in the first place; I was there. What are you even talking about?” I was instantly sorry I’d asked. John wiped his nose on his cuff, looking at my photograph in his deep, piercing kind of way. I hated when he did this, for I had the unreasonable belief that his intensity might uncover some flaw in my art that would unravel me. I never could stand watching someone else look at my work, especially John, which was ridiculous. It was pathetic that the scrutiny of an eleven year old could make my hands sweat nervously, like his opinion really mattered. I waited for him to answer my question, to explain the meaning of his overcomplicated thought process.

 

“I mean, when you look at a black and white picture, you know that in real life there would be colours, so you sort of fill them in inside your head, right?” I knew he spoke simplistically for my benefit, as if I couldn’t keep up with him if he didn’t speak as if I was either very young or mentally handicapped. “So when I see people in photographs, I know there’s more to them than just how they are in the picture. If you try to colour it in, there’s so much more that the picture doesn’t tell you. So,” he repeated the original question. “What’s beyond the black and white?”

 

I looked at him blankly. “There’s no hidden meaning or anything, John. It was a wedding. They were happy. This is a picture of two people being happy at their wedding. You can over-think just about anything, John, but it won’t get you anywhere.” I snapped the album shut, annoyed once again at my kid brother for something that wasn’t his fault. That was how his brain worked, always taking obscure detours and finding philosophical meaning in things as mundane and clichéd as a couple’s wedding photograph.

 

I threw my album under my arm and walked out of the living room, leaving John sitting on the couch with his face drawn and arms crossed. When I looked at him again, his small hands were clutching his knees and he was leaning forward, examining something on the carpet. His mind was already onto its next great thought, and I was already gone.

 

I headed for my car, wanting to get away but not knowing where I was headed. It wasn’t like I was abandoning him, I told myself. Our parents were home, somewhere in the house, leaving their little genius to his obscure musings.

 

Putting my keys in the ignition, I considered what John had said.

 

Pushing down the gas pedal, I tried to push it out of my mind.

 

Wheeling onto our street, his words tumbled around inside me.

 

Looking back in the rearview mirror, I gave in. 

 

I could see him in the reflection. He was looking out the bay window in our kitchen, staring after my car with his infinitely wondering eyes. I tried to consider what he was seeing as I peeled away. What if I were to take a picture from his eyes? Would I just see a nondescript car driving down a nondescript road, or would I see beyond the black and white? Would I see a sister running away from her superior little brother?   Would I see a photographer who couldn’t face the judgment of a little boy, leaving her anger behind her? Or would I see Lexy, a teenaged girl spinning her wheels, just trying to figure things out as she went along? 

 

“What’s beyond the black and white, John?” I whispered. “You tell me?”

Author's Note

Be hard on me!

Reviews

[legendary writer]

amazing just simply amazing. so much detail i felt like i was there i wish i could write like you. i only created this account to look at other peoples pieces of writing and see what they write about but this is like nothing i have ever seen. simply amazing