Shira's Tale(Wattys2017)

Chapter 1

My studio apartment is dark and luminous from the flashes of the TV. A white plastic bowel with three stripes of red, pink and blue running a race at the cut sits on my lap, the bowel containing microwave popcorn. I decided to treat myself to cure my back-to-school blues by adding Chuckles to the microwave treat.
The night is warm and has trapped heat inside my home. My fan blows over me but I still sweat. I've tied my hair up to let my skin breathe in cold air but whenever I touch the back of neck, I come to contact with my damp skin.
Madison High School opens tomorrow morning to begin another year of educating teenagers of New York. Lessons will continue, the football team will practice every second afternoon and present their talents at their games on Friday nights (which I might end up having to chaperone) , the debating team will find something to argue about, the band will try and do a rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody and Mr Sean Manson -the music teacher- will have a temper tantrum when they fail to play it right.
If I had all the money in the world, I would spend my days taking pictures and conclude it in front of my computer whilst I edited my photos into masterpieces. I spent my summer taking pictures in the city, Boston and I even took a train to New Jersey to capture memories. I sold some of my photos on the street and ended up earning a good amount of cash that made my first financially stable summer in New York an absolute delight. Yet, photography studios nor unknown photographers can make it in New York without ending up on the streets, especially if it's the only thing bringing in income. I learnt that the hard way.
After my first year out of college, I came to New York and my parents helped me find an apartment. From there , I attempted to sell my photos on the streets and to local magazines, websites and anywhere I could think of. But it's New York: they have enough photographers. By the end of year I was broke and I had to start of thinking of ways to support myself to avoid moving back home.
So I decided to go to teaching school.
I graduated after two years and was employed at Madison a month after my graduation. As my first year passed by like an airplane gliding through the sky, I came to learn what it was really like to be a teacher. I learnt that English teachers were supposed to be fun and have good sense of humor(I was told by a student that I reached the standards), kids hate poetry and they think that J.K Rowling wrote every single famous book in existence include The Hobbit. Despite the lack of knowledge of literature, my students always ended up making my day.
When I wasn't teaching English , I was the teacher in charge of yearbook. My days ended with my handbag stuffed with USBs containing photographs kids in the club had taken and the articles I had challenged others to write. I've seen talent in many of the photographers at school. They know that I have a professional status and don't fear asking me numerous questions.
"Can you please give me tips on long exposure"? Carey Field asked me.
I explored her camera and showed her the settings to change her timer and examples of where she could use long exposure.
"Ma'am, I'm struggling to take pictures of the track team whilst they run. Is there a setting I can switch to capture them properly"? Lacey King asked me.
I immediately told her to use sports action, the answer to her question was solved.
In the middle of the year, a few students asked me about my career as a photographer. I decided to display some of my favorite photos on the SMART board and tell them what they meant to me. The journalists also asked me about my history with writing. I was able to rummage through my things and found a few of the short stories I had written in high school.
Yet, there was one question that was the most difficult to answer.
"Ms Goldberg, why don't you take pictures for a living? You're so good". Adam Crack asked me.
I shrugged in despair when the question processed in my mind.
"Adam, you must know how hard it is to live in New York financially ".
"I do, ma'am". He politely replied.
"This city has too many photographers and too many people. I tried to do this full time and I almost ended up in the street".
The senior told me he was thinking of pursuing photographer as a career. I told him to get a full time job and try take photos on the weekend or his spare time. He must try and sell these photos the way I do and hope you become the next Annie Leibovitz or Robert Maplethorpe. He thanked me for the advice.
"It what I do", I added, "I still take pictures but I'm able to float and pay my rent".
I have decided to treat myself to Juno tonight. Her and Paulie are arguing about prom and Katrina something's weird stink eye. The unusual and quirky jokes are keeping me afloat. It makes me forget that the summer is over and I have to continue working. Long hours of marking and shushing new kids. I've been assigned two junior classes, one sophomore and one freshman class.
I don't hate my job, I love it. But it just feels like I should doing more.

Before bed when the movie credits are rolling, I grab a flavored beer from the fridge. I end up drinking it too fast and feel a weight lift off my chest. I turn the TV off and stroll over to closet on the on the far right corner of the studio. I begin stripping out of my workout clothes from my jog earlier and into my baggy pajamas. As I dress, I catch a glimpse of my self in the mirror of my closet. With only my underwear on, I look at myself. My bohemian brown hair is still tied up in a bun and my large breasts are staring at me like they have faces of their own. A small amount of belly fat stick out and makes me feel insecure. My stomach is one of my smallest insecurities. Hollywood would call me fat because of it. There are my legs that are trim and healthy looking from my running. My twenty-five year old body is shaped like an hourglass and makes me think of my fourteen year old self looking at it and thinking 'ugly'. My large brown eyes are doe-shaped and my olive skin is splattered with beauty marks.
I look away from the mirror and concentrate on dressing myself.
I am soon lying in my double bed with a book in my hands. I try and concentrate but feel my eyes fighting to stay open. I gently drop the book on the floor and turn off my lamp.
I am going back to school tomorrow.