7:15

assignment

head held high / kodaline

"I like them," my mom says, tilting her head and focusing on the photograph that has taken over her computer screen. "You look beautiful."

My mom keeps this pose for a while, as if it makes the picture look better. If she doesn't actually like it, there isn't any way I would be able to tell. After all, she took the photos herself and they're of her own daughter, so I can imagine she'd have a hard time saying something negative about them.

"What do you think, Daiz?" Mom asks me. She keeps her blue eyes glued to the computer screen, where her favorite photograph from the shoot is still on display. I stand behind her computer chair and cross my arms, looking at it with her.

There are certain parts of it that stand out; for instance, the background. For this particular shot, my mom had me stand in a field of bright yellow sunflowers. They completely contrast my black hair, which causes the top of my head to stick out. Also, I look pale and short (which I am both).

Bluntly said, the first two things you'd think when you see this photo would go as following:

Wow, there are a lot of sunflowers!

Wow, that girl has a lot of hair!

The photo contains a lot of contrasting elements mixed together and not enough complimentary. Or maybe I'm over-examining the photograph just because it's of me. After all, you are your worst critic.

But the more I look at it, the less it pleases my eye. So, hoping for the best, I decide to make an attempt at the head-tilting tactic and I lean my head to the right, just like my mom had.

I examine my appearance: the sundress, tall brown boots, curled hair, and makeup.

"It isn't you." My mom says everything I'm thinking. But, at the same time, how would she capture my essence in a photo?

"Well, it sure isn't me sitting at Gerrold's with an iced coffee in my favorite overalls, that's for sure," I joke. The sound of a car horn breaks through the air, signaling the arrival of Beatrice in her Jeep. At this, I shoulder my backpack and head toward the door. As I open it, my mom turns to me in her chair and smiles.

"That's a good idea," Mom says through her grin. I raise my eyebrows at her in slight shock.

A good idea?

"You mean to tell me you're going to take photos of me sipping coffee in overalls?" I ask her. Her blue eyes shine as she brushes a strand of blonde hair out of her face.

"I might."

I open our front door, shooting a quizzical look toward my mom.

"I'll see you later," Mom tells me. "Wedding shoot day, remember? I'll be home late."

I nod, stepping out the door.

"Have fun," I tell her. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Another honk sounds through the peacefulness of my home as I close the door on my mom's smiling face. I turn to face Beatrice, squinting in the morning sun as I wave. For good measure, she honks one more time as I pull the car door open.

"There is no doubt that my neighbors loathe you," I inform Beatrice. She pushes her sunglasses up her nose and shrugs as I buckle up.

"The way I see it, the sooner you get in my car, the sooner we get our coffee," she tells me. She backs out of my driveway, peering over the top of her sunglasses as she does so. "And I need my coffee."