Carefully, she arranged the cameras in a random pattern on the floor of her living room-making sure to leave enough space for herself in the center. If she’d had more cameras, more time, some help perhaps-her task would have been easier.
Starting with the first camera, she set the automatic timer, and then, as quickly as she could, moved on to the next until all of the cameras were ready.
Barely having laid down, hoping she had positioned herself within the frame of every viewfinder, the first camera shutter snapped, until in rapid sequence-like a string of firecrackers-each camera completed it’s task and fell silent.
She was not right for him. He had made that perfectly clear. Was it her looks? Intellect? Sense of humor? He would not say, only leaving her to assume that she was somehow, in his eyes, flawed. She was desperate to see herself as he saw her.
It would be a few days before she had the pictures-and, she hoped, the answer.
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