Smile

By Gnyaneswari

" Smile " says my aunt, nudging on my shoulder. And even though I know that every time I try to smile they just end up labeling it a frown, I try. The photographer clicks the camera, ' snap '. My aunt, excited, runs to check the photo. She shoots me a disappointed look and I shrug. I can't do anything, can I? I can't say " let's try again " because this special fancy studio is a vintage inspired studio. Which means that the camera is like the Polaroid and the 90's setting around here just makes it more expensive. Not that my aunt ever cares about the cost though, but besides living amongst the richest communities of the city and being super fancy about vintages, she's also a busy- scheduled person. And so, every year when we come to the studio [ a tradition we follow on my birthdays ] we already know the rule : ' One Perfect Picture ' and that one perfect picture always includes my aunt's 32-out smile and my barely-a- smile, which they call a frown. Sometimes I wonder " why doesn't she just kick me out of the frame? ". I mean, who would want their perfect pic to be spoiled [all the time] by some stupid girl. But, of course, she doesn't because 1. How can you ask the birthday girl to get out? and 2. How can you ask an orphan to get out? I started living with my aunt after my mom died. My mom's death was like the u-turn for me, everything changed for and in me. And ever since that day, I came to be known as ' the girl who lost her smile '. All through the 15 years that I've spent with my mother, I remember her blaming my dad for leaving us like that. And now, I guess I'd blame her for leaving me like this. 

My dad, for me, was included in the least of my memories. I almost know nothing about him except that he loves roses. And as fate writes it, I'm allergic to them. I don't know if it's a natural allergy or a one which came due to lack of contact. My mom and my aunt hated roses, mostly because they both hated my dad. 

I remember, last year on my birthday a small boy tried to give me a rose and for a second I felt like ' grab the rose from his tiny hands and smell it for once and for all'. Because, I was tired of how it always reminds me of my dad, whom I never knew, and how my mom and my aunt hate him. But just as I tried to reach for it, my aunt came out of nowhere and glaring at him she said that I'm allergic to roses. The boy stared at me for a long time, like for as long as the party stayed. It was as if he was trying to read my mind. I peeked glances at him a few times and every time I found him staring at me. 

Now that I'm thinking about him while going to the party, I try to recall his face, his height, his hair. But, surprisingly, I don't remember any of it. All I remember is the color of his eyes - Dark brown which looked almost black. He was cute, though, I can say that. He reminded me of the cute little boys in the T.V shows - thoughtful, expressive and adorable. He looked just like them.

The car came to a halt. I stepped into the beautifully decorated hall. I was filled with people around me, with hugs, with presents which I handed over to my aunt who succeedingly handed them over to a man who was arranging them on the table. 

" No matter how pretty you are, your smile is the only thing which can highlight your presence " - one of my aunt's sayings. I guess, for the same reason, the sooner I was filled with people, the sooner I was left with none. Some are standing at the buffet counter, some around my aunt, some sitting around the tables and some just here and there like scattered salt. I find out that the garden is the least populated area and hence I walk up to one of the benches and sit there in silence. I breathe in the fresh air, the midnight scent.

My whole body sits straight when something pricks my finger. " ouch " I whisper and standing here, in front of me, is the cute little boy from last birthday. I stare at his dark brown - almost - black eyes. He points at my lap and I find a big, beautiful rose lying on my dress.

" What is this ? " I ask, my stare stapled on the rose. 

" A gift " he says, as if he knew that this was the only present I wished for this morning. I glance up at him to say " thank you " but he's gone. I turn to my right and catch a glimpse of him as he cuts through the corner.

I hold the rose gently between my palms. I stare at her, her bold color, her perfect petal curves and her smooth texture. I slowly bring her up to my nose and take a deep breath filled with her scent. I feel the scent filling my nostrils and traveling deep down into my lungs, my brain and finally my heart. And once and for all, even though I feel my nose twitching, I smile.

By Gnyaneswari