Photo Shop Girl

I am in love with the Photo Shop girl. Every day I buy a disposable camera at the drugstore next to my home, rip off the plastic and drive like a demon randomly winding and snapping the button as I go. The Booth opens at 6:30 and I have to be at work at 7:00, so I haven't much time. Sometimes I have a bagel in one hand, am snapping pictures of the inside of my car with the other, while driving with my left knee. 1

There she is. I can only ever see her hands and her face. Mostly her hands. They come out from underneath the glass. Sometimes they touch mine. She takes my money and makes me change. I say, "Thanks." and drive to work. Then, I spend the next ten hours looking at the most fantastic pictures! Today, there's a picture of a beautiful diamond with animal appendages. The diamond is beautiful in and of itself, but the bird head attached to its middle is sublime. At the base is hippo legs. At the top is a pig's head that looks slightly like my reflection in the window of my car. 2

I get lost in the pictures for hours. Another one is of a house with many large holes in it. Inside the house is a fire, like a campfire. There are Indians sitting around the fire. They are the epitome of dignity. I wonder which street I was on when I took that picture? The next picture is of a woman drawing and writing in a book. The picture is from behind, so I cannot see who it is, but I know who it is. Those hands. I remember those hands. They make change for me. How I got a picture of this and then she beat me to the booth to wait for me is a miracle!3

There is a picture of a beautiful red-tailed hawk, another of two eagles, and three of a lion. I am always so hurried to get to the photo booth that I do not remember where I took these pictures. They seem so real in my mind that I must have seen them. How I managed to focus the camera with a bagel in my hand and a coffee in my lap while steering with my knee, is beyond understanding.4

Tomorrow, I am taking a different route to the Photo Shop Booth so I can get a completely different set of pictures. One thing I am certain of, I will take more pictures and those hands will continue to give me change. 5

Today, I decided to buy the 36 exposure disposable camera. I want her to be impressed with the quality of some of my pictures. I'm going to drive the back way. Get lots of different pictures than usual. 6

I started getting ready at 5:00 this morning. I put on my best shirt and pants. I preened with my hair for about half an hour. I went online and learned about photography, well, as much as I could learn in ten minutes. I left home early and went to Dunkin' Donuts and bought myself a Boston Creme donut and an extra large coffee. I was going to have the morning of my life. I was, unfortunately, detained for ten minutes at the pharmacy as they could not get the computer online to process my credit card. I needed to get cash so I could get her to make me change. That is how I get to make hand contact.7

Once I had my camera in hand, along with the cash, I sped off down the side streets snapping photo's with my left hand, alternately drinking coffee and eating my donut with my right, and driving with my left knee. There was only ten minutes to get the pictures taken, get change, and make it to work on time. I stepped on the gas. Up ahead a jerk pulled out in front of me. I slammed on my brakes. Unfortunately, there was an obviously gay hitch-hiker standing right next to where I stopped. He jumpped in.8

"Hi. My name ith Mary." He extended a limp wrist to shake. Then he noticed that I had a coffee in one hand, a donut in my mouth, and a camera pointed out the window in my other hand. "I'm going to the hairdrether behind the Photo Both." I nodded and pulled out into traffic.9

I snapped pictures and wound my camera like a madman. As I approached the booth, I realized I had one picture left and I could stick my hand out the window and take a picture of my girl as I approached the booth. Then, tomorrow, I will know what she looks like from the neck down. It was a brilliant plan. l Stuffed the donut in my mouth and put the coffee in my lap so I would be able to roll down the window with one hand and snap the pic with another. Just then Mary saw someone he knew and screamed! I hit the brake a little too hard. My face hit the steering wheel and mashed the donut on my face. Chocolate was all over my nose and cheeks, cream filling was hanging off my chin in several places. The coffee cover came off and coffee spilled all over my lap, soaking my best pants. Mary got out of the car and yelled to me, "Thankth for everything love! Leth do it again real thoon."10

I turned to see if she had seen me yet. As I did the flash went off and the last picture was taken. Unfortunately, the camera was aimed at me. I handed it to her, along with the twenty-dollar bill. I smiled as best I could. She smiled back. She handed me my change, yesterdays prints, and two paper towels. Maybe she did care about me. Maybe it wasn't a total loss. I could still be her gay friend or something. I can't wait to get to work to see what yesterday's pictures look like.11

OK, so I get to work and look at the pictures. They are beautiful! Seascapes, landscapes, portraits, sporting event shots, photos of beautiful women. I was shocked. These weren't the pictures I took, were they? Did I drive by a beach or a football game? You'd think I would remember that. What was going on?12

I looked through the pictures to find one I was sure that I did take. I was unable to locate a single one. Now I was wondering what happened. Did she give me the wrong envelope? I set them down to think. I set them down with their backs exposed and realized there was writing on them. I looked at the writing. They were notes to me!!13

"I thought you would like this one. It is from my grandparent's house on the ocean." "Here is one of my dog." "My brother is playing fullback." "This one is you."14

I turned it over. I had to look closely. It was me! I was sitting and reading on a picnic table at the park. I remember that day. It was so nice I had to get out and enjoy the weather. That was last month. Is she following me? Why would she give me these pictures? I can't wait until tomorrow morning!15

Today, I just put on my favorite shirt. I didn't bother to preen over my hair. Let it be wild. Today I am going to be myself and see what happens. I think I will park my car next to the Photo Shop Booth and stand on my car taking several pictures through the glass. 16

How is it that one comes to love a stranger? My mind keeps focusing on the hands and the voice. Something about the voice. It is like there is another complete language in the subtle expressions. Simple things like, "You want double prints?" are transformed into words of love by such a voice. "Have a nice day." is transformed into, "I love you." But, by what mechanism?17

I was wondering this as I went to sleep last night. Then I had the strangest dream. I was holding a hand with mine. The hand was open and I was massaging the palm with my thumb. It was a right hand. I recognized the hand immediately as one of the hands that makes me change. I followed the hand and it was attached to those eyes. The eyes that light up the room. It is difficult to explain, but it seems the function of these eyes is to have stuff come out of them, more than to let light in. I pulled my focus back and saw a face with a torso. She appeared to be kneeling. Her other hand was open and tentatively moving towards and away from me. It was as if she was trying to determine if she dared to touch me with that hand. I could not hear her, but I could read her lips. Over and over they were saying, "Don't love me." I became confused. I couldn't understand how such a beautiful being could not want to be loved. All I could feel was how unfair the universe must be to allow this. Then her other hand, her left hand, touched my arm. Immediately her expression changed. It softened. Her lips moved and said, "I can do it. I can love with this hand, too." The eyes glowed like they had batteries hooked to them. 18

When I woke up, there was no doubt in my mind that something was different. The spot on my arm where she touched it in the dream is like a tatoo. There is nothing to see there, but I assure you there is a mark. Normally, such a dream would be cause for great concern. After all, she told me not to love her. But, I've never been good at following directions blindly, so I'l just have to wait and see what happens. There must be some secret that will be revealed to me. I can't believe this could all be random circumstance.19

Sitting at my desk looking at my prints, specifically of the one of my Photo Booth girl drawing on her sketch pad. In this photo she is back to, and you can only see her hair, her hands and the picture. My co-worker and friend Steve comes over and looks. He asks who it is.20

"It's the photo Booth girl." I replied. "I think I love her."21

"Dude!" he exclaimed, "She's married you numnuts. Look at the wedding band on the finger."22

I must have seen her hands in person dozens of times. I had looked at the picture dozens more. Somehow that information passed me by. Even when Steve said it, it seemed somehow irrelevant. It was not that kind of love. My feelings were not changed one bit.23

"You're whacked if you think you're going to tap that!" he chuckled. "And look at that crazy picture she's drawing. She's whacko."24

Suddenly, the world seemed like a vulgar and shallow place. The way the Photo Booth girl speaks to me is neither shallow nor vulgar. There is purity of intent and meaning in everything she says.25

"I love her more like a sister." I said, trying to be as convincing as possible.26

"Al, I've got a sister and you don't. That's not sister love you're feeling for the whacko chick."27

There was no doubt about it. There was a paralell world where people like Steve lived. I did not belong in that world. I belonged in the world of beauty and purpose. I did not belong in the vulgar shallow world. 28

Steve took the pictures from me and looked at them one by one. He made faces as if he was a doctor studying x-rays of a spine. 29

"These aren't really that good." he said as he threw them down on my desk. "You can do better than her."30

"You obviously do not understand at all."31

"OK, explain it to me."32

"I can't." I felt defeated. Not because my point was not strong, but because words failed me. I was unable to convey what needed to be conveyed for him to understand love beyond the vulgar. In my heart I knew what was true.33

That night, on my way home from work, I pulled into the strip mall parking lot and parked by the Photo Booth. It was unoccupied, but I stared at it just the same. It was a vacant stare. Until something caught my eye. It was an envelope sitting on the door sill. I got out of my car and walked over to it. It had writing on the outside. 34

"Mike: If you want to see more come to 33 Bongohell Ave at 5:30."35

I could not help myself. I opened the envelope. I almost lost my balance. All of the pictures were of the Photo Booth girl in various states. Some were smiling on a couch. Some were in a bikini at the beach. One was even in a bathtub. I staggered back and leaned upon my car. This couldn't be. She was not allowed to be like this. Married was OK, but married and...well...THIS, was not acceptable. A car pulled up. I casually as possible slipped the pictures into my pocket. A very handsome young man with a military tatoo got out of the car and walked around the booth as if he was looking for something. He looked at me. Several times he appeared about to speak to me. Then he got into his car and drove off. 36

I thought for a moment. Then I took the photos and placed them back into the envolope. Then I placed the envelope on the door sill. A car pulled up beside me, so I took a few steps back. It was the photo Booth girl. She got out of her car. I was stunned. She was much more beautiful in person than the pictures. It was strange and inexpilicable. I figured she came for the pictures. Instead, she walked right over to me and gave me a big hug. 37

"I put the pictures back on the sill." I stammered.38

"I know."39

"That guy didn't see them. I had them in my pocket."40

"I know. I watched the whole thing from over by the salon. I had tried to get here before him. You were already here looking at the pictures. So I waited to see what would happen. I can't believe you put them back."41

"I'm sorry I looked at them."42

"I'm sorry that I left them. I should not have. I came back for them, but I'm not sorry that you saw them."43

This was strange. Why wouldn't I put them back. They were not mine. Why would I keep them. She hadn't given them to me. Then, just as if she had read my mind she reached out her hand with the envelope and offered it to me. I about fainted. What do I do? I would love to have those pictures. They are pictures of a beautiful woman given to me by a beautiful woman. Then, I don't want them. I don't want to think of her in that way. I know another side of her. That is all I want to know. 44

She began to rub her face provocatively with her free hand. The other hand was holding the pictures out to me. I looked at her face. It was simply radiating. There was never a more beautiful sight in all the world. All I could do was watch. I had no will to do anything. I am certain my mouth was open and my eyes were bugging out. After a few moments she spoke.45

"But, that would be inappropriate." She put the pictures in her purse. She looked at me and smiled. It was a sad smile. One of remorse. I reached down and grabbed her hand, just as I had done in my dream. 46

"It's OK." was all I could bring myself to say. Though, what I wanted to say was that it would break my heart to think of her any way that was not perfect. I could never accept the pictures. I looked into her eyes. I wanted her to be the beautiful and real person I knew. She took her other hand and acted like she was going to touch me. Several times she almost did. Then she seemed to get her courage up. She put her hand on my arm. It felt like a hot iron. I know it left a mark, though I haven't seen it yet. Then she gave a real smile, one that was without any pain. I let go of her hand and she went to her car and drove away. 47

I stood there, frozen in time, feeling the utmost love for everyone and everything. I seriously wondered what was wrong with me, and how to make sure it stayed wrong.48

I didn't even bother to buy a disposable camera this morning. I just drove to the Photo Booth and parked my car nearby. I figured I would walk up and knock on the door. So I did. There was no answer. I knocked again. There was still no answer. I walked around to look through the glass. There was a heavy-set older gentleman with a cigar working the booth. 49

"Excuse me. Where's the girl who usually works here?" I asked him.50

"She called in sick! Young people. You can't trust them anymore. I worked ten years before I ever called in sick, and then my dad was furious with me."51

I got in my car and drove home. I called work and told them I was sick. Then I paced my bedroom for hours nefore I finally got the nerve to go. I drove to 33 Bongohell Avenue and rang the doorbell. I waited 45 seconds and rang it again. I heard something stirring inside. The Photo Booth girl appeared in the glass of the window. She did not show any reaction at all to seeing me. She simply opened the door and said, "Come in." as if she had expected me.52

I stepped inside. It was an interesting house. Many rooms all woven into a hallway running from front to back. She walked down the hallway. I assumed I was to follow. She was wearing a housecoat and very fuzzy bunny slippers. Her hair was down and loose. She went into the kitchen and sat at the kitchen table. She grabbed the only other chair at the table and moved it over so that it was directly next to where she was sitting. In front of her sat a bottle of White Zinfandel and three bottles of pills. I tried to read the pills. She smiled, "No, I'm not trying to kill myself." I realized I should try to be a bit more inconspicuous with my concerns. I looked at her and she was smiling at me like I was a cute two-year-old.53

"I don't trust that guy to develop my film." I tried to sound sincere.54

"Then give it to me." she reached out her hand.55

"I don't have any film today." I stuttered.56

"Then why are you here?" She smiled like the cat that ate the canary.57

"I was worried about you. He said you were sick."58

"And why were you at the Photo Booth if you didn't have any film?"59

"To pick up yesterday's prints." I was so glad I thought of that!60

"I have those right here." She reached over onto the sideboard and picked up a bag. She reached inside and pulled out an envolope. She handed it to me. I opened it up. It was pictures of a family. She was in them. It must be her family. 61

"Are these your children?" I asked.62

"Yes."63

"They are beautiful. And this is your husband?" I stammered a bit on "husband".64

"Yes."65

"He seems nice."66

"So, why are you really here? Do you think the slut is going to give you some?"67

"Oh, is there someone else here?" I looked around to see.68

"No. This slut."69

"Oh." I got very sad. "I didn't know you were a slut."70

"If you don't think I'm a slut, then why are you here and what do you want?"71

I was trapped. I had no idea what to say. I wanted to get up and run out without another word. I felt the skin on my scalp crawl. Then I heard someone speaking. At first, I wondered if someone else had come in. Then I realized it was me that was speaking.72

"You are not a slut. I know who you are and you do not. I came to tell you who you are before you make a huge mistake and become someone else."73

"Ha ha ha ha ha. You are going to tell me who I am?"74

"Yes." I said it with such conviction that I do not know who I am anymore. How I'm going to tell her who she is remains a mystery to me.75

"OK, then. Who am I?"76

Now I was panicked. What do I say next? I promised her an answer. I did what I always do in such a circumstance, I opened my mouth to see what came out. "You are the one who loves everyone, for real. You love the rich and poor, big and small, old and young, you just love everyone and make them feel real."77

"Do I really do that?"78

"Yes. You are a real person. Someone who is kind and attentive to the needs of everyone. You are a perfect soul."79

"I don't feel perfect."80

"That's just your humility. All you angels have that."81

"What did you just say?"82

There was no denying it. I thought she was an angel.83

"The most beautiful painting in the world just looks like paint under a microscope. To understand what the artist saw, we must see the painting from their perspective. To understand who you are, one only needs to take God's perspective." I had no idea where this was coming from.84

"What, exactly, is God's perspective?"85

"You are perfect. There is not one thing you can do, aspire to do, or imagine that would make his work more perfect than it already is. To believe you can is conceit."86

"Isn't conceit wrong? How can someone conceited be perfect?"87

"God doesn't mind if you want to be conceited. It is simply a waste of time for you, because it focuses you on the wrong things. It is the microscope that causes you to miss the artist's picture because you are too busy looking at the paint."88

"You mean, like not being able to see the forest because there are too many trees in the way?" She laughed a gentle laugh. I felt the laugh more than heard it.89

"Exactly. What looks like an imperfection under a microscope may very well be a technique by the artist to create an important visual effect in the painting. If you have no idea what the painting is, then you could not possibly know if the way the paint looks under your microscope is intended or is a mistake. However, if you have faith that God knows how to paint and pull your microscope back, you will see for yourself what a great artist can do."90

"Why would God pick me to give this message to?"91

"Who says this isn't all about me? You might just be the catalyst. Either way it is unimportant. We cannot know the mind of God in that way any more than we can know the artist's mind from viewing his works. We can, however, see the work of the spirit in the painting." 92

Who is this guy and what is he saying? It feels like I am posessed. These words are not mine, yet, I believe every one of them. Where are they coming from? Is the message for her? Is is for me? Is it for everyone? 93

"OK. Say I believe you. How do I go about seeing the painting as God intended?" She was very serious now.94

"You need only have faith in his works to see them. Eliminate your own judgments and experience God's judgments. It is a very simple technique. Every time you have the opportunity to choose between fear and love, choose love. Every time you have the opportunity to choose between lust and love, choose love. Every time you have the opportunity to choose between any feeling and love, choose love. That is how God sees things."95

She got up from her chair, sat in my lap, and put her head on my shoulder. Now I was dumbfounded. What do I do? Remembering the words, I chose love and wrapped my arms around her. I was not hugging a crying woman, I was hugging part of God. She was not crying on my shoulder, she was crying on God's shoulder. She must have realized this, for she began to laugh.96

"I can't figure out which one of us is more crazy. I thought it was me, but I'm not so sure anymore. But, you are right. It doesn't matter. Crazy may just be the brushstroke God is using at the moment." She stood up and bent over, kissing my cheek. She whispered in my ear, "Thank you. I love you."97

"I love you, too." I knew I had been dismissed and let myself out. As I left the house I looked around. Whatever my eyes fell upon received blessings from some unseen source. As I looked from one house to the next, I could feel the blessings washing over the houses and all the creatures who lived in them, whether they were home or not. The whole world was being washed in blessings in front of my eyes. The day was only half over. I decided to go to work after all.98

"Hey, Bub. Where were you this morning?" Steve began as soon as he saw me. 99

"I went to see her."100

"You spent an entire morning at the Photo Booth?"101

"No. At her house."102

"Hey! Alright! Way to go! Still there from the night before?"103

At that moment I realized that Steve was not vulgar and shallow. He just simply did not understand, so it was my job to help him understand. I turned to face him.104

"She was not at work, I was concerned, I went to her house, she invited me in, she sat im my lap and cried, she said she loved me, I left. No penetration was suggested, offerred, or conducted. Sometimes the spirit has higher goals for a relationship."105

"Wow. You must REALLY love her. That's great." He looked truly amazed.106

"Well, Steve, I actually love everybody." I patted him on the shoulder and walked to my desk. Immediately, Michelle brought me a cup of coffee. This may have seemed unremarkable enough, had it not been the first time she had ever brought anything to anyone. After she gave me the coffee, she just stood there smiling at me. After half a minute she giggled and said hello. Then Adrienne came over and started small talk with me. I am not good at small talk, so I let her do it for both of us. Michelle sat on my desk and listened to her intently, like there was going to be a quiz. Over the course of three or four minutes a handful of other women congregated around my desk. all swapping small talk. Then one of them asked me where I had been all morning. Immediately, like a switch was thrown, the talking all stopped. Everyone was staring and waiting.107

"I guess that I went to visit someone."108

"Steve says you have a thing for the girl working the Photo Booth." said one woman.109

"Oh, what is her name?" said Adrienne.110

"I don't know." It had never occurred to me that I didn't know her name. It seeme very unimportant in the larger scheme of things. 111

"Then who did you visit this morning?" said Adrienne.112

"Yes, I visited the girl from the Photo BOoth, but I do not know her name. I never asked and she never told me."113

"You spent the entire morning at the Photo Booth?" asked Michelle.114

"No. She called in sick so I went to her house."115

"How did you know where she lived if you didn't know her name?"116

All I could do was laugh. It would be too difficult to explain so I lied. "Her boss told me where she lived." Then the phone on my desk rang. I was never so happy to hear that sound!117

"Hello?"118

"Hello, Al. This is Anne."119

"Anne?"120

"Ha ha. You were at my house this morning, but, I guess you don't know my name."121

"Oh, sorry, Anne."122

"You left your sunglasses on my kitchen table. I will stop over there and bring them to you."123

"How did you know where I work?"124

"Are you serious? You have only filled out several envelopes with your name, address, and daytime phone and handed them to me every day for a month. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what the number belongs to."125

"Oh."126

"I'll be by in a few." She hung up.127

I looked around and everyone was hanging on my every word. "Her name is Anne. She's bringing my sunglasses here in a minute."128

"We get to meet your girlfriend?" exclaimed Adrienne.129

"No. She is married. It is not like that."130

"Oh. You mean Anne from the Photo Booth? Word is that she is a bit Crazy." chimed Marion.131

"We should all be so crazy." I replied. Everyone seemed to have something to do right about then.132

About half-an-hour later, she arrived carrying a large loaded pizza from Esposito's and my sunglasses. She set them on my desk. She was quite a sight. She had her dirty blonde hair down provocatively, she was made-up perfectly, she was wearing a short black form-fitting dress and some knock-me-down-and-do-me shoes. All of the men in the office were drooling and the women were cringing. She reached over and grabbed my hand very theatrically. She put my hand between her two hands. Then she spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear.133

"Thank you for your support. It really means a lot to me and my family." She bent over, showed amazing cleavage, and kissed my cheek. Then she stood up again. "Would you come to my house for dinner tonight?"134

"Sure." I said mindlessly, as heads were popping up and craning all over the office.135

"The sooner the better. We'll start happy-hour whenever you get there, k?"136

"OK. I'll see you then." I stammered.137


I sat in front of my computer for half an hour staring at a blank screen. I was writing myself a note. So far, it said:138

Am I in love?...139

Then I drew a blank. I did not want to know the answer for fear it would be more than my poor heart could handle. All I knew was that what I felt was good. No one could convince me otherwise. I decided to continue no matter what.140

Yes. I am in love. Unapologetically so. A love that is total, complete, and eternal.141

Now I was really scared. I was not supposed to be in love. Especially not with a married woman with kids. But, since I was, I decided to bring it all out into the open and look at just how wrong it was. Then I would understand what I should do. I tried to imagine being sexual with her. I could not. I could imagine her in my lap with her head on my shoulder. I could not imagine anything more. That was not like me. I have a vivid imagination. I can imagine anything!142

True love is whatever it needs to be. 143

My fingers typed this, but I didn't understand it. I considered what this might mean. What would this mean in this circumstance? Obviously, she had no shortage of potential lovers. Why then me? She could have any man, any of the cute, handsome, rich, wonderful men. Yet, there was no doubt that I felt something from her. There was no mistaking that she loved me as well. Why? I had done nothing out of the ordinary........ Wait! Hold the bus! I had done something out of the ordinary. I had looked past the beauty and sexuality and seen her true self. But I did not do this on purpose. I deserve no credit. I had no choice but to do this. It is my nature to refuse to be manipulated. 144

Love of the heart is not love of the mind. Love of the mind alters with circumstance as the mind reconsiders. Complete and total Love of the heart is not of man. 145

OK. If it is not of man, then who is it of?...Then it hit me. I did not love her. God loved her. He was only using me to convey that message. I did not deserve the honor. It was bestowed upon me because God wants me to know that he loves me as well. We are not connecting so much with one another as we are connecting with God. 146

Now I was scared. I had never considered myself religious in the least. I was an extreme skeptic. I didn't believe anything. Now, here I was with the utmost love for God. I thanked him again and again for the blessing of knowing his love. I promised to carry the message in it's true form, knowing that I was not capable of doing so. If I was to do that it would be God's hand that made it happen. I would have to surrender to God's will. 147

The love I have is not mine to give. I saw the shadows. I saw the need. I gave my feeble love. It quickly ran out. Then it was miraculously replenished with interest. I gave all of my new love away and again it was replenished more bountifully than I could ever imagine.148

I showered her with the love I was being given. Then I realized. It was my love to give. God was loving me and all I was doing was sharing the experience with her. God was loving me because I was loving her in the same way. I in no way had energy to keep that love up for any period of time. God was recharging my batteries so I could do his work. I understood. I would be faithful to this calling. I would put myself to the side and let God run the show. This thought filled me with a joy I have never experienced. 149

Then it hit me. There was no reason for me to direct this limitless love to one person only. There was enough to share. I tried to think of people who I wanted to share this love with. Everyone I thought of seemed like a perfect candidate. After a few minutes I realized that everyone was a perfect candidate. I finished my writing.150

Yes, I am in love. Irreversably, totally, completely, eternally, unapologetically floating in limitless love.
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