IN A PHOTO TODAY,
Several men and women cluster around a pale, skinny woman. She smiles, exhausted but earnest, and wears a canary or pastel yellow, a simple dress with exquisite frills at the shoulders; on one of these shoulders rests the large, bronze hand of a clean-cut man in a navy blue dress shirt; his silver wrist watch and smile gleam; another woman with cat-like eyes darkened with mascara shoots a sidelong glance at the man in the navy dress shirt and wrist watch as she, absently, digs her French-tipped nails into the arms around her waist, belonging to that of her boyfriend (at the time); he smiles stupidly, good-naturedly, with his hair in disarray and teeth playfully crooked; several others, inextricably present, cloud the woman in her little canary-colored dress, and all look into the camera with smiling faces of different size, shape, and hue, most vacant and distracted, and the centerpiece cowers in their shadow with vaguely plain eyes— she, the great link of all gathered here with their cocktails;
No one knows her name, or that
It is her thirty-second birthday.
J.D. Roa is a diminutive, thick-eyebrowed creative writing major living in the pipelines of
Visit J.D. Roa’s online journal—all about writing—at http://b-sauce-ninja.livejournal.com