His interest in photography had come from his mother. She had taken tons of candid and posed shots of him as a child, always showing him what kind of lens she was using or telling him what the different kinds of film did. On his twelfth birthday, she had shown him the process of developing film. From then on, it was his life and it became his only remaining link to his mother when she had died from undetected ovarian cancer. It had been a year since that happened and photography was the only thing he had been able to immerse himself in.
Her last words before she released her final breath were "Tell Jordann that he is close; close to taking the perfect picture -- the perfect thousand words." Since he had heard those words, the perfect picture was the holy grail he was searching for, but thus far, could not find.
Tomorrow would be his seventeenth birthday and the day that this assignment would be due. Ms. Jaworski had given her Honors Photography IV class a choice between two final assignments. They could either work on their splicing skills by creating a negative collage with a dozen photographs of their choice or they could work on their shooting skills by taking a black and white picture that "spoke" to her. As Jordan was already considered the school's darkroom master, so much that he'd taught Jaworski a few things about the developing process, he opted to continue his quest and shoot.
That was what brought him to the roof of his school with his camera, filled with black and white film, trying to find a good shot of the sunrise, the one thing that always seemed more beautiful in color. He had one that might satisfy him enough for the assignment, but none that would fulfill his craving for a picture that could speak the words he needed to say; especially the most important one that he never admitted: goodbye.
Adjusting the zoom on the lens for a moment, Jordan contemplated his brothers' lives as compared to his own. While he had picked up photography from his mother, his brothers had chosen to try music which was their father's passion. He had tried it for a little while in an attempt to fit in more with his brothers as he didn't feel as though he could make friends with anyone at school. However, he soon decided that it wasn't for him and declared himself official band photographer. When his brothers chose to go by their middle names, he thought about it, but decided against it as his mother had loved his name and told him that no matter what he did, whether good or bad, she'd always call him Jordann as it had suited him. She loved him. Because of this, he held on to everything that reminded him of her.
Jordan was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear the first bell ring. Just after that moment, he was pulled from his thoughts by a splatter of water on his viewfinder. He looked up from the camera and saw clouds rolling in and rain droplets aimed for him. Immediately, he raised his camera to his eye and began snapping picture after picture, losing himself to the whir of the shutter click and the chill of the rain. This time, he missed the tardy bell.
When the rain stopped, he finally looked at his watch, noticed the time, took a final picture and raced to the ground and into the building, as his film rewound, after hastily packing up his equipment. When he reached the guidance office to get his pass, he smiled at the receptionist and explained his situation. "Lucille, you know how easy it is for me to get caught up with my camera. I need a late pass and I need it without a detention slip. What can I do for you?"
Jordan smiled. "As chief photographer, I will consider it. Hmm... considered and accepted. You'll have it by tomorrow."
Lucille, the one person outside of his family that he felt a familial bond with, chuckled a bit, then typed his information into the computer and printed out his pass. "Now, you, run on. That teacher of yours is going to have a hissy fit like he always does. You watch out for him. He doesn't have a bit of good to say about anyone. Now get to class before I chase after you."
Sensing the smile in her voice, he blew her an exaggerated kiss and headed off to face his first period teacher. He took his time getting to class and arrived just as his teacher was calling role for the last time. He opened the door and heard, "...in Anderson."
Bounding up to Mr. Dudley, more commonly known as "The Dud" even to other teachers, at the podium, he handed him the pass that Lucille had given him, then plunked down at his desk. Mr. Dudley responded quite amiably for him. "Well, well. Late again, I see, Hanson. I'm glad you bothered to get a note this time. And, even more surprising, it's excused. How did this happen, Mr. Hanson?"
Jordan, surprised, mumbled a quick, "Uh, I don't know," while shrugging off his responsibility for the situation.
The dubious teacher glared at the tardy slip, then at Jordan, but no other notice of his tension became apparent. "Well, students, I hope you all learned your passage of Olde English for Canterbury Tales. It's 'recital' day. Haha, eh?"
Groaning, Jordan sank deeper into his seat and floated through the day only on his happiness that he would be in the darkroom later that day. It didn't open until school was over, but as the final bell rang he was already there opening the door and flicking on the red light to indicate that he was inside. The darkroom had not been available to him during class that day because he had shrugged off book work under the guise that he was sick, so he had slept. However, after school, he was invigorated by a yearning for the smell of developer to envelope him in a cloud of revealing vapors.
Two hours after entering the darkroom, he was finally able to look at all of his pictures. While he was confident that they were all good work, there were only two pictures in the bunch that "spoke" to him. One was a posed shot of his brothers that he would give to them to help promote their band "The Hanson Brothers" that never did seem to get off the ground. They would be grateful, but it wouldn't bring them any closer to him. At the moment, they were too consumed with the promise of eternal fame to bother with him as he was considered an outcast anywhere beyond where he was known as a master. Wiping this thought from his mind, he turned to the other picture and felt himself being pulled in. It was the final picture he'd taken of the sunrise through the rain-streaked lens just as the final droplets descended from the sky toward his stationary post on the rooftop. The clouds had started to clear and a perfect grayscale rainbow weaved it's way through the fading charcoal sky at the bottom of the picture.
As Jordan stood gazing at this piece of paper, he felt a tear begin to glide down his cheek. He wiped it away harshly, but realized why it came. This was not only the shot he would turn in the next day, but it was the shot he had been searching for-- the release he needed.
The next day, he was in all of his classes early; hoping that by doing so, time would go by a little faster in order to bring him to his turn to present in photography class. He was intensely nervous about this presentation because he had no clue as to what to say. But his big fear would be that he was wrong about his picture and that it was not as great as he felt it-- knew it-- to be. Honors Photography IV began without an explosion or a special bulletin, but with a calm Ms. Jaworski stating simply, "All right, class. It's grading day. I'm going to point to some names in my grade book. When I pick your name and call it, you come up and present. Hmm... the first person is... Alexander Shuford. Come on, Alex. Let's see it."
He jumped from his reverie as Ms. Jaworski continued. "Presentation?"
Jordan sighed. "Oh, yeah."
Pulling his prized photograph from his portfolio, he gulped. Carefully clutching it to his chest, he walked the short distance to the easel at the front of the room and set up his picture then began speaking. "The presentation isn't needed if the picture can tell the whole story."
With a deep breath, he returned to his seat and waited. The reverberations of gasps of awe and yelps of jealousy off of the photo-covered walls filtered through his mind and left only a sediment of unwanted noise. But, his teacher's words broke through. "You know, Jordan, that I always have some words of criticism for a picture, even for yours, right?"
He nodded. "Right."
"Well, for once, it's different. You've taken what I consider to be the perfect picture. It has that balance, that flow... But most importantly, it speaks a thousand words that no one has ever been able to say. Strangely enough, it says 'Goodbye.' Your grade is a one hundred."
His eyes locked with hers and she smiled. For a moment, he believed his mother had been resurrected for this single moment of resolution. He couldn't even be sure that Ms. Jaworski had said what he had heard. But he was happy now, his search was over. He would continue to take pictures and he would eventually begin to make a living at it. But for the moment, he had other plans. Jordan Hanson raised his hand and asked, "Can I go visit my mother?"
Half an hour later, he found himself walking toward the grave he had been unable to make himself visit before. Stopping at a headstone without any flowers that bore his mother's name, he opened up the envelope that was grasped loosely in his hands and pulled out his picture. He kissed it silently and slid it back into the envelope. Placing it against the headstone, he spoke. "I'm sorry I never visited before. I couldn't find what to say and I couldn't bear the silence. This," he indicated the envelope which held the picture, "is everything I needed to say to you. Goodbye, Mom. Goodbye."
He wiped his eyes and walked away.
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