Teeth & Nails

The photograph is faded, now, because it sits on the counter near the fireplace where the afternoon sun casts wide rays of light. It used to be colorful; smoky grey sweaters, ox blood button down shirts, khaki trousers, and black loafers. The reds are pink, the khaki white. 

We’re huddled around each other. Dad sits at the back of the composition, smile wide and displaying his single yellowing tooth. Mom is to his side, her hair blown out and shining like fresh-picked cherries. To Dad’s other side is Mason, the oldest, with a mop of curled hair the color of a ripe tangerine. Float down from the three of them and you find me. My hair is buzzed almost-bald, and I’ve plastered the emptiest smile across my face. My younger sister, Abigail’s, eyes are wide and beckoning—a deer caught in headlights. Everyone is smiling big, staring hard at the camera. We’re holding our breath. We’re counting the seconds. We’re waiting for the flash and then dim so we can do the same. We are alight, frozen in time, but when the flash ends—what happens after the photo—our smiles drop, eyes drop, hands drop from each other’s shoulders. 

The picture was taken in our school auditorium or the cafeteria, they were the same to me. The room was emptied of tables, and we had to rush as usual, to make it to the elementary school on time. I was in second grade and thought the emptiness of the school was the most exciting thing. I couldn’t wait to tell my classmates. The sheet was white and at least ten feet tall, hanging from metal bars overhead and draping down across the stage. Boxes, benches, and stools were collected in the middle where the subjects could sit and pose. The five of us took the group shot first, then started gathering in smaller sets for more photos to be taken. 

While I was unused by the photographers, I made my way behind the thick black curtains that looped around the back half of the stage. I assume, now, that the stage must have been used for plays put on by the upperclassman—I’d seen a talent show there once—because why else would anyone need such massive amounts of drapery? 

I’m not sure where I found it, but it was lost somewhere in the half-darkness behind the curtains. A single press-on nail. Painted nude and still holding strong to the patch of adhesive on the back. Greedily, I stuck the nail on my thumb and marveled at it. I knew what it was, that women liked them because my sister had a set she’d religiously press on just to take off. I knew, also, somewhere remote, that I wasn’t supposed to be playing with them or using them. Boys didn’t wear press-on nails. I knew this, even though it wasn’t said to me. 

When I was called back for more pictures—rushed, rushed, rushed, because the photographer was very busy—I slid the nail into my pocket. I posed next to my sister again, for a shot of the three kids. Mom and Dad were off the stage, standing with arms folded across their chests. Just far enough to leave space for air to move, but whispering to each other. They were always saying things I couldn’t hear. Neither were smiling. 

I slid the nail out of my pocket, into the palm of my hand. Squeezed it while we took the photos, changed position, added and subtracted family members. While standing off to the side of the stage, watching Mom and Dad have their time in the spotlight, I sawhow their faces went up when the photographer counted down, then dropped the second the flash faded—my sister caught the nail as I was fiddling with it. 

She snatched it, because she was younger and younger sisters love to snatch things from older brothers. She held it up and I felt myself getting hot. Cheeks lighting up like the flash bulb. 

I begged for it back, told her it was a friend’s—that my friend, Ava, had lost the nail or given it to me. Maybe she’d dropped it, I told my sister. 

“I picked it up—I just found it in my pocket. I was going to give it back to her on Monday,” I said. 

Abigail didn’t seem to care much, so she gave the press-on nail back. I promptly threw it away. Because, even though I wanted it, I knew I wasn’t supposed to have it.