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At least I have my flying. It’s the one thing that keeps me sane, the first love of my life. No woman can compare. Not even some leggy blonde who smells like baby powder and haskaleidoscope eyes.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Chapter Two: Ivy
Snapping another picture, doing my best to grin and keep things lighthearted and happy, I encourage the newly engaged couple to gaze into each other’s eyes. Inwardly, I roll mine. I can’t help it.
Click. Click. Click
I’d much rather be taking pictures of high school seniors or people’s beloved pets, but engagement and wedding photos are my bread and butter, so I need to suck it up.Grin and bear it, Ivy, because you need to be able to pay rent next month.Things have been tight since Kennedy moved out, but I manage to make ends meet somehow. Sometimes just barely. But, with the astronomical rent prices and increasing crime rate, living in Manhattan isn’t for the faint of heart. I used to enjoy the challenges of city living, but the appeal has worn off.
Lately I’ve been wondering more and more why I’m even here. Why am I staying in a place that emotionally and physically sucks me dry? It wasn’t always like this but, lately, I’m coming to the realization that I’d be much happier living elsewhere.
“Yes, that’s perfect,” I say with a big smile. “Now, Micah, put your hand on her arm and, Lori, lean back a little bit more.”Click.
I sneak a glance at my watch and, thank God, we’re almost done. There’s no doubt in my mind I already got all the shots I need, including some really amazing artistic ones. We’re in an industrial part of Queens, not far from La Guardia, and I’m using all the cool elements here to create a beautiful portfolio. There’s something really special about the century-old brick and clapboard buildings in the neighborhood. And the lighting is magical if you’re here at exactly the right time like we are now. I also love the little park nearby and got some really nice shots there first.
Ten minutes later, I wrap it up with a couple of final poses then lower my camera. “You guys did great,” I tell them.
“Are you sure?” Lori asks.
“Trust me, I got some really amazing shots.”
“When will we get to see the pictures?” Micah asks, sliding his arm around Lori.
“Probably next week. I’ll sort through them all and then email them over to you.”
“Can I get a card to give to my friend?” Lori asks. “She just got engaged and is going to need pictures done, too.”
Of course, she did,I think, doing my best not to be bitter. “Sure.” I lean over and pluck a business card from my small tote bag. “Here you go. And thanks. If you have any questions, just give me a call or shoot me an email.”
“Great. Thank you so much, Ivy. I can’t wait to see the one of my engagement ring with the sun glinting off it.”
Her words make my ring finger feel extra bare, but I push it aside, trying to ignore the sting of loneliness and sense of longing for something I don’t think I’ll ever find. I force a smile. “I think you’ll love it.”
After saying goodbye, I watch the happy couple walk over to their car, hand in hand. They laugh and exchange a quick kiss before getting inside and driving away. I’m truly glad I could capture this day and their emotions for them.
I hate how it makes me feel sad, though.
I’m not sure when exactly photographing happy couples in love began depressing me. I guess one heartbreak too many will do that to a girl. Make her jaded and fill her head with doubts. Memories of growing up in a broken home with divorced parents who hated each other doesn’t help, either. To this day, my mom and dad can’t even be in the same room together without getting into an argument.Good times.
It always struck me as ironic that they named me Ivy. My name means devotion, fidelity and loyalty—something neither of them possessed in the five years they were married. I bet they never even bothered to look up the name’s meaning. Hell, I’m surprised they even found a name they agreed on.
Reaching into my tote bag, I fish out my phone and check the time. It’s getting late, but I’m in no hurry to rush back to my empty apartment. So, instead, I slip my phone into my back pocket, sling my bag over a shoulder and decide to go for a walk. I’m going to try to get a few more shots in as the sun begins setting. It really is fantastic lighting right now and I can’t bear to let it slip away without grabbing a few more pictures. Even if no one but me ever sees them.
Without any particular destination in mind, I lift my camera, look through the lens and zoom in on a bird sitting on a tree branch above me. The little cutie twitters happily and the reddish-gold glint of the sunset makes its wings almost appear to be outlined in a shimmer.Click.
Maybe she’s looking for the perfect love nest or going to build one because she’s about to lay eggs and have babies. Shaking my head, I continue on, realizing that the bird probably has a better romantic life than I do.
I used to believe in love, back when I was a naive college student who thought she wanted to be a lawyer like her dad. It didn’t take me long to figure out I hated law, and I also wasn’t very good at it. After a bad breakup, and on the verge of dropping out of college, I took a photography class on a whim and never looked back. I found my calling, changed my major and eventually set up shop as an event photographer.
Although I won’t be breaking the bank any time soon, having a job I love is priceless. I don’t dread waking up in the morning and I actually really like Mondays now. My goal isn’t to be the next Ansel Adams, but I go to sleep every night happily knowing I’m doing what I’m good at and that I’m helping people preserve the most important moments of their lives. And that feels pretty damn good.
I wish I could say my love life also turned around, but I’ve pretty much given up on men and finding my happily ever after with one. After being let down too many times in the forever quest, I switched gears and tried the light, flirty and fun route. But I quickly discovered that I’m definitely a relationship kind of girl. I want a boyfriend, a deep connection and, ultimately, a future with a man who loves me as much as I love him.
Sadly, it seems like nothing more than a pipe dream at this point.
The only serious relationship I have is with my vibrator. Men, I’ve discovered, aren’t nearly as dependable.
