Lilly’s Folly

The birds cannot hide.

     Their feathers are remarkably individual, and solely available to each species. Their beaks tell more than their distinctive cries, some of which can be heard especially by the blind. Their nests and burrows remain long after their departure. No matter how they might try, birds cannot erase their own existence. Not even when they pick apart eachother’s nests.

     I ease my finger off the camera’s trigger and wait. A falcon tilts her head slightly. One second. Two seconds. Ten seconds. I wait until she resumes her normal activity. Even the click of a small button could alert the creature some hundreds of feet away. Birds of prey are talented in that way, masters of awareness. 

     Photo contests are rigorous, academic, and held in high regard when hosted by universities. Ornithology professors from a program as renowned as Cambridge are banding together to publish a textbook unlike any other, and even if it takes days longer, I will shoot a series that they’d be delighted to include. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime. 

     Wind howls overhead and I take the chance to wind up my aperture to increase the f-stop. Allowing more light through the lens will offer a greater degree of detail to the far off falcon’s nest that I’ve set my sights on. Composing the perfect balance of negative space and colorful intricacy creates this never ending battle in photography. Nature photography most notably, where the environment changes with daytime and weather.

     My mother’s recommendations play in the back of my thoughts. Tilt your elbow to the right. Chin up. Follow the shadows. Keep hidden. Stay still. I could go on. She’d pop a blood vessel if she was alongside me now. 

     She taught me everything I know.

    I’ve been posed behind a barren mix of vines and shrubbery since dawn, before the falcon returned to her nest. I don’t check the watch stowed away in my pockets for fear of cracking or crinkling the crisp forest floor beneath me, but it can’t be earlier than six o’clock at this point. My mother would’ve urged me to move hours ago, but I can’t shake the feeling that this is exactly where I need to be.

     A white, fluffy head pops above the chips of bark that have been obscuring my shot on and off all day. I grin wildly. Just a peek through the viewfinder reveals what I’ve been waiting on all along. A clear view of the arctic species’ young, often hidden from academia for fear of poaching or glamorization. 

     Six successive snaps mark my victory.

     Click. Click. Snap. 

     Snap. Click. 

     Snap. 

     Each brief noise actually marks the development of more than ten photographs. The mother falcon stuffs one claw into the barrier lip of her nest and peers down at my hiding spot. 

     Snap. Click. Click.

     An excited gasp precedes tingles of joy up my cheeks and my head gets a little rush. I would have to pull the digital logs up later for a better look, but if my first glance was correct, then I was now in possession of another remarkable shot. The beautifully dilated pupil of a predator flashes on my camera’s small screen before disappearing.

     The whole hike back to my car blurs into the ride home. I drive carefully with one hand on the passenger seat, trapping my camera case between my palm, the cushion, and a seatbelt. Soft country music lays flat like a blanket in the cabin, muffling the mental chatter that could drive any woman insane. 

      Impatience. I suffer through the nagging urge to pull over and click through every file by biting my cheek and nodding to the guitar’s flickering chords.

     Two days later I sink into a woody chair to the side of a buzzy conference room and suck my teeth. Air screams through the tiny gap in my smile, which braces I never bothered with would’ve fixed long ago, and the pseudo whistle gathers everyone’s attention. “Good morning!”

     “Hey there, missy.” One of my older coworkers croons, patting down the back of her fried bob. The sentiment carries down the table and ends with my manager, Lilly. “Good morning, Hen.”

      Lilly is three years younger than me, fresh out of highschool, but she has such a mellow personality that we all decide to overlook her lack of experience. She has an enlightened perspective, or at least a lighter load to bear than most of us at the office. Running local journalism is simple, usually underwhelming work in a town like this, but she takes so much pride in her position that the glow shines on all of us too.

     Around the time that she would’ve been graduating, I was kicked out of my parents house. They were convinced I’d never spread my wings unless I was tossed from the nest. My age and unavoidable cynicisms are the exact opposite to Lilly’s coddled creativity. She’s been living with her grandparents, the founders of this regional newspaper, through college and will be hosted until she inevitably gets bored of it there.

     I have rent for the next few months covered, because I excel in saving and run a killer budget, but any extra cash would help me out. For this reason, when Gloria, the editing assistant for this season starts asking about my brief hiatus, I don’t disclose very much. That treasured contest is a secret I keep happily, even though I’m sure if some younger, more creatively talented people in the office caught on, they would win.

     By joking offhandedly about reconnecting with nature and completely neglecting to mention photography, I’m just giving myself a chance.

     “Alright, then. Let’s discuss tomorrow’s publication.” Lilly taps her fingertips gently on the table to interrupt. She flashes me a perfect smile and I shove down any simmering envy to pass on the metaphorical talking stick, as silently demanded. 

     Garrett briefs us on all new court revelations, Sonny hands over his index cards with new printing specifications, Bell provides the political commentary that this small town craves, and I offer up an article on the terrors of environmental degradation.

     “I spin the news in a less detrimental light for a while, so it’ll still get read.” I reassure the team. That was my personal justification for visiting the canyons, just in case the photos hadn’t worked out. I was just researching. 

     Lilly shoots everyone a thumbs up. Super professional. “I will read all of these and have edits by lunchtime. My article was proofed last night by Gloria, so you’ll see it tomorrow. Let’s get to work.”

      Nevermind the fact that our articles have been in her inbox for days. Two at least, for mine.

     My irritation washes aside again and again over the next week. I sent in the photos and paperwork the first day I got back to work, and I still haven’t heard a thing. I’ve done my daily routines, gone through the works, and I can’t shake it. I can’t shake the fear, the unknowing, and the impatience. I know the shots are my best work. I just don’t know if that’s enough. 

     Mom calls for our monthly check-ins three days from today. The past two nights have seen me toss and turn with anxiety. I need some good news for her. Otherwise, I’m just another one of her kids stuck at a deadend job, and she’ll have nothing to comfort her. If I don’t succeed, then what was the point of all her hard work raising us?

     I shuffle documents across my office desk and use a throwaway paper cup to water the miniature orchid that hides behind my second computer monitor. Gloria sends me a dubious glance through the crack in our colorfully decorated cubicle dividers. She’s been insisting that it needs direct sunlight for the last few days now, but I don’t see wilting on even one leaf. 

     The phone rings politely in the background and I purse my lips. It’s picked up quickly, so I don’t bother listening in.

     I’ve almost moved the orchid several times now, but something keeps me from just giving in. Really though, I don’t need anything else on my plate. Not judgement. Not additional stress. Not a quarter life crisis, or looming sensations of stagnation.

     “Hey!” 

      I jump in my seat, dropping a crumpled paper cup beside my keyboard. 

     “Good thing that was empty.” Lilly chuckles, having appeared at my side. A phone rings across the office for too long, and then someone grumbles and grabs it. My eyes flicker back to the girl standing way too close. She tilts her head and flashes me a good natured grin. “So, I have a question for you.” 

     “Fire away.” I lean back in my chair.

      Lilly presses her forefinger into the side of my desk and hums provocatively. Gloria huffs quietly, her growing irritation mirroring mine. 

     And then, before my manager can get a word in, Sonny shouts from the back. My head snaps up just in time to catch a glimpse of his hand covering the sensitive, old phone that runs into the wall. His voice shakes us, so deep that it thunders and I temporarily miss what he said. 

      He doesn’t sound angry, though. 

      “Missy, get over here!” His northern lilt softens the request and I stumble from my rolling chair to fulfill it.

     “Is this Ms. Hen Gulsbert?” A sweet, almost robotic question filters through the phone as soon as I press it to my ear. The office almost never gets calls this late.

      “Yes! Yes, it is. May I ask who’s calling?” 

     A pause. 

     “The results for the Ornithology Photo and Academia Collaboration Contest are out. We’re calling all of the photographers to let them know if we’ve passed on their submission.” Her tone was perfectly neutral. 

      “That’s very considerate. Thank you.” I murmur. The caller doesn’t respond immediately.

     “We’ve passed on your submission.” 

     I clench my teeth and look up at the bumpy, crusty old ceiling. I don’t tear up. I don’t sigh. My breath doesn’t catch. Nobody can tell that my heart is sinking to the ugly blue carpet. Nobody can tell that I want to curl up there and heave. 

     “Alright. Goodbye, then.” 

     “Goodbye.” She responds. The line clicks. 

     The office minds their business. Sonny sat back down across the room as soon as I picked up the phone. Gloria is digging at her nailbed. Garrett is, well, doing whatever Garrett does on his computer. Based on the quality of his production lately, I wouldn’t say it’s writing or researching. 

     Lilly is staring off into space, one hand still on my desk. 

     I sit back down and stare at the black, fancy buttons on Lilly’s new blouse while she collects her thoughts. “As I was saying, I have a question for you.”

     I nod, mute. 

     “How would you feel about being promoted? I’m leaving the managerial department and want someone reliable to take my place.” Reliable. Lilly wants me because I’m reliable. Alright. 

     “Alright.” 

     “That’s so awesome! Okay, great. Yeah.” She reels back on her kitten heels and then looks back down at me. “You know, it’s sort of a secret, but I’m leaving for another opportunity.” 

     “Oh, really?” Can’t this girl tell that I don’t care?

     “Yes, Hen! I’ve been spending my off time developing some other skills, some creative skills. It’s finally paying off.” So that’s what she’s been doing instead of, you know, her job. “My grandmother gave me this… Oh, what’s it called… Oh! You probably don’t know what it is. I didn’t. A Leica M2?”

     My mouth sours instantly. “The camera?” 

     “That’s so cool. See! This is why I want you to take up my position. You just know things.” Lilly pats my desk. “Anyways, it’s not official yet, but I’ve been accepted into some competition. I applied with pigeons! They were so cute, and they always hung out by the street down there,” She gestured out a window. “I figured, why not.”

     “Yeah.” I looked out at her flock, almost misty eyed. “Why not.”