Picture Perfect

                  PICTURE PERFECT

My earliest memory of my irrational fear of not wanting my picture

taken was when I was in the 1^st grade. One autumn day, my teacher,

 Mrs. Goosby announced that a class picture would be taken the

following month. She insisted all the children wear their best outfits and groom properly.

        After her announcement, terror had struck me as the nerves in my body pulsed expeditiously. My palms started to sweat. I was beyond terrified; I was mortified. It wasn’t because my mother and I were impecunious and I was afraid I wouldn’t have anything decent to wear. My mother taught herself how to sew and could spin a dress faster than Cinderella’s fairy Godmother. I simply could not stand having my picture taken.

        A month had passed, and on that fatal day, I was supposed to have my picture taken I came up with an excuse.

        “My stomach hurt,” I had cried after getting out of bed that morning.

        “What’s wrong?” my not-so unsuspecting mother asked.

        “I am in so much pain,” I lied, holding my stomach.

        “Do you feel that bad?” my mother asked.

        “Yes, Mother, I do.”

        “Okay, my mother said. “Then you don’t have to go to school, but if you’re in that much pain I will take you to the doctor.”

        “No,” I gasped. “I don’t want to go to the doctor.”

        “Why not,” said my mother with amusement in her voice. “If you don’t want to go to the doctor then you are well enough to go to school.” My mother was on to me because she knew I hated taking pictures.

        “Okay,” my mother said. “You’re too sick to go to school and you don’t want to go to the doctor, there is only one thing left to do,” she sighed.

        She ordered me back to bed and tucked me in. I smiled

victoriously after she had left the room because I won. I didn’t have

to take a picture. Before I could bask in my glory, my mother entered the bedroom and sat on the bed; picked up the house phone, and dialed.

        “Hello, my name is Celina Claire and I am the mother of Carolina Claire. She’s in the 1^st grade and class photographs are being taken today. She suddenly became ill and will not be in school today.”

        I couldn’t hear what the person on the other end was saying but my mother started smiling.

        “Is that right,” she said. “That’s excellent news, and I can’t wait to tell her.” Then she hung up the phone.

        “What did they say, Mother?” I asked nervously.

        “Good news, they said you are lucky because the photographer is also not feeling well. The class pictures have been postponed until next week.”

        Upon hearing this news, my eyes shifted from side to side. I

clutched both sides of the bed, trying to hold on for dear life.

        “Oh my, dear,” said my mother, observing my fear. “I just

don’t understand why you are so afraid?”

        “I can’t do it, Mother,” I cried. “I am too scared.”

        “Tell me, Carolina, what are you afraid of?”

        She pulled me into a warm embrace.

        “Please tell me exactly what you’re afraid of and maybe I can help you.”

        “I don’t know, Mother,” I cried. “I just don’t know.”

                                                  ***

        That was my earliest memory of being afraid of having my picture taken. My mother filled in the blanks of other non-picture taking incidents that I couldn’t recall. She said as a toddler I cried incessantly whenever someone snapped a picture of me. It got so bad that I would throw up and cry all through the night. She said afterwhile she stopped trying to take pictures of me because it became too traumatizing.

                                                  ***.

        I am now thirty-two years old and in one year I will be walking

down the aisle as a bride. I always dreamed of a lavish wedding since I was 10 years old. My mother married my father at a young age, but he died just before I was born. She had a happy marriage and wanted me to meet a good man like my father, and I did. My fiancé’s name is Anthony Finch. On our fifth date, I told Anthony about my fear of having my picture taken.

        He looked at me at said, “I love you.” I knew then he was the one. He didn’t make fun of me like some of my other boyfriends. He

accepted me for who and what I was. I decided that I could not or would not avoid taking pictures any longer. I always wanted beautiful wedding pictures displayed all over my home. I wanted everyone to see how happy I was with my husband.

        Furthermore, I was ready to conquer this fear. My only obstacle was I needed someone to help me. I turned on my computer and searched the internet for a psychiatrist. Someone had suggestedmy mother take me to one years ago. She never pursued it because she thought I would outgrow my fear.

        As I began my search, the phone rang. I didn’t want to pick it up, but was pleased to see Anthony’s name on the caller I.D.

        “Hello, honey,” I said.

        “I want you to have lunch with me today,” he said.

        “I am in the middle of something,”

        “Come on, Carolina. I am sure you can get back to whatever it is. I want you to meet some of my new co-workers. I talk about you

all day, and they are dying to meet you.”

        I agreed. I was on vacation this week and decided to take the

opportunity to have lunch with my fiancé.

                                          ***

        “Hello, honey. I am glad you could make it,” Anthony said as I

got off the elevator in his office building an hour later. As we walked

towards his office I noticed the name Dr. Carl Tucker, Psy.D. written on the office door next to his.

        “Anthony, is he any good?” I asked him, pointing to the name.

        “I know he has lots of clients and I’ve spoken to a few of them.

They say he is the best. On a personal note, he seems like a nice man.”

        “Oh, you’re friends?”

        “I guess you can say that. We have had good conversations and

been out to lunch a few times. Why do you ask?”

        “I need a good therapist.”

        “Are you serious, for what?”

        “The picture thing.”

        “Oh, I see.”       

        “I want our wedding to be perfect, and what’s a perfect wedding without pictures?”

        “Honey, I support you in everything that you do. If you think thiswill help you get over your fear, by all means, do it.”

        I punched the psychiatrist’s phone number into my cell phone and gave him a call the next day.

                                                  ***

        “Hello, Ms. Claire, I am doctor, Carl Tucker. Please have a seat.”

        “I am so glad you were able to see me on such short notice,” I said.

        “You’re a lucky young lady,” the stout old man said as he sat

down. “Two days after you called one of my regulars canceled their

appointment. As a favor to your husband, I called you right away.”

        “I appreciate that.”

        “Tell me, what brings you here?”

        “I am terrified of having my picture taken.”

        “How long have you had this problem?”

        “Ever since I was born.”

        “Really?” he said sitting up in his chair. “That’s very interesting.

        You never sought help before?”

        “I was too afraid, and when I was younger my mother just thought I would grow out of it.”

        Dr. Tucker asked some more questions. Then he went silent for a few minutes and started darting down notes on his pad. He had a stern face and it was hard to read what he was thinking. I know he

thought I was crazy but then again as a psychiatrist, I know he’s seen worse.

        He finally looked up.

        “What are your earliest memories?” he asked.

        I told him about the 1st-grade incident and the other incidents my mother spoke of.

        “Would you be opposed to hypnosis?”

        “I never thought about it.”

        “I recommend you give it some thought because your fear may be deep-rooted from childhood trauma.”

        “My mother said I was afraid of having my picture taken since

I was born.”

        “That’s her recollection. I want to find out how far back you can remember.”

        “Okay. I will think about it.”

        “Good,” he said. “If you have any questions about hypnosis and

how it works, feel free to call me.”

        It only took me a week. After some research, I discussed

it with Anthony and my mother; I made my decision.   

                TWO WEEKS LATER-DR. TUCKER’S OFFICE

        “The goal of this session is to regress you far enough to find out the root of your problem. If you feel uncomfortable during the session, please let me know, and I will stop the session immediately. Do you have any questions?”

        “No, Dr. Tucker,” I said. I was so nervous I could barely speak.

        “Okay,” said Dr. Tucker. “I want you to close your eyes and relax. Take a deep breath and then blow out slowly. Repeat the breathing process until you are completely relaxed. Concentrate on letting everything in your mind go. Breathe easy,” he spoke softly. It took a few minutes but after a while, I felt relaxed.

        “Now that you are completely relaxed, I am going to take you back to the time you were in 1^st grade. How old are you, Carolina?”

        “I am five years old.”

        “Where are you, Carolina, and what’s happening around you?”

        “I am in school and the teacher is making an announcement.”

        “About what?”

        “I can’t,” I cried.

        “What can’t you do?”

        “I can’t take those pictures,” I cried.

        “Why Carolina?”

        “Because if I do, I am going to die!” I screamed.

        “Carolina, are you alright?” he asked. “You seem upset. Would

you like to stop this session?”

        “No. I want to go on.”

        “Okay, let’s continue. Why do you think you’re going to die?”

        “I just know that I will if I let someone take my picture,” I wailed.

        “How do you know that?”

        “I just know.”

        “Okay, Carolina. I am going to take you back a little further. You

are no longer five, you are now three years of age. What do you

remember?”

        “I am playing with these other children and we are having fun.”

        “Who are these other children?”

        “They are my cousins. I am the only child and like when they

come over to play with me.”

        “You seem happy, Carolina. I can hear it in your voice.”

        “I was until….”

        “Go ahead finish what you were saying,” he said with assurance.

        “Until my uncle came looking for me.”

        “Your uncle?” Dr. Tucker asked suspiciously.

        “No!” I screamed. “No, I don’t want to.”

        “What going on, Carolina? Why are you telling him no?”

        “You can’t make me,” I shouted.

        “What is your uncle trying to make you do?”

        “He’s grabbing me by my arm and pulling me from the closet.”

        “Why is he doing this, Carolina?”

        “He wants me to do it and I won’t.”

        “What does he want you to do?”

        “He wants me to take a picture with the rest of my cousins. I ran to the closet and hid.”

        Dr. Tucker took a deep breath.

        “I am going to take you back a little further now, Carolina.”

        “Okay.”

        “Where are you now?”

        “I am in a crib surrounded by toys.”

        “Can you tell me your age?”       

        “Not really.”

        “What’s going on?”

        “I am crying because these people are looking at me and making funny faces and funny noises.”

        “What kind of noises?”

        “Coo, Coo.”

        “Oh, they admire you because you’re a baby.”

        “I suppose so.”

        “How are you feeling?”

        “I am okay for now.”

        “That’s good. I am going to take you back even further. Just relax and think of a time before the crib. Where are you?”

        “I am in space.”

        “Space?”

        “There is nothing. I don’t even see myself.”

        “Can you explain?”

        “I don’t have a body but my spirit is alive. It seems like I am

waiting for something to happen.”

        “Okay. I am going to take you back even further. Tell me what’s

going on?”

        “I am a lady, but I am not Carolina.”

        “What is your name?”

        “It’s Verona.”

        “How old are you, Verona?”

        “Twenty-six.”

        “Tell me more about yourself.”

        “I am single and live alone in New York City. I have a good life. I

have lots of friends and a good family.”

        “Sounds like a nice life.”

        “It was until that night I went to that party. I didn’t even want to go but my best friend insisted.”

        “What happened at the party?”

        “At first it was wonderful. I had a couple of drinks; laughed and

talked with my friends. I danced with several young men, and a couple of them seemed interested. I was interested in them too.”

        “That seems normal for a young lady of your age, Verona.”

        “It was but it started getting late and I wanted to go home.

My friend was not ready to leave, so she asked her boyfriend to take me home.”

        “Go on.”

        “I didn’t want to go with him, because he always seemed strange to me. He always weirdly looked at me. He also flirted with me when my friend wasn’t in the room.”

        “Did you let him take you home?”

        “I felt pressure because I didn’t want to upset my friend. She was in love with him. I didn’t want her to think there was any friction between us. After I got in the car, he started driving in the direction towards my house. He then stopped to get gas. After he pulled out of the gas station, he made a U-turn and headed in another direction.

        “Where are you going, I asked. My house is in the opposite

direction? He told me to shut up. He then drove to a remote area

and parked the car.  He pulled out a knife and told me if I screamed, he would cut my throat.

        He tied my hands behind my back with a rope and gagged my

mouth with a cloth. He took out a camera. Then started taking pictures of me. Tears rolled down my face and I could barely breathe because of the cloth in my mouth. He untied me and then sexually assaulted me. Afterward, he pulled out the camera again and took more pictures of me before reaching for the knife and cutting my throat.”

        “What are you experiencing now?”

        “It’s dark at first then I feel like I am floating upwards. Then out ofnowhere, this bright light appears. It looks like the sun but brighter and closer.”

        “How do you feel?”

        “I am no longer afraid because this light is everything. It’s so

warm and welcoming.”

        “I am going to awake you now. I am going to start counting

backward from fifty. When I get to one slowly open your eyes.

        “How are you feeling, Carolina?” he asked once he got to

number one.

        “I feel fine. I am feeling lighter; like 50 pounds of weight have

been lifted off of my shoulders.”

        “We covered a lot of ground,” he said.

        “I can’t believe that I relived a past life. I thought you were

just going to hypnotize me to find out about what occurred to me in this life?”

        “That was my intention, but I found that some of my patients can go back to former lifetimes. You happen to be one of them. Does this bother you?”

        “Not at all. I find reincarnation fascinating. I had no idea if I’ve

lived before. You think my problem has been resolved?”

        “I don’t know?” he said. “We have to find out, won’t we?”

        “Where are you going?” I asked him as he walked over to his desk.

        He pulled out a camera.

        “Are you okay with this, Carolina?” he asked.

        At first, I was a little startled after seeing the camera, but then my nerves suddenly calmed.

        “Are you ready?” said Dr. Tucker.

        “Yes,” I spoke.

        He snapped my picture and I smiled brightly. All the fear and

anxiety had disappeared. I couldn’t wait to tell Anthony and my mother that the wedding photos were now going to be picture-perfect.