Picture This

          Here's an exceprt from a story in progress. In this piece, a woman discovers that finding her place in life is no laughing matter. 

                There were no pictures of Marie on her sister’s mantel. There wasn’t a single one in the house. If it were true that we cradled those we loved in little wooden frames, then Marie’s ranking was lower than that of her sister’s cat, who was represented twice.

                In keeping with Los Angeles tradition, Marie’s sister and her husband had over a dozen photos of themselves about the premises. There was even an exquisite painting of the pair above the fireplace. It was no wonder, really; they were a stunning couple, with their movie-star looks and winning smiles.

               

                Their kids were no less dazzling. The house was home to more than a few pictures of them, as well. Marie had to admit that even the cat had the look of a matinee idol.

                Still, she couldn’t help but feel slighted. After all, she was careful to have current pictures of her sister and her family on display in her own apartment. Shouldn’t they do the same?

                Marie wouldn’t confront her sister over the situation. She couldn’t. To even broach the subject was out of the question. The wrong – if it could even be called that – would doubtless immediately be corrected, but it would be done out of obligation, not regard.

                So Marie secreted photos of herself into the house. Here she was, sitting on Santa’s lap just last Christmas, at 40 years of age. Here were she and her sister at their high school winter formal. How the family would laugh months from now, when Marie’s picture was finally discovered. What a hoot was the stunt.

                But no matter how deeply she hid herself in her sister’s forest of frames, her photo was found in days. It was sometimes found in hours. On her next visit she’d notice her offering lying face down upon the table. “Oh, you came across my little joke,” she’d say, and the thing would be handed back, big laughs all around.

                “You need to get yourself some outside interests,” Marie’s friend Stephanie told her one day over coffee.

                “Oh, come on, that’s funny. You don’t think I need my own TV show?”

                “What you need is a life. These people don’t care about you.”

(To be continued)