Picture Imperfect

When did her distrust of men begin? She tries to remember, but it's something she can't grasp onto.

As a small child, she was terrified of male photographers. Would refuse to have her picture taken by them and cry if it was a forced issue. She remembers being afraid of Toby's father. His beard and the smell of beer are her clearest memories of him. There is nothing particularly scary that she can remember. After all, the memories she struggles to recall are of a four year old.

There is no one instance that stands out. Was it the dentist that held her down and let her scream through a procedure? Was it something that happened before memories formed? Was it an ingrained fear she was born with, some elemental or otherworldly thing?

She simply doesn't know.

She does know that it even extended to her own father and grandfather. Maybe it was part of what made him so angry. She questioned everything he did, from the beginning. Why did the training wheels not touch the ground at the same time? Why did she have to stay home with him? As she got older, why did he have to come on the Girl Scout camping trips? Surely her questions led to frustration. The Girl remembers being punished.

One instance - a small event. It shouldn't be a blip on her radar. She remembers the night vividly, and it seems it was just a bit of what was to come.

 A father daughter dance was scheduled by her Scout troop. She was eight years old. It was a luau theme. She wore a flowered short set, her father a yellow tank top and jeans with belt. She still had the waves of her failed perm. There was supposed to be dancing, but she refused. His touch, even friendly, was uncomfortable. There was a photo op there. It had a beach background, a lawn chair and different floats to set the scene. When she reflects on the photo, long destroyed, she sees the way she held herself. Rigid, apart. The photographer - a woman - wanted her to move closer to her father. She moved marginally. Closer still - she moved a fraction more. The Girl impulsively lay her head on her father's shoulder. It should have been a natural move, but even as the photographer smiled and praised her, The Girl jerked her head back up. Her father put his arm around her, but she holds her self still. Her hands were clenched, squeezing her thumbs. Her heart pounded and she felt trapped. Like a rabbit in a field spotted by a predator. She forced a small smile and it was over.