THE GAP

Near Madison Square Park, a girl asked to take a picture of me for a project about black hair. Should I smile? Do I want my picture out in the world without a smile? Should I look as horrible as I feel most days or merely reflect today, this moment where my existence is seen? And doesn’t my hair seem happy, its quad and its tips, and bleak bangs poking my eyes. And shouldn’t I show the world my smile, an AA gap-toothed smile I got from a Texan; I’ve shown those in my Medieval class how wide I can smile after we discussed the time-old tale of promiscuity being relative to the gap. So I do it, I do it wide and proud in the windy cold of January on 26th street. She snaps one, then two, and thanks me. Vintage camera and just like that, I exist beyond myself.