Creases

Robyn unfolded the brittle photo. A crack ran right down the center of her mother's face. Robyn wondered if opening and shutting this photo had created the crack or if she had folded only once, long ago, to hide from her mother's cunning smile.



The photo was taken in the living room at Christmas time. The black wool skirt her mother wore was expensive. She was seated with her legs crossed suggestively, her right eyebrow cocked. In her left hand was nested the ever-present Winston cigarette, while in the other hand a second or third cocktail.
“Smoking is a filthy habit,” her mother would sneer stubbing out one then lighting another.

Robyn refolded along the crease and a flake of her mother’s face chipped off. Provoked by the disfigurement Robyn ripped a little along the crease. She felt a momentary exhilaration then ripped a little more. She waited a second then taped it back together and tucked it into a photo album.