On an Edge of Glass

look fabulous Ellie-bear, and you’re going to blow everyone —including Benjamin Hamilton—away.”  He grabs my elbow and pulls me into his side.  “Now let’s go find some of those delicious tiny, dough-covered sausages to eat.”
     
     
    Eight o’clock come s and goes.  No Ben.  Eight thirty.  No Ben.  By nine, I’m resigned.
                  “I can’t believe this shit!”  Payton exclaims as she pops a sweet and sour meatball into her mouth. 
                  “He might still come,” Ainsley says hopefully, rubbing my upper arm gently and shooting daggers in Payton’s direction.
                  I turn to her and smile sadly.  The back of my eyes sting and my nose is starting to tingle—both are sure signs that tears aren’t far away.  “He probably just forgot or something.”
                  “It’s his loss,” Mark chides, looking up at my collection.  “These all turned out incredible.  I kind of can’t believe that you’re so good at this, Ellie.”
                  “You’ve seen these exact photos before,” I remind him. 
                  “I know that I have.”  Mark shakes his head.  “But not like this.”
                  It’s true.  Michaela must know what she’s doing because even I’ll admit that the collection looks wonderful.  My parents have been telling anyone that will listen that it was their idea to get me that first camera back in middle school.  Brian and Pam Glass, attorneys at law, showed up to the gallery promptly at eight, as per my invitation.  They’ve proven to be far more supportive than I anticipated.  And when I mentioned that I’m looking into the possibility of studying environmental law next year, my mom barely batted her eyelashes. 
    See, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately.  And I’ve come to the conclusion that I do want to go to law school, but maybe I won’t become a corporate attorney like my parents.  I’ve decided to keep my options open and stay away from a plan for awhile.    
                  I shake my head.  Right now they’re engrossed in a discussion with Adam Pratt, the gallery owner, about the legal process of franchising. 
    “You’re collection is beautiful, dear.”  A woman, with watery grayish eyes is speaking to me.  The man next to her has long chin hairs and a bulbous nose. 
    I nod.  “Thank you very much.”
    “What’s the title?”
    “Starstuff.”
    “Hmmm.”  
    I watch as they wander into the next room of the gallery.  Starstuff.  It’s an homage to my first date with Ben and a bit of truth.  Because, like Carl Sagan said, these people—the ones that make my world go round—really are made up of the same stuff as stars.   
    There are seven pictures in total.   All outlined in chunky stark white mats and framed in a thin band of brushed silver.  If you start left to right, the one of Ainsley, caught in profile and backlit by the sun, is positioned first.  In the photograph, a small, secretive smile is drawing up the corners of her mouth and puckering her eyes. 
    The second photo is one that I took of Payton.  It’s a close-up of the lower part of her face as she applies lipstick in a small circular mirror.  In the foreground, her eclectic collection of jewelry is spread out on the top of her dresser.
                  Next, there’s a photo that I took over the Thanksgiving break of my mom and dad.  They are in the kitchen of our D.C. house.  Stilled in time, my parents stand opposite each other, their torsos bent forward over the dark granite of the kitchen island.  They’re both in their work clothes and talking on their cell phones, but they’re relaxed, sharing a smile as my mom pours out two glasses of red wine and my dad loosens his tie with his left hand. 
    The fourth picture is one that I took last week of Mark.  He’s sitting on the wooden top of our favorite bench in the sun-filled Quad and he’s leaning back, his hands clasped and slightly out of focus.  I’ve captured the moment when his mouth is opening while his eyes close on a laugh. 
                  The last three photographs are all of Ben.  There’s him playing his cello in an empty classroom the week of winter exams, and one of him fingering the bass guitar on stage with Accidental Sweet Tea, all sweaty and incredible.  And, of course, the photo that I