Flash

Street lamps sputter on, lighting the deserted boulevard. Inside shadows fill the corners of Muriel’s tiny apartment. She pulls the sports bra over her head and carefully positions her left breast to conceal the nipple.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this.” Her daughter sits on the floor in the corner of the darkening bedroom. “What will you do with the pictures? What if someone at the photo lab recognizes you?”

“That’s just the point,” Muriel answers. She snaps the remote control shutter and for a moment is blinded by the flash. “It doesn’t matter who sees them. In fact, I want them to see, to know. I’m not trying to impress anyone.”

“But you are!” Amy lowers her head, extends one leg and stretches to reach her foot with both hands. “You always want everyone to see how strong you are.” She switches legs and leans forward again. “You don’t take your problems seriously. You’ve just had major surgery, for God’s sake. They cut off your breast and you want to make it into a political statement.”


“That’s it, Amy. It is political. It’s about beauty, about what makes a woman valuable. Do you realize we never talk about these things? I’m fifty-seven years old and I’ve never seen a woman with her breast removed. The real thing, the part that’s left.”

“OK, so I get it that keeping it secret doesn’t make sense. But I worry about you. I’m afraid you’ll put all your energy into going public and not enough into getting well. Mom, there are huge groups out there already helping other women with breast cancer. Why can’t you just take care of you.”

“Don’t need to. Don’t need any help.” She turns the camera on her daughter. “Look this way.”