Smile

We go to have family photos taken. I am practicing my smile the whole way. It's not that I can't smile, my smile is just shy of cameras. Lucy is practicing too.

"You gotta' show tooth, Lucy." I remind her.

"But not too much tooth, Daddy." she reminds me back.

Eunjoo isn't practicing. She has no problem smiling for cameras. It comes from her innate duplicity. Murderous intent folded into a beautiful smile.

We get to the studio and climb up onto the big carpeted bench. A bench made in the 70s for photo studios. The tiny old women in front of us is pushing around an preponderance of flash boxes on robot arms. A steam-punk monster of a camera. "Smile." she screeches- a slow grinding sound as the flash boxes rearrange themselves of their own volition.

"Teeth..." I remind Lucy, through my own clenched smile. But Lucy is having no problems. Her smile is beaming.

"Oh." screeches the camera crone, in a voice that is a haunting imitation of warmth. She continues in English, "What a salted pork little girl."

"What's salted pork?" Lucy asks me, her smile ebbing.

"It's delicious Lucy." I reassure her. "A delicious treat."

And her smile comes back even more brilliantly.