Calendar Girl 12 - December by Audrey Carlan Read Free Book Online

capture that image so perfectly, it gave me pause.
    I focused on the image, trying to see her perception. I tilted my head and looked at the photograph from a different angle. To the naked eye, when I focused, I could see the woman had perfect red lips, matching painted nails, and lovely skin. Through the shattered glass, however, I could see imperfections that I might not otherwise have seen.
    “I call this Beauty Uncovered ,” Jonalyn said, clearly proud of her work.
    Fascinated, I followed Jonalyn through her gallery. The way she captured images and changed them into something else was pure genius. One set of photographs really hit home with me. I had the cameraman focus on the two images hanging beside each other. One was of a homeless woman leaning against a building. One foot was bent at the knee, propped against the wall behind her. A white garbage bag sat next to her, likely the whole of her belongings. Her long dark hair was dirty and scraggly. It probably hadn’t been washed in ages. The woman was looking off to the side. Her face bore hard lines, and a sadness that couldn’t be erased shone in her eyes. She was clearly destitute and perhaps hopeless as well.
    The next picture was taken through a warped, bubbled piece of glass. In it, the same woman stood, the image completely altered. The features were softened, the hair no longer looked dirty but was dark and curly. The bag next to her, a glowing ball of white light, appeared to illuminate her form, giving her a healthy radiance.
    “When you smudge out the harshness of reality, what you find underneath is…special.” Jonalyn crossed her arms over her small form as she admired her work. It was worthy of admiration.
    I raised my hand to the image, compelled to get closer. “It’s incredible, the way you see things.”
    She smiled softly. “It’s the way we should all see things. A beautiful woman can seem perfect, but when you look through new eyes, there are flaws. Everyone has imperfections. Then here”—she pointed at the sad woman—“you can take a woman clearly homeless, dirty, and hardened by life, yet still find the soft uncovered side. Life and our experiences change the way we look outside, but never the whole of who we are on the inside.”
    I spent far longer talking to Jonalyn than I should have. Wes came up behind us as we chatted in a seating area off to the side. He put his hands on my shoulders and rubbed them before leaning forward.
    “Mia, if you want to finish all four galleries today, we need to get a move on. It’s starting to snow.”
    I glanced up at Wes and smiled. He kissed my forehead. The distinct click of a shutter broke the moment. Jonalyn’s cheeks pinked when she moved the camera away from her face and down. I knew it had been sitting on the table in front of us, but I didn’t think she’d be using it.
    “Sorry, it’s second nature when I see something that needs to be captured.”
    I grinned, not at all disturbed by her actions. “But you don’t have any distorted glass.”
    The artist smirked. “It wasn’t needed. Any way I could have captured that moment would have been honest. I’ll email you the image so you can see for yourself.”
    Wes took my hand and helped me to stand. “I’d like that very much. It’s been really wonderful chatting with you, seeing your art and how you view it. I promise to show it well in the segment.”
    “I have no doubt you will do me a great honor. Thank you, Mia.” She held my hands in a two-handed clasp.
    Pure class.
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    I nstead of hitting the next gallery, Wes took us to the historic Red Onion for lunch. “The place was established in 1892 and makes the best French onion soup and crab hushpuppies,” Wes exclaimed, almost jumping out of his snow boots as he ushered me through the door.
    The restaurant was hopping with people. The walls were a deep crimson that provided a warm cocoon-like experience that gave the diner the impression he should come, hang out, and