Selfie
A short story
I hadn’t painted in a while, so this was supposed to be a green screen composition. I wanted to chroma key a server farm behind me, but he’s not here to help me with the computer. I didn’t need help with the camera. In my right hand I hold the remote button that takes the pictures.
My daughter Sonia came in and said, oh, my god, you’re taking selfies now?
So, this is a selfie. I asked Sonia, what is more venerated than the selfie?
What? Vener-what? Sonia was confused, got angry. That response we share, which makes me sad.
A selfie is a self-portrait, I said.
She laughed; I became angry. What are they fucking teaching you in art school, I asked her.
She’s acclimated to my outrage. She laughed more.
Why don’t you post your sneering snark, I told her.
Every day, she said on her way out. Every damn day.
He’s not here to help me with this, either. I’m trying to focus on the button in my right hand. It still connects me to something, but for how much longer?
Computers and daughters. So many buttons.