BECOMING — KYRA KONDIS
/When the ghost arrives at the photo shoot, she is a burst of cold wind, a slight tinge of silver in the air. Everyone on set tells her she looks amazing, even though they’re not sure where in the room to find her. You’re stunning today, they say. They say: you look hot.
In the industry, it is widely known that the ghost is the best model. She has no imperfections. She doesn’t demand certain snacks or drinks or amenities. She doesn’t try to sue anyone for being inappropriate. She doesn’t show up on camera at all, of course, but that’s fine because they photoshop her in later. She can be so many things, the ghost: a tanned, oiled woman with a tiny nose; a pair of slim, long-fingered hands; shiny black hair cascading down a figure-8 body; skin so smooth people look at it and say, that can’t be real, and at the same time, they never guess that it isn’t.
When the ghost was a girl, she got paid twenty dollars to be in one of those mall fashion shows, where kids wear department store clothes and walk down a catwalk between a Starbucks and a Pottery Barn. Her mother made her do it, just like she made her do a commercial for kids’ allergy medicine and a print ad for jellies. It’s a shame she has such round cheeks, said the show’s organizer, scrunching her face between thin fingers.
Now she is only almost the outline of a woman, a cool air under hot white lights. Everyone wants to photograph her. She knows this is because she is whatever they want, but isn’t that nice sometimes? She can become and become and become.
Look over here, the photographer says. He is shooting an ad for shampoo. The ghost is a thousand shiny specks in the air, a glare in his lens. When she looks at the camera she cracks the lights on each side, their glass bulbs splitting. It’s fine, the photographer says to an assistant who gets up to help, we’ll edit the exposure later.
Truthfully, the ghost misses being just one person, and not many. She misses her cheeks. She misses her flesh. She misses seeing herself in a photo and remembering what she really looks like. Being wanted doesn’t replace being her.
So while the photographer kneels with his camera, the ghost leaves the shoot, forging a chilly breeze through the studio. No one notices. When the ad goes live in magazines and Internet pop-ups months later, underneath the woman made of pixels, there will only be air. The ghost will be proud about this, for a second. Then, she will be sad.
Kyra Kondis is an MFA candidate in fiction at George Mason University. More of her work can be found in Wigleaf, Necessary Fiction, and Pithead Chapel; her flash has also been featured in the Best Microfiction 2020 and the Wigleaf Top 50 of 2020.
