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Fawn – the present
“I have to say, Ms. Greenfield, I’m very happy with what I’ve both seen and heard from you today. You have a very good chance at this internship. A real good chance.”
Sitting across from Kurt Ackerman, Kurtfrom the New York TimesAckerman I had to say, I felt what he said. The interview had gone well, and I’d provided my best work for him today.
Even still, I played that off, sitting professionally before him. “Thank you, Mr. Ackerman.”
“Call me Kurt,” he passed off before picking up my portfolio. He grinned. “Quite a body of work for someone so young. In fact, it feels like you’ve lived a thousand lifetimes in only a summer.”
He was speaking about what I’d provided for him today, of course. I’d spent the summer of my senior year traveling cross-country. My camera and a bus ticket had taken me to some of the most impoverished communities in the country, many of them forgotten about and neglected. I wanted to show their stories, show the people, and most of my focus had resided on those who couldn’t even call those communities a home. They were the ones living off the beaten path and trying to get by from shelter to shelter. Before I knew it, I found myself immersed in their stories, my camera the looking glass on those who truly were passed over. They had a story too, and my body of work reflected that.
I folded my fingers. “Thank you, Kurt.”
“No, thank you. It’s extraordinary to see,” he said, closing the portfolio I’d provided. I had to say I was still in shock by this meeting. I mean, I was confident about my work but never expected to be given the opportunity for an internship in photojournalism this soon. Let alone my freshman year of college.
And my dream internship at that.
That’d been the plan upon enrolling at Pembroke University and getting into their prestigious photojournalism program. It’d been the only plan, and one I’d set course on years ago. I’d had some speed bumps along the way, but I’d ended up getting there.
We’re almost there, Dad.
A position at theNew York Timeswas the real goal, the main goal. My dad used to grace those halls, and I planned to do the same.
“And definitely not expected from the photographer who had so much buzz her sophomore year of high school.” Kurt lounged back, folding his fingers. “I, of course, looked into you and definitely assumed the young woman who took the photos of theChaos in the Heartlandstory would be providing me a completely different body of work.”
He was speaking about what I was known for and probably one of the big reasons he’d reached out to me. When Kurt had emailed me about the internship, he’d said my name was on a short list of applicants the school had provided, and needless to say, when someone googled Fawn Greenfield, only one thing came up.
I tried not to shift in the secondhand suit I’d purchased literally for today. I typically wore things that were unrestricted, comfortable. I traveled a lot taking photos, and comfort was key. “Uh, yeah. Had a lot of excitement in high school.”
Too much excitement, and I definitely didn’t want to talk about it. I happened to be the only one who got decent pictures of the fight that broke out, and so much so, the local and national papers reached out to me after seeing my photos in my high school gazette. I was Fawn Greenfield, the high school sophomore who happened to have her camera that day and had been the only one not swept up in the fight enough to capture it.
There was some irony in that, my mouth dry as I thought about how the fight had occurred. It’d been weird, crazy, and something I’d fought hard to forget in the time that had passed. Even still, it had opened up a lot of opportunities for me, and one hundred percent bulked up my Pembroke University application. This was definitely something I’d needed. At the beginning of my high school career, there’d been more than a fair bit of truancy on my part.
I shifted again, and Kurt smoothed my portfolio across the conference table. He’d flown all the way from New York to be here at Pembroke’s school of journalism today, my name on a short list like he’d emailed. I could imagine when his office had inquired, the school had told him about me and theChaosstory. Again, it opened a lot of doors. Kurt nodded. “Well, what you’ve done since has definitely shined.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Again, Kurt.”
“Kurt.”
“And Fawn Greenfield. Any relation to a Jack Greenfield?” He leaned back. “I didn’t know him personally, but he used to work at the Times. Quite prolific.”
I hesitated for a moment briefly but only because it still took me a beat whenever people mentioned my dad. I wasn’t sure that would ever change. I nodded. “That was my father, yes.”
“Ah, a lot’s making more sense now. Sense about you and your already expansive body of work. From what I understand, Jack was hitting the pavement hard as a young lad, and probably one of the youngest to ever work for the Times.”
I smiled, definitely knowing this. “That was my dad. Never could turn down an opportunity to lift his camera.”
“And he was great at it.” Kurt’s smile faltered a little. “I was very sad to hear about his passing. The world definitely misses him and his work.”
My mouth dry, I could simply nod at what Kurt said. Again, it took a second when talking about my father, and though his passing wasn’t exactly fresh, it wasn’t like it’d been a million years ago.
Nor how it had happened.