December 2021
I went back to work at the beginning of December when my short-term disability ended, but my department in the Columbia Journalism School still operated one hundred percent remotely. Students and faculty had been prioritized back on campus, while administrators were considered “nonessential” workers.
Before Steven died I had loved my job. I handled budgets and finance for a small institute that made grants to journalists using innovative technology to tell headline making news stories. I was also grateful it provided such good health insurance, especially since Steven was diagnosed with terminal cancer one month after I started.
I had been extremely productive while working remotely during the first eighteen months of the pandemic, but that was when Steven was alive. The last few months before he died we spent our days together at the dining room table. He always had a book in his hand while I pounded the keys on my laptop. Now I could not concentrate on my work, and I was alone in the apartment all day.
More and more of my time was spent chatting and sexting with Joel. It was an easy way to keep him engaged when I felt incapable of conversation. Sex was the only way I would allow myself to be truly vulnerable, and his earlier rejection of “widowed Amy” taught me not to talk about death, loneliness, or my longing to feel connected to another human being.
It had been a long time, at least three years, since I felt connected to my body and sexuality. It made me feel like I was coming back to life, reminding me of the carefree, flirty fun days I discovered in college.
What would my younger self have done with a smartphone? Better they hadn’t existed – I had been in a sorority and we did our fair share of partying. I may not be nineteen anymore, but I was still a woman who wanted to be desired and admired.
I had been an art history major, and was used to seeing paintings and statues of classical nudes. I never thought they were dirty or subversive. I wanted to see myself that way, as a work of art. I wanted Joel to see me that way too.
I went into my bedroom, took off my shirt, and laid down on my bed. I held up my phone and snapped a photo of my chest. It was just okay, but I wanted artistry. Light, shadow body position and contours worked together to create something more than just a picture of breasts.
When I played around with a couple of pillows I realized if I put one or two under the small of my back I achieved a nice arch. This time the photos looked much better. My arched back lifted up my breasts and flattened my stomach.
I wanted to capture my whole body, so I stripped completely naked and lay down on the bed with my head hanging halfway off one side and two pillows under my glutes. I held up the phone and extended my arm far enough so that everything from my smile to my thighs fit in the frame.
These were nice, but I knew I could do better. I put my free hand between my legs, as if cupping my vagina while altering my position slightly as I continued to take photos. I was happy with most of these, but one was especially well framed. When I texted it to Joel he loved it just as much as I did.
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