“Anyway, you’re our backup’s backup for this shoot, Chlo.” I hear the subtle shift of his tone back to business-as-usual, and feel myself straightening subconsciously. “Things got a little out of hand last season, so I wanted to be in a better position this year. The other execs don’t know I hired another camera operator, so…just try to stay under the radar.”
“Oh, sure—is it that big of a deal that you hired me?”
“We didn’t technically have the budget for it, so I got a little creative with accounting to make it work. It’s not that I’m hiding it…I just don’t necessarily want to draw extra attention to it.”
“Right, that makes sense,” I say, trying to sound agreeable.
“Yeah, it’s reallynota big deal,” he adds, with a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Keeping to the shadows is what you’re good at anyway, so it worked out perfectly, if I’m being honest.”
“Oh?” My eyes narrow, and I try to swallow, but my mouth has gone dry.
What exactly is that supposed to mean?
“I don’t need another egotistical DOP who’s trying to make a name for themselves. Your personality is an easy one to manage.” At this, he turns to face me again. I try to take his words as a compliment, because I do believe that Glen genuinely likes me and finds me competent. But then he says, “It’s not an insult. I just know I don’t have to worry about you standing out.”
His words hit me like a bucket of ice water, a chill skittering along my spine as I freeze. I feel the unsettling flush of humiliation begin to creep up my neck, and suddenly I’m hyperaware of how exposed I am…and of how many eyes are on me and Glen.
As if everyone in the room heard his words.
I don’t have to worry about you standing out.
He’s moved on, saying something about finding Demi’s contestant now, but any words I could have formed in response have turned to ash in my mouth.
My thoughts start to whirl.
And suddenly, it clicks.
Glen wasn’t just doing me a favor by hiring me. He wasn’t doing it out of the goodness of his heart—and it certainly wasn’t a decision he made because he’s impressed by what I can do.
He’s much more interested in what Iwon’tdo.
I won’t rock the boat.
I won’t take up space.
I won’t be anything other than exactly what he needs me to be: A ghost.
I manage to force a hollow smile as he says a quick goodbye and stalks away, but I remain rooted to the floor.
Easy to manage. Keeps to the shadows. Doesn’t stand out.
Glen’s words echo in my head repeatedly, and I can feel a lump rising in my throat.
As if a decade hasn’t passed, I suddenly feel like I’m in film school all over again, listening to a professor advise me to stay behind the camera—because I lack the charisma for on-camera work,you see; or because my voice-overs are too blunt.
Just like those memories, Glen’s words hurt. And they remind me that what I want to be, I’ve never been good enough for.
In college, I wanted to be a TV journalist—to bein frontof the camera, not just behind it. I had hopes of becoming a war correspondent, but I soon let that dream go and focused on camera work because it was what I was told I was better at.
And, deep down, I knew that what everyone was saying was less about what I wasgoodat, and more about what I wasn’t made for. I’m not an unattractive person, but I wouldn’tsay I’m anything special to look at. I’ve always been lanky, not leggy. Frank and straightforward, instead of diplomatic. My features aren’t especially sharp or delicate; my eyes are warm, but not striking.
So, I knew what they werereallysaying when they told me to stay behind the camera.
I knew it because it was the same way my aunt, the few times I saw her when I was a teenager, would tell Kyla how beautiful she was and how she would break so many boys’ hearts, while she offered me backhanded compliments about my “strong opinions” and “headstrong attitude.”
I understood these things to be true—Kyla was beautiful, and I was street-smart; Kyla was intelligent, and I was creative.
So, I never took those words, thoselimitations, too personally.
