The F-Stop

"Oh! You the one," the old man said to Talia as he opened the back alleyway door to his shop. "Come!"

He led her to a locked storage room in the back and lowered his voice so customers in the front couldn't hear.

"I loan you, but if it come out black, bring back. Understand? I fix you!" he emphatically insisted. "It black? Bring back. I fix you. Understand?" he repeatedly asked.

Talia agreed. He unlocked the door, uttered something in Chinese, handed a box over to her, and showed her out the alleyway exit. She never did get to see the shop.

Even though the rest of her classmates had bought brand new models from B&H photo in Midtown, Talia's photography professor had arranged an old Nikon loaner for her.

All Talia had to do was pick it up from a little camera shop in Chinatown. But when she tried to return the camera the week before her graduation, the alleyway door was boarded up with no sign of the man, and the front of the building was covered in scaffolding, so she couldn't even get close to peer in.

Her professor said to consider it a graduation present from the Universe.

A little more than a year later, it was February of 2000 in Brooklyn and the night before moving day. Twin sisters Talia and Krystina had no plan after they finished packing - for the next day, the next day, or the one after that.

Brooklyn was home for the last year post-graduation, but their lease was now up on their basement apartment, and they couldn't afford a rent increase.

Talia's freelance job dried up, she was having more migraines, and she wasn't sure her boyfriend "was the one." Meanwhile, Krystina was waiting on acceptance to graduate school but became more agoraphobic due to her anxiety. They were stuck - stuck in limbo, stuck in life, and stuck together.

"Fuck the Aurora Borealis," Talia yelled, tossing the blank pictures she took of the night sky into a trash bag. The rumble of the F train drowned out her F-bomb.

"Icelandic ponies are soooo overrated," Krystina shouted in solidarity as she crumpled up Talia's blurry pictures of her and a mass of brown blobs in a field outside of Reykjavik. Collapsing onto a bare mattress and a mountain of laughter, the sisters, decided Talia's free Nikon camera had finally broken.

Their bucket-list trip to Iceland in the dead of January had been a total bust since there was no photographic proof of witnessing the Northern Lights for Talia and no photographic evidence of feeding carrots to wild horses for Krystina. The tour company insisted those were the most Icelandic things one could do; not having any evidence was just embarrassing.

On seeing the blank roll, Talia jokingly called the company to see if they could get their money back, and Krystina threatened to boycott "Bjork" concerts if they didn't.

This wouldn't be the first time the women had lousy luck with vacation photos.

A few months before, they used their savings to travel to Spain. Krystina wanted to tour all the art museums, and Talia wanted to take photos of the locals and eat her way through Madrid street food. Talia took the camera since Krystina wouldn't be allowed to take pictures in museums anyway, and they split up to explore.

Krystina got to see the "Guernica," Pablo Picasso's epic masterpiece depicting the brutalities of war; unfortunately, five other museums, including the Prado, were closed for cleaning. She missed out on Velazquez's gorgeous "Las Meninas" – her favorite.

Across town, Talia got violently ill after eating one too many "gofres" in the Metro and then spent most of the day in the bathroom. She had read about the stands underground where they churn out hot waffles, drizzle them with a thick, rich chocolate sauce and top them with a scoop of rich ice cream – usually dulce de leche.

The waffles were so hot that she had to eat them like a taco, thereby creating the perfect sliding chute. "SPLAT!" went the melted ice cream onto the Metro's dirty floor. You could precisely track any gofre-lover's route by plotting the sticky spills at the Sol Metro stop.

Depressed about her day, Krystina returned to the room. She joked that Talia was so sick and run down she looked like the desperate tortured twisted-eye bull in the "Guernica."

A month later, they missed a sold-out Amtrak train to Montreal over a holiday weekend and had to forfeit their vacation deposit. To commemorate the occasion, they took a picture of the Canadian geese in Central Park – that photo was black on the roll too.

As much as they wanted to root in New York and do more world traveling, they were broke. The only solid option they had until they found an apartment they could afford was to move into temporary alumni housing. But with only a hot plate for cooking and a communal shower, that wasn't ideal.

As they loaded everything into storage except for a suitcase each, Talia pulled the Nikon out and stuck it into her satchel. She thought she'd surprise Krystina with a partial downpayment on "first month's rent" by trying to sell it.

They wouldn't be traveling internationally anytime soon again. Plus, the new cell phones coming on the market that year were rumored to have a camera as a feature. Amateur photographers across the globe rejoiced.

"Do you buy used cameras?' Talia asked the B&H Camera salesman as she laid the Nikon down on the counter. It was a late afternoon on a Friday in Midtown, and the shop would be closing soon for Shabbot.

"Hmmm, this is pretty unique. Why are you selling it?" said the salesman as he curiously picked up what lay before him.

"My sister and I need the money to move," Talia said. Plus, every time we use it, we have bad luck, get sick or our pictures end up blurry or completely black - so it might be broken or cursed," she laughed.

"Wait right here," said the salesman. Talia observed him whispering to his coworkers in the corner of the shop as each took a thorough look. After a few minutes, she resigned to take whatever he offered, figuring anything would be better than nothing for a broken camera.

"Ma'am, do you realize this is not a Nikon? It's an aura camera," he said. "Some cultures believe we give off energy, a type of cosmic glow, which can be measured in a rainbow spectrum of color by taking a picture of oneself."

"What do you mean? "she snorted with laughter. I used this all last year for my class, and the pictures were bright and colorful, but then all of a sudden, when we graduated and moved and traveled to Iceland, they all turned ... "

"Black?" he laughed. "Where did you move to?"

"Stillwell Avenue," she replied. "It's a basement apartment off the..."

"It's an F-stop," he giggled.

Talia wasn't amused.

"Well, I can't help you, and we're closing," he muttered. "The camera is worthless. I'm sorry," he shrugged. "Stillwell. Still. Well. Stagnant? I don't know but it could be you're just at the wrong F-stop and need to let more light in?" He chuckled again, hoping she'd get the photography reference.

Talia wasn't amused.

She was so confused. Had they really been taking pictures this whole time with a fake camera? And if so, had their auras really turned black? That might explain the bad luck and ailments.

"It black? Bring back. I fix you!" She kept hearing the words of the old man in her head. She figured she would wander down to Chinatown one last time to see if she could get answers.

As she walked to the front door of what used to be the camera shop, she noticed the sign: "AURA BOREALIS." There was a light from within, so she tapped on the glass door. A young Chinese woman emerged.

"Oh! You the one! Come!" she beckoned.

That night, Talia walked out of the shop sans camera but with $2500 in her pocket; just enough for first and last month's rent on a brand new light-filled highrise apartment on Grand Avenue – a NEW F-stop.