A Wish for Ashley

So after mentioning the glamour.com withdrawal I experienced during my internet hiatus, I was amused to hear from a Glamour magazine writer this afternoon.  Maybe something will materialize from my conversation with her tonight, maybe not.  However, I share this because I need to share Kayla’s response to hearing about it: “if they end up writing about A Wish for Ashley, I think they owe you in return.  You should bring a picture of me and, as payment for offering up your story, ask them not to ever black-bar me.”

For those of you who aren’t also loyal Glamour readers, the ‘black-bar’ section is  arguably the back bone of this great publication.   Officially titled ‘Dos and Don’ts’, the section presents snapshots taken of unsuspecting passerby on the streets of New York.  For those ladies who find a tasteful way to be casually chic, they are celebrated in their full glory as ‘Dos’ and admired by Glamour readers across the country.  For those women who think, sure why not pair shirred jeans with a neon lycra crop top with a fringe vest and jelly shoes… they are captured by Glamour’s ruthless street photographers and splashed across this page with only a thin black bar to disguise their identities.  Since our teenage years, Kayla and I have found great entertainment in these pages; admiring the women with flawless fashion instincts and raising our eyebrows at the poor souls who have earned the ‘Don’t’ distinction.  It was many years ago that Kayla asked, philosophically, "what would you do if you opened up the magazine and looked down and realized ‘that’s me!’?"

Some Americans live in fear of Big Brother.  Wondering, if I do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing, will He see me? Kayla and I have lived in fear of the Black Bar.  Waking up thinking, if I wear the wrong thing, will I end up in next month’s issue?  Now for me, the fear is small.  I live in Boston; a good 4 hours away from ground zero of the Black Bar.  Sure, Glamour occasionally travels to other regions for the feature, but for the most part, there is safety in the snowy Northeast.  Kayla, on the other hand, must look her fear in the face.  She lives in New York, and travels into the city often.  Anytime she plans to meet her husband or girlfriends in town, she calls with pressing questions.  Is it ok to wear leggings or are they out?  Can I wear this brown cardigan now or is it still too early to break out my fall wardrobe? When I hesitate to respond, or don’t give her a definitive answer, she protests, ‘don’t let me get black-barred!’ and she has my immediate attention and support.  So far, so good.  No black bar.  But to be safe, Kayla wants the ‘Get Out of Black Bar for Life’ pass on the negotiating table if Glamour wants to feature our story.  

What does the Black Bar have to do with the search for Ashley? Well, depends on how you look at it.  For me, there’s a new sense of urgency, and anxiety, knowing that out there, somewhere, Ashley- or people who may know her- may be watching some of this unfold.  I wake up thinking, what can I do to both honor her and make her understand how much we have all always loved her if today is the day she is going to get a snapshot of the cousin she hasn’t seen in ten years.  I try to be deliberate with the words I share here, and stories I share in our outreach appeals. Not knowing if today will be the day she stumbles upon me, not knowing if she’ll consider my efforts a Do or a Don’t.  The uncertainty can be overwhelming at times- enough to get me to call my sisters or mom and ask if I’m doing the right things.  They convince that today I won’t be black barred.  They push me to think that tomorrow others may join our search after seeing our work in a positive light.  

The Black Bar is scary; it’s unknown.  This search is very similar.  Halloween has nothing on the terrifying, ominous, startling process of putting myself in public view in the hopes of one day finding Ashley. 

With love (for my middle sister as she braves a weekend in the Black Bar land of (mis)opportunity),

Audra