She was about seven months pregnant when we met in the rose garden at the public
park near my studio.  I was shooting pictures of some of the prize roses when I
noticed her watching me.  I nodded and smiled and that encouraged her to come
over.  She introduced herself, said her name was Susan.  My surprise must have
shown because she paused and said, "What?  Is something wrong?"

I shook my head and grinned.  "No, nothing's wrong.  I was just surprised because
my name is Susan too."

She cocked her head to one side, a mannerism that had often irritated me in the
past but one that I found strangely erotic when she did it.  Maybe it was her
long, graceful neck.  Or just the fact that she was so young, so pretty, and so
radiant.  I was only 29 at the time, but she made me feel old.

I glanced at her ring finger.  No ring.  "How old are you?"

She smiled shyly.  "Seventeen..... next month."

I smiled and tried not to show my dismay.  Only 16 and almost a mother.  With no
husband.  On impulse I snapped a picture of her.  I wanted to remember her.

"Could I ask you a favor?"  She smiled that slow, sweet smile.

I nodded.  "Sure, go ahead."

"I'd like to have a picture of me as I look now."

"I'll send you a copy of the shot I just took if you give me your address."

She shook her head and blushed.  "No, please, you don't understand. I want a nude
shot.  I want to remember how I look now.  And show my baby someday."

I grinned.  "Sure, I can shoot one now if you want to walk over to my place. 
It's just a couple of blocks."

She agreed and we walked to my house, chatting companionably.  I learned that she
was a high school junior, enrolled in a special program for pregnant teens, and
planned to go on to college to study medicine.

"What about the baby?  Who will take care of the baby while you're in school?"

Her smile disappeared for a moment.  "I'm not sure, I'm hoping my mom will help."

When we arrived at my house I offered her a glass of water or juice and poured
her a glass of Apple Juice which she sipped while I moved some lights around in
the room I use as a studio.  When I was ready, I took a shot with a Polaroid back
on my Nikon, just to test the lighting setup.  It was okay, so I set up a folding
screen around a comfortable chair and left her to slip her clothes off.

When she came out, smiling shyly, I stared at her, stunned by the sheer physical
beauty of her body.  Of course her belly was out to here, but her body was still
stunning and her face was absolutely radiant.  I shot a roll of pictures as she
assumed a variety of simple poses.  Then she got dressed and left.  She said
she'd come back the following day to look at the results.  She didn't want to
give me her name or address and I didn't push.

After she was gone I developed the film and printed a contact sheet.  Later, when
it had dried, I went over it with a magnifier and picked out three of the best
shots for enlargement.  Then I went back into the darkroom and printed them. 
One, a 3/4 profile, was absolutely wonderful.  One of my all-time best and I was
eager to show it to her when she returned.

She didn't show up the next day and I wondered but I wasn't surprised.  Something
might have come up or she might have had second thoughts.  That night, while
having supper, I turned the TV on to listen to the weather report.  A news report
about a suicide caught my attention.  The reporter was talking about a body the
police had found in the park.  A young woman, identity withheld, had been found
in the park.  Apparently she'd hanged herself.  Police were investigating.  A
short description of the dead woman followed.  A note had been found. It was
brief: 'Mom won't help me....'  The police were discribed as being puzzled by the
note.

I glanced over at the counter where I'd propped up the best of the shots I'd
taken.  I knew that Susan would never see it.  I sat there and cried for a long
time.  Then I took the picture out and had it framed at one of those instant
framing shops.  It hangs on the wall of my studio and is much admired by everyone
who sees it.  When they ask about the model I just shrug and say, "Oh, she was a
friend."  And then, later, I sit and cry for her.  I'll always cry for her.  I
fell in love with another Susan, but it was too late to save her.