The Abby Diaries

The Abby Diaries: Entry One

February 21 * 7:08pm

Currently Reading: Die Softly by Christopher Pike

You could say that I’m a people-watcher. Not to be confused with stalking. Stalkers get some sort of pleasure from following their prey around. Me, I think there’s so much that you can learn about people just by watching them when they don’t think anyone’s paying attention. I suppose that sounds voyeuristic, but the truth is, we live in a voyeuristic society. Everyone’s obsessed with what celebrities are doing 24/7. We check Twitter and Facebook a bazillion times a day to see what our classmates are up to. So, if you think of it that way, I’m no different than anyone else.

          Repeat: I’m a people-watcher, not a stalker.

          That’s why, when I saw that there was a photography class at school this semester, I signed up right away. I’ve always been fascinated with the idea of capturing a moment in time. Books do the same thing—let you into the minds of people—but they’re works of fiction. Photography allows you to take creative liberties with the subjects you’re shooting. What I mean is that you never really know what’s going on in a person’s mind when you take a picture. You don’t know what’s happening in their lives at that particular moment. It’s a beautiful dance for your imagination.

            I’m pretty sure people think I’m shy. But the truth is, I’m just watching, paying attention, gathering information. You can learn so much more about people by being silent than when you talk. Not that I’m planning to use the information I gather against them later—but I could.

            So, photography. The mechanics of it all is pretty easy once you get the hang of it. And since it’s typically a solitary art, I don’t have to interact with anyone else. Which is fine with me, since I prefer being alone anyway. Well, alone or with my brother, Asher. He’s the only one at this asinine school who’s even remotely interesting to talk to. The things other kids my age care about are just so juvenile. Really, it’s exhausting being a teenager sometimes.

            Anyway, back to the point of this entry.

            About a week ago, I was wandering around during class, taking pictures. Since we weren’t going to be able to find much inspiration for our photos sitting in a classroom, we were allowed to have free reign of the campus during that class period. Our assignment was to focus on things that didn’t fit in with their surroundings. Right away, I knew what I was going to take a picture of. I took off in the opposite direction of everyone else and headed behind the school. There was never anyone back there. Well, except for the smokers. Only someone addicted to nicotine would be willing to hang out near a bunch of Dumpsters just to sneak a smoke.

            As I turned the corner, I was happy to see that the secret hideaway was empty. And that at least for the moment, I was alone. I sauntered over to a spot just to the right of the furthest Dumpster and found what I was looking for.

A patch of flowers.

            There, amongst the dirt and garbage, were a few sprigs of bright purple. I had no idea what kind they were; for all I knew, they were actually weeds and not flowers. But they were bright and beautiful—and totally out of place.

            I crouched down to focus my camera on the purple petals in front of me, making sure I could also get the dirty bin behind them in the frame. A few stems were sagging a bit—probably since they fell in the shadows of the monstrosity beside them—and that just wouldn’t do for my assignment. So, I touched the petals softly and said a few words that I knew would give life to the fallen flowers. I rarely used magic in public, but back here I knew I wouldn’t get caught. Besides, people rarely paid attention to me anyway.