After Life

6

The next couple of days passed in varying degrees of dejection and annoyance.

After my let down of not finding Harry at the library Friday afternoon, I had spent practically my entire weekend in the vicinity, hoping to cross his path. I sat on the steps to the fifth avenue entrance for part of Saturday morning, reading over a textbook and making a few notes before finally becoming cold enough to venture inside when I had yet to see any hint of the object of my mission. Venturing up to the Rose room, I took a seat in the same spot I had found him in that day. I spent the rest of the afternoon doing homework, reading various books, and even wandering around taking a few more pictures in the hopes of finding another subject that captivated me the way he had.

Sunday had passed in a similar manner, and by the time I made it home in the late afternoon as the sun was beginning to set over the tops of the buildings to the west, I was in complete pout mode.

Other than getting all the homework I had been neglecting so far this semester completed, the entire weekend spent at the library had been a failure. At least in terms of locating a certain curly haired boy.

Sunday evening I spent sitting in front of my laptop, going through the countless images I had taken over the fours years I had been in college. I honestly cant tell you exactly what had prompted me to sit there, curled up under a blanket, a cup of tea sitting ignored on the coffee table while I scrutinized every image I had ever taken. But for some reason I felt compelled to do so, and therefore, that was what I did.

I found it funny, by the time I made it half way through the images from my junior year, how the photographs I had been proud of, enough so to display and submit for grading, were ones I wouldn’t really consider showing people now. It was strange how your tastes changed as your skills develop. How you can see things you didn’t notice before when looking back on images you had once thought to be perfect.

I could remember quite clearly each image that I had taken. The surroundings, the subject, even some of the conversations that had occurred around them. I remembered the topic or assignment given for each, and why I chose the photograph I did. I was still proud of many of them, but I could see more flaws now that I had developed my knowledge and skill level the way I had.

I suppose that was how it was with any art form. As you progress and develop your craft, you can see the flaws in the starting products. You can almost see your progression and development over time, see how you grow and improve. Painting, writing, drawing, photography. It was all similar in that way. As with any art form, you had to practice and develop your craft. That was what I had been doing in college these last four years. And as I reached the images I had submitted in the first semester of my final year, I was proud with the improvements I had made.

Once I finished scrutinizing every image I had ever taken, I pushed my computer aside, resting my tired eyes. Mia had long ago left to meet with her study group, having a presentation due the following day. I knew she wouldn’t be back until later that night, since her type A personality always tended to pour over every detail to the point of obsession. Especially when some of those details were left to other people.  Group work was the bane of any college students existence, especially for people like Mia who liked everything a certain way. She was practically twitching as she had left the apartment two hours before.