Evie
'Photography is about capturing souls, not smiles.'
I could remember picking up my first camera. It was one of those little disposable ones you get from the dollar store that you had to develop the film from. It had a little dial on the back that's scrape the pads of my fingers when I'd turn it. More often than not my brother had to do it but he never complained, he thought it was adorable that I was so excited about getting to take the family photos like an adult.
I remember his face, shock so evident when we got the film developed and I'd captured moments of complete bliss, anger and boredom. I'd gotten photos of nature but the best ones were of nurture. There was one with his head tilted to the sky, the rain just beginning to splatter the cement with droplets and a smile was curved on his lips. Another was of a tourist with an empty look on her face and arms wrapped around her waist. We made up stories for years about her vast look, wondering what it meant. And then there was the one that made my parents take the camera away.
We'd been outside, playing in the pool of the hotel when we heard shouting through the open window. We had been the only ones staying there, the school year still in full swing when both our parents had to go out of town for a meeting and dragged my brother and I with them. We were on the 1st floor with a view of the pool from our window, the curtains open so that our parents could keep an eye on us. It wasn't unusual for them to fight, the spewed venom falling from their lips was just usually kept to a minimum around us. My mother's face was red, my father's lips pursed in his silence as she screamed at him and I'd scrambled from the pool for that tiny little camera.
I'd freeze framed their fight, the one that almost broke them apart I would later learn, but in a single shutter I had frozen that boiling rage. My mother's finger pressed into my father's chest and my father so close to ripping the skin out of the inside of his cheek. The awe my brother's face held was nowhere to be seen on my parents as they ripped the camera away, nosy being a word they used too often to describe me.
They ridiculed the pictures, saying that it wasn't art. They said the pictures were not good, just luck and so I didn't just fall in love with photography- don't get me wrong, there's nothing like getting that just right picture- but now I had something to prove. This wasn't child's play, it was an art form and I was the artist.
I wouldn't change my decision to be a photographer, I wouldn't change the way I decided to be a photographer- half from loving it too much to do anything else, half from spite- because now here I am.
I'm in New York, one of my hands tangled with a cute boy who liked me which was a feat in itself and the other holding onto my camera like a lifeline as we waded through streets crammed with people. And not just any people, all people. L.A. was pretty diverse but it was nothing like New York where people proudly strutted through the streets and sure, slurs could be heard from a few of the whispering tourists but most people were too busy with their own selves to worry about anyone else. And it might have just been my mind that saw the subtleties, the way the sun bathed the dark skin of a woman with light and her bright yellow dress made her face glow. The way a man in a suit held another man's hand as they shuffled on the crosswalk or how a two women were laughing loudly, eating lunch and I could just see their feet tangling underneath the long tablecloth.
I could see cultures, diversity, and kindness in otherwise bleakness when I saw a man hand a woman her purse when she dropped it without a thought. I could see it when a man, beard and all, made his way down the street in a dress with two guys in skinny jeans and a woman approached. They tensed, stepping in front of him a little but she just gave them a shy smile and asked if he was single after asking his pronoun.
And yes, all of this was beautiful. It was unique like something from fairytales but I couldn't take my eyes off of Luke for more than a second. If I thought he looked handsome normally, there was something about him in an oversized flannel with two day old scruff and eyes that looked a little more than tired that was just so endearing to me. He was saying something and it's not that I wasn't listening but I got distracted by the pink of his lips, the curve of his smile and the soft flash of teeth when he realized what I was staring at. It should have embarrassed me, his hand leaving mine so that his arm could encircle my waist and drag me into him in the middle of the sidewalk like an animal. Instead, I found a confidence lurking under my skin and lifted my camera to snap a picture of his smirk.
"Did you just take pictures of me?" He startled when he heard the shutter go off four times in succession.
"Yep." I popped the 'p', his lips finding mine as he laughed.
"If I'd have known this was a photoshoot, I would've gotten all handsome for you." He teased, leading me to the ramp of the music museum I insisted we go to because I wanted pictures of whatever lame excuse I made up, okay? I wanted to go for him.
"You're always handsome." I said off-handedly, grinning as I snapped another picture of him looking downward with a blush on his cheeks.
"Okay." He said a little too loudly, coughing before lowering his voice. I'd embarrassed him but It was kind of nice to be the one complimenting him for a change. "What do you wanna look at first?"
It was four hours later when I realized he was the only thing I'd been taking pictures of. His hands when he reached out to strum at the guitar they had on exhibit, way too many of his smiles and their different variations, his eyes and nose. I had a few of his neck, his collarbones and back. I felt like a stalker but they were so aesthetically pleasing and I don't know when I decided to shape my entry around people in New York, but the reflection of skyscrapers in eyes of cerulean were all I needed to know I was going to shape the entire profile around the humanity of the city, humans in a sea of overly tall buildings and machines.
"And so I told him that he couldn't put green hair dye on the dog, but Jack wouldn't-" Luke interrupted his own story, one that I was pretty sure would lead to his older brother dyeing their dog, at the sound of familiar chords being strummed over loud chatter.
"Is that our song?" He questioned, his head tilting to the crowd of people surrounding a couple of street musicians who'd slowed down Jet Black Heart and were crooning it in thick accents and raw emotion.
Luke was drawn to it like a moth to a flame, his hand tangled with mine as he tugged me into the crowd. It was in that moment, his eyes lit up by the flickering streetlamps coming to life and the mirage of culture around us that I knew this was something deeper than a petty crush on a cute boy who gave me the time of day. It was more than romance in a work of fiction, more than a momentary glimpse of what could be. It was something tangible when instead of abandoning me for the music, he pulled me in with him. He hand settling gently along the curve of my lower back and his other tugged at my hip until I was pulled flush to him in a hug. He was sharing something that was obviously meaningful for him- people playing his music like he had with bands he adored was a very big deal- with me. He wanted me to feel it too.
This was too much, too many feelings I should not be having this early on so I weaseled my way out of his arms when the song changed to something unfamiliar in another language and he watched me cautiously, obviously having the same feelings and afraid he'd scared me off but only smiled when I crouched and started to take pictures between people's legs. He turned his attention back to the musicians but I stayed tense, thoughts going a mile a minute as I took aimless pictures.
I turned to him at the end of the song, ready to ask if he wanted to leave them some money when everything I wanted for this project clicked into place. His hair was mussed from the day, one hand wrapped around himself almost defensively as he held onto his other arm that was tapping the beat of the song. His eyes were unfocused, seeing the band but not actually seeing them and his mind was in another place. The sun was setting on his rosy skin, the rays lighting up people around him and I angled my camera.
There was a woman to his left in traditional Saree holding hands with a black man wearing skinny jeans, a white man to his left was eating a pretzel and bopping his head to the now faster paced song. To Luke's front was a woman in a hijab, a man in traditional garb that I'd never seen before stood next to her and would boop her nose at the high notes. There were lesbian and gay couples around us, a lot of races, cultures, and human beings. They were listening to music that connected them more than a language or a custom ever could, the hatred and bigotry nonexistent in this bubble of music and it took my breath away even as I snapped the picture with the sky lighting up in reds, purples, blues and knew that I couldn't capture every perfect facit but I could get the gist of the moment.
And it made my fear of getting to close to Luke obsolete when I looked at this huge group of people around me, when one of the musicians smiled at a young child and she didn't care that he was the same colour as her but might be a different religion. It was pure, innocent and I couldn't let the fear of us not being something concrete, that spanned time, hold me back from now and this moment.
I let the camera dangle around my neck, stepping back up to Luke and taking the initiative this time when he didn't notice me immediately to slide my hand down his arm. He jumped a little, eyes meeting mine before relaxing and opening up his arms for me to step into them.
"Get what you- oh." He breathed as I pushed my lips to his. Normally he was the one to lean in first but I was feeling more sure about this than I had before so I was going to bask in it before waves of self-doubt and self-consciousness had me staying up at night and questioning why I would be so forward.
"I'm really happy." I stated at his look of shock when we pulled apart and his one arm rested comfortably around my waist as his left hand came up and tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear, a smile brighter than any of the stars curving on his lips.
"I'm glad. So am I." He promised and I needed to edit these photos, send them in, prepare for the disaster that'd be tomorrow. I don't know why I would get so excited about these things knowing it would break me when I lost but none of that seemed to take precedence over this moment right here and now.
I was safe, happy and could feel how his heart skipped a beat every time I kissed him or my fingers brushed against his jaw. I could feel his warmth, his happiness and I knew that our relationship - if that's what this was - would be a hard one with distance and clashing personality traits but he's Luke, and I'm me and we are as stubborn as they come.
If anyone could make a relationship like this work, we could and I was ready to give it a try.