Unexpected Subject

Mara and I resolved to take up photography in the new year. Unfortunately, the new year had other ideas. At first, I couldn’t find my camera. When I finally decided to give in and buy a new one, I suddenly had unexpected expenses that put me in the red. I compromised and started using the camera on my phone. Looking at my artistic shots usually left me wanting more, but Mara wasn’t having much more luck, even though she did splurge on a fancy new camera, one that required the use of film.

“Oh, Goldie, you can borrow my camera. You need the practice developing film. Some people still appreciate that extra attention to detail.”

I roll my eyes at her sudden expertise, but I can’t say no to the loan of her camera. Hopefully, I can get some better shots. 

“I need it back tomorrow. Maybe you can show me what you’ve got when you drop it off.”

“Of course,” I smile at her with a clenched jaw.

Motivated to take the best pictures ever by Mara’s implied challenge, I make my way to the park during my lunch hour. With the midday sun shining down on wooden benches, trees vibrant with leaves, and the usual lunchtime visitors from old couples enjoying their retirement to kids playing on the colorful park equipment, I expect to find a beautiful subject for the camera’s perceptive eye.

A suspicious look from one of the mothers leads me to believe I should focus on still life instead of the adorable tots. The trees can’t possibly suspect me of devious intentions since I don’t have an axe. The older couples seem about as averse to having their pictures taken, so I continue to snap shots of inanimate objects until my phone reminds me that I should head back to work. At least it is good for something—giving me an excuse for what I believe are disappointing snapshots. I glance down and see that I have six shots left. I snap a few pictures of a tree and another couple of an ornate bench. The last, I use for one last creative shot of the water fountain.

Deciding not to accept Mara’s assessment that I need to practice developing film, I drop them off at the one hour photo lab in my favorite big box store. I still have a half hour left when I finish grabbing some essentials, so I treat myself to a pretzel and lemonade from the snack shack. I eat slowly, savoring every bite as I flip through my new magazine.

I don’t get a chance to look at the photos before I head over to Mara’s house to return the camera. Thus I find myself peeping over her shoulder as she flips through them, clucking her disapproval at most of my artistic angles, while offering the same assessment to others simply by narrowing her eyes. Then she reaches my quick roll-ending shots.

“You have a thing for this guy?” She asks.

“What guy?” I have become distracted by one of her neighbors whose dogs are dragging her down the street. “I didn’t take pictures of any guy.”

“This guy. He must be important. He is the only person you have pictures of.” She splays out my last photos.

I lean over to get a closer look. “I swear there wasn’t a guy when I took any of those photos. And I would have noticed that guy.”

“Yeah. He’s weirdly hot.” Mara says.

“I was thinking weirdly overdressed,” I respond, taking two of the photos from her hand.

One shows him sitting on a bench, staring right into the camera like he is begging me to see him. The second shows him standing in the middle of the fountain, but he is dry and the sprays of water seem to fall right through him. His well-tailored suit makes me think of gangster movies for some reason.

Mara keeps staring at the pictures still in her hand. “Does this guy look familiar to you?”

“Yeah. I wonder why?”

“Maybe he is an actor?”

“Not with that scar. We’d remember something that distinctive.” 

She points to the left side of his face, which is turned away from the camera in every photo. Only her eagle eyes would pick up on the fact that his left eye tilts downward, pointing to a gash that appears to run from his eye down to his chin. She taps the photos against her lips as she thinks. I survey the pictures, pondering how I could have taken so many pictures of one man when I was trying so hard to avoid taking pictures of anyone, especially since I don’t recall seeing him at all.

“So what did he say when he saw you snapping his picture so much?” She asks at last.

“I swear there was no one in any of the pictures I took. Most people gave me the stink eye when they saw the camera and I wanted to avoid any problems.”

“So you didn’t take pictures of this fox?” She flashes me a picture. “He looks like he wanted you to though…”

“I guess.” I look into his face again, realizing that he has a soft smile, like he was smiling at the photographer, me.

The door swings open behind me and Mara and I both jump. She recovers quicker, slapping her brother as he takes the pictures from her hands.

“More of your work, sis?” He flips through the pictures, stopping on one of the pictures of the mysteriously appearing man. “Oh man, how did you colorize a picture of Tilted Ted?”

“Wait! What?” I exclaim, taking a closer look. “He does look like Tilted Ted.”

“But if it is…” Mara and I exchange looks, unwilling to voice that thought filling our minds—I somehow have pictures featuring a man who dies over fifty years ago.

~~This definitely feels like the beginning of a longer work. Will I ever find time for such endeavors? Maybe I should cut down on miscellaneous hobbies like bathing and cleaning my house? What say ye?~~