Chapter 4 #2
I couldn’t believe Theo did this every day.
His whole approach to photography was completely different from mine.
I planned my shots meticulously. The image of the barn and the tornado that got me all that attention wasn’t a mere accident.
I had planned to take such a picture for years.
I wanted to show how fragile our human inventions are compared to the raw and unforgiving nature that all living things are at the mercy of, whether they like it or not.
To achieve this, I mapped all the potential barns, farms, and old buildings within a two-hundred-mile radius that wouldn’t survive a tornado.
For three years, I closely followed the weather reports and drove out twenty-eight times, only for twenty-seven trips not to yield a single useful shot for what I had in mind.
That was one, albeit perfect, shot in three years.
And him? He took six hundred pictures a day for his job and probably as many on the side to feed his artistic needs.
He didn’t think about it; he just shot away.
What impressed me the most was that his output wasn’t any less remarkable.
He might not have had that one defining picture as I did, but he was also five years younger.
It certainly was only a matter of time before he received the recognition he deserved—and once he did, he had tens of thousands of pictures to maintain his success.
“How do you do that?” I asked as he took a detailed shot of a wine glass in front of the mountains.
“Do what?”
“Find inspiration everywhere?”
“You mean this?” He pointed to the glass and chuckled. “I’ve taken that shot at every wedding I’ve photographed.”
“But you’ve already taken more than just the pictures you get paid for, right?”
“A few, yeah.” He spun his head around to see if anyone was nearby, then flipped through his camera and motioned for me to come closer.
With our heads only inches apart, we stared at a shot of the bride’s brother sneaking a look at his phone behind her back, as if he were on a secret mission.
“That’s what I want to know! How do you see that?”
“I just look. It’s also a bit of luck. Sometimes there’s not much to find, but since I work with humans, they probably have things to hide.
Come to think of it, the trick might be to look where no one else is looking.
Like when you want to figure out a magic trick.
When a magician shows you their left hand, you look at the right. ”
He winked at me and walked toward the open side of the tent, raising his camera for a shot of the landscape.
Since he was the only other person currently present, I followed his movements closely, knowing that if I wanted to test out his theory, this was the best approach.
When he turned his back to me, I lifted my camera.
His ass looked magnificent, so I took the opportunity and snapped a photo.
Other than that, though? No matter where I looked—at him, away from him, at the trees and mountains behind him, or at the neatly decorated table next to him—I couldn’t spot a secret.
Still, I kept going when he returned to the bride and groom.
I tried to photograph the busy waiters folding napkins, a chef trimming some meat, and even the wedding planner berating a man holding two wine bottles toward her.
None of the pictures turned out well. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t capture a single decent photo of anyone, and my mood gradually shifted.
An hour later, when the first guests arrived, the situation only worsened.
Sure, there were more people, but that also meant more chaos.
Within minutes, the reception felt more chaotic than an evening at the bar.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t stand having many people around me; that wasn’t a problem.
But in the chaos, it became much harder to spot anything.
His explanation didn’t do shit for me. With everything happening around me simultaneously, where the heck was I supposed to look?
Of course, I kept taking pictures. I tried switching tactics by looking more with my eyes rather than just through my lens to see if that would make it easier to spot something.
But every single image could have been taken by an amateur—probably better, because amateurs at least love what they’re doing.
After a lovely older couple asked me to take their picture, I pulled the ripcord.
Despite their smiles, the photo looked like a mug shot—clear evidence that this wasn’t going anywhere for me.
If I stayed, it was only a matter of time before I slipped up and revealed my bad mood, which wasn’t something I could do to Theo.
I snuck up behind him and waited until he lowered his camera before tapping his shoulder. “Can we talk outside just for a second?”
He followed me out of the tent about ten feet away so no one could overhear us and accidentally notice that I wasn’t actually his assistant.
“I’m going to leave.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Some people just asked me to take their picture, which I did, and… it’s the most horrendous shot ever taken. I could already sense more people walking toward me, as if they had the same idea, and…” I shook my head. “They’ll expect to see these after the wedding, but never in a million years—”
“Your pictures can’t be that bad.”
“Theo,” I said, our gazes interlocking. I pressed my lips together, keeping all the bad words I wanted to say about everything I’d done that day inside.
He tipped his head back, his eyes unfocused for a moment, as they turned inward. “You could just send those people over to me. Or not. They’ll all be so drunk in an hour that no one will ever remember asking you, I promise.”
“I really don’t want to mess with your reputation here.”
“Look, I’m not going to ask you to stay if you don’t want to.
” He turned his head back to me, wrinkling his nose, almost as if this wasn’t just about me giving up on the learning opportunity, but about him not wanting to be here entirely alone.
But then his usual smirk appeared. “I will mock you, though, if you use this as an excuse not to keep pushing through. At least, a little.” From the few days I’d known him, I had no doubt that he meant it.
He leaned forward and put his hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t give up now, just because it’s not working yet.
If my approach to photography isn’t for you, you’ll have to find your own way to get the result.
Maybe you’re better off doing it like one of your nature shoots.
Maybe you need to look for a single story that interests you, and then you follow it discreetly. ”
“I appreciate your help and everything, but… I really think I should leave. I can’t connect to this at all. And I really don’t want to mess things up for you.”
“That’s okay.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Just promise me one thing. When you leave, go through the tent and chateau one last time without taking any pictures. Just… look at the people.”
“What good would that do?”
“Probably nothing. But I don’t want to give up mentoring you until it’s truly over.” Letting go of my shoulder, he stuck out his tongue as if we were still in our twenties and this was totally normal behavior for our age. “And I still want to see your horrible attempts sometime soon.”
“So you can mock me?”
“So I can learn from them myself.” He winked at me, his face warm and understanding, then turned around, heading back toward the tent, toward the job he couldn’t just abandon like me.
A lump formed in my throat as his words rushed through my mind. Despite my strong urge to leave, I wanted to honor his suggestion. Five more minutes wouldn’t kill me.
I walked toward the tent. The grass rustled beneath my feet. Chatter and laughter turned into a cacophony that wanted everything and nothing from me. Sentences not meant for me made their way to my ears.
“…these are the ugliest bridesmaids’ dresses I’ve ever seen…”
“…I puked so hard that I swore I’d never drink again. But here we are, and it’s not even two p.m. yet…”
“…Tom’s so sad he couldn’t make it, but that’s the life of a sheriff…”
There were stories here. But none that I could ever get into a picture.
My eyes were fixed on the ground, which made it easier to hear what they were saying. Their shoes danced across the floor as if part of a choreographed routine—not pure chaos.
“…we shouldn’t. Not today. We can’t make this about us,” a deep voice said with urgency. “Meet me at my car in five minutes.”
I raised my head to peek at who was speaking. It was the bride’s brother. Leaning in close—though careful not to get too close—he addressed the tall groomsman, who had swapped his basketball uniform for an elegant dark blue suit and matching bow tie.
Something stirred within me. Their words were like a stone reaching the bottom of the lake that was my soul, stirring up the ground that had been undisturbed for a decade.
The two men shared a pained smile, as if they were reassuring each other without words. Then, the bride’s brother pulled away from the conversation and sauntered toward the exit. The tall groomsman stared at his phone for a minute, hiding his other hand in his pants pocket, then left too.