beyond the technique, there is something missing, something I can’t identify.
“What’s the story?” If he can’t articulate it, that will be the reason I can’t find it.
“A bright, young ambitious girl nervous under the scrutiny of someone she admires.”
I frown at his answer, unwittingly. I’m both impressed and annoyed that he’s that aware of his subject. “Yes, I suppose it would make her nervous to be photographed by the man she’s crushing on.”
Is my envy evident? It’s nonsense jealousy, wanting his attention and not wanting it all-at-once. I’m sure I confuse him. I’m confused myself.
“I was talking about her teacher.”
Now I’m confused by him. I look up questioningly, prompting an explanation.
“She knew you were watching. Of course she was preoccupied wondering what you were thinking. What you observed.”
I actually laugh. The man is not as self-aware as I thought. “She’s preoccupied with you, not me. Trust a woman to know.”
“Well, then,” he says with a shrug, “I guess I was confusing her story with mine.”
A strange spiraling emotion takes me over, tightening my chest as it wraps around me, leaving me warm as it slithers down. I’m embarrassed and thrown. What’s his motive? He can’t be speaking from a place of sincerity. And also, dammit, he saw me watching, and now I suddenly want to bury my head in a hole.
I throw my gaze back to the screen so he doesn’t see the flush in my face and take the moment to regroup. “It’s the right story,” I say, as though he hadn’t just shot an arrow to my heart. “It doesn’t matter exactly who it was who had her flustered. The fact remains that she is pleasantly uneasy. I can see that clearly.” It’s most evident in the series of shots, which is not a lesson I have planned to teach for another couple of weeks. Leave it to Hendrix to tackle assignments in advance.
I stop at a particularly well-composed frame. Technically, it’s perfect, but it’s not right. I mean, it’s head and shoulders above anyone else I’ve critiqued today, which is what makes it all the more frustrating to not be able to put a finger on the flaw. There is agony in the “almost.” More so than when a mark is missed entirely. I’d rather the miss any day. To be so close to the goal and miss it by a hair? That’s a kind of torment that haunts.
It makes me all the more eager to figure out the fix, not just because it’s Hendrix who is facing this potential torment. I would be equally motivated if it were any of my students, but also, admittedly, this torment will also haunt me if not resolved because it is Hendrix.
I twist my lips, studying, thinking. I flip through the last images. I flip back. “I need to see something,” I say. Without waiting for his response, I march through the classroom door—propped open since it’s the kind that automatically locks when shut—to the computer at my desk. I wiggle the mouse to wake it up, type the title of the photo I’m looking for in the browser search bar, and hit enter.
It isn’t until the image is full on the screen and he leans in to look with me that I realize that he followed me in here. That I realize that we’re practically alone. That I realize that I’ve made an awesome mistake.
My heart quickens its pace.
“Leopard, sleeping,” he says, repeating the name of the photo before us. “That one won me the BWPA. Almost four years ago now. Flattered you knew it by name.”
Sure, he’s flattered. I’m...well, I’m a bit embarrassed, of course, but not as badly as I would have imagined I’d be. I’d forgotten that about him, that he has a way of easing me like a fragrant balm against sliced skin.
“It’s worthy of the award, though not my favorite.” I’m not sure why I’m being so honest. Probably because I’ve gone completely nutters and have lost all control.
“And which one is that? Your favorite.” He’s closer now, his head lowered so that I can feel his exhale at the side of my cheek.
“Elephant playing in black and white,” I admit.
“That one is a favorite of mine as well.”
As it should be. I’d be beside myself cocky if I’d taken that shot or anything near it. It’s complete magic how he captured the animal spouting water from its trunk at its companion, the droplets of water catching the sun like diamonds. It’s playful and