The bus was musty and crowded the next day.
I had rushed out of Trent in order to catch the earliest bus into the city.
I'd had to stop home before getting on the bus because I didn't trust myself to keep my dad's camera unscathed throughout the whole day. Even if it was in my locker, I could find a way to knock it out of there or something.
I'd decided I was quitting.
The Young Art Institute competition had been stressing me out more than most things did, even impairing my sleep. So I just decided to nip it in the bud. By quitting. I was protecting my peace.
It was time to move on to the next thing. Maybe I could finally get my driver's license, especially considering Wendy was the one that dropped me home and at the bus stop.
The bus wasn't usually frequented by people my age. It mostly consisted of homeless elders, working-class people, and young children with their parents. I was never unaware of the curious looks I'd get when I stepped on.
Most teens, especially those at Trent, were completely unaware of the bus and train system in the city. Trent kids had cars, and other teens usually relied on their parents or rideshare apps. My folks were always at work, and our schedules never lined up in a way where they could drive me around. And the bus/train was dirt cheap compared to those rideshare apps. They were faster a lot of times too, considering Atlanta traffic.
The soles on my platforms had not stopped squeaking in the time since I'd bought them. They made a lot of noise, and I couldn't help but walk like a penguin while stepping down from the bus. I thanked the bus driver with a smile, left a tip, and was on my way.
Despite living in the city (or just outside of it rather), for my whole life, I had not experienced much of its urban charm. Even going to the photography suite was a rarity. I was kind of excited for the venture because outside of my small adventures with Wendy out to eat or shopping, I didn't go out.
I had on a denim mini skirt and cropped white t-shirt for the warm occasion. It was either scorching hot or freezing cold in Atlanta, and that also got old quickly.
The GPS feature on my phone was doing well that day, for the first time in a long time. I'd cracked my phone badly some days ago and had yet to get it fixed. It was like I'd ruptured an antenna in there or something. Again, expensive equipment was not my thing.
It was times like that when I somewhat appreciated the work my parents did. I could be clumsy and terrible and not have to take any responsibility for it. That wouldn't do well for me in the future.
My brain flitted to the competition, and I smacked myself in the side of the head to dead that, quickly.
I was terrible with navigation and directions. It was embarrassing that I could not locate the studio after years of visiting it, even if it wasn't frequent.
Joy and Glee Photography Suite had a regular amount of clientele there that day if my mind recalled correctly. I had not been there since July when I came to siphon the camera from my dad.
Of course, my eyes went straight to the camera that I would have the most guilt for in the case of breaking it. Despite the risk, my impulsiveness told me to get it anyway.
I had it strapped around my neck, but I felt like I still was not doing enough to keep it protected. Both hands were clasped around it as if my life depended on it.
The studio was painted in its signature baby blue. Despite many touch-ups over the years, the color had remained constant. The decor gave the space pops of neon color. For older folks, my parents had a flare for modern design.
Other than the secretary, who I was approaching, I had no idea who else worked there. I'd seen a couple of faces, but I never knew if they were clients or employees. I always signed in, despite it being a family business. I was never there, so I felt uncomfortable walking in like I owned the place, even if by association, I technically did.
"Hi, Jules," I spoke to the woman. Jules glanced up from her computer and spoke, "Good day, Ms. Glees. Your dad is working right now, but you're free to go where you please." I slid the sign-in board back in her direction with swiftness.
I wondered if the woman before me enjoyed working at Joy and Glee.
Being the secretary definitely seemed like the least fulfilling job in the place. There were photographers, light manipulators, clients, and prop makers. I wouldn't be able to stand having to just sit there and watch it all happen.
Jules wasn't that old, yet. She was probably in her early thirties and had some youth about her. If she wanted to do more, she could.
I felt like an entitled piece of shit for thinking that Jules needed to do more and just decided that I hoped she was doing whatever made her happy. Â I had to knock myself down a peg. Being a narcissist with no developed skills and no passion, not to mention no meaningful human connections aside from a handful of people, I was in no place to look down on anybody.
I eyed the half-full sign-in sheet one more time before I moved towards my dad's inventory hall.
The whole place was open. Rather than the materials and supplies be stored away and out of sight, they lined the walls toward the back of the studio. my dad must have really trusted his employees because the equipment they had free reign over was mighty expensive.
To be sure that he knew that I was returning the camera, I went looking for him. I didn't want to just set it down as I might have on a lazier day. Maybe he would be proud of me for bringing it back unscathed.
When I walked onto the set of whatever shoot he was conducting, my eyes went straight to the model. She was pretty.
I stood there, observing, forgetting all about imposing on the private shoot that my dad was being paid for.
"Thank goodness," is all I heard. It was a male voice, and it made me pause. It wasn't my dad's. It was young and crispy. Hm?
The camera stopped flashing from behind me. I pivoted to see what the occasion was.
A boy who wasn't much taller than me stood with a camera around his neck. I only got to see that image for a short while, because he was ripping it from his body in an instant. It spiked my worry; whenever I moved that quickly, something ended up broken.
However, this boy seemed to move with much more confidence than I did. He set the camera down on a table near him and reached his hand out for me.
I, still trying to process everything that was occurring, pointed at myself as if to ask, "Me?"
He nodded, and I carefully removed the equipment from around my neck.
I was being as cautious as I knew how, but it was like my dad was being as rambunctious as he knew how. Right as I was about to release my grip on the camera, his voice echoed into the room.
"Dalia!"
The camera slipped from my hands, and it was like the dude in front of me just knew I was going to drop it. One of his hands caught it by its body, and the other grabbed the strap. It would make sense for him to know what I was doing; his eyes hadn't left me during the whole exchange. His gaze wasn't heavy or uncomfortable, though.
He was just looking.
I glanced at him one last time before stepping toward my dad. "Hey daddy, I came to bring your camera back," I said to him impishly. I knew he wouldn't be angry about my nearly destroying his favorite camera, but I was growing tired of myself despite it all.
"I see. To be quite honest with you, I didn't think that I'd be getting that back. Take five," he gestured to the model sitting on a stool right next to where I stood.
I sucked my teeth.
A light flashed into my eyes before I could counter what my dad had just said to me. I was being photographed.
"Had to test it some kind of way," I caught a glimpse of a grin from dude.
My dad had the same big smile that he wore most times as he looked between us. "Joy and Glee" didn't come from nowhere; the man was happy to a fault.
"This is my daughter, Dalia."
I threw up deuces.
"And Dalia, this is my teenage genius photographer, Lawrence."
How did he get a better introduction than me?
I slapped myself on the wrist.
The boy's attention was already diverted elsewhere. He had removed the camera from around his neck and was fiddling with it.
Lawrence was his name. He wasn't much taller than I was, but our height difference was still considerable. He stood at 5'11 and had a lot of hair. Upon second look, his hair was gorgeous. It fell around his face in loose curls, with makeshift bangs covering most of his forehead.
When Lawrence was done doing whatever he was doing with the camera, he pulled it back onto his neck; the strap brought his hair with it.
Aw, he had baby hairs.
I didn't like staring, so I continued to find a place to sit.
After a pause, he spoke. "You have a lot of content in here. Did you get it onto a cloud or drive somewhere?" he looked straight at me. When he first spoke, my attention and focus were on making sure he didn't win the staring contest. Then I registered what he had actually asked me.
I flushed with embarrassment. my trash pictures were still on that camera in the hands of a professional. How badly I wanted to snatch the camera from him and smash it into bits.
"I forgot about those," I tried to say as calmly as I could. "Is it okay if I keep them on there until I can bring my computer here?"
I could see that that was not the answer that Lawrence was looking for, but he nodded at me.
"Okay, thanks. I'll see you guys later."
Without another word, Dalia Glees was leaving the city.
Lawrence was in the back of his Uber, trying to minimize his conversation with the woman in the driver's seat. He wasn't the most talkative guy, and that was especially true when super-grown women tried to get at him.
He was a handsome young man-- he knew that already. However, he had more important things to deal with. In recent months, the weight of his future bared heavy on his body, mind, and spirit.
He thought about how he'd been working at Joy and Glee since the end of his freshman year and had yet to meet the owner's own flesh and blood. When he thought about it, Mr. Glees did say that he had one daughter and another on the way at one point.
It kind of got old, though, hearing about grown people's kids. Everyone had kids for the most part. They all were proud of their kids. It was nothing new.
However, Lawrence wished that he had paid more attention when Mr. Glees spoke. Perhaps Lawrence would have had an idea of what to expect when his daughter came plodding through the doors of the photography suite.
However, he didn't.
The daughter, Dalia Glees was her name, was clearly an interesting girl. Whether she was a good kind or bad kind was up in the air, but Lawrence was intrigued, nonetheless.
It wasn't often that he saw girls wear sneakers two inches up in the air, especially when they were already tall. He liked her fashion. She could've pursued modeling, in his book.
Her hair was long also. She had it pulled back at the nape of her neck. It definitely suited her; it accentuated her bone structure. It was big and coily; it smelled edible.
He thought of the girl like he'd think of a client, even though he thought it unlikely she'd ever step in front of his camera. It had been years and he was just seeing her for the first time. He did get that one picture, however.
With his camera in his hands, he clicked through the memory on it.
As soon as he got it turned on, the girl in the driver's seat of the Uber looked in the rearview mirror at him. "So, are you a college student around here? You look like a Morehouse man."
He gave her an irritated smile. "Nah." Before she could try and continue, he buried his head once more in the camera.
Most of the pictures in there were mediocre; he could tell that she had not taken the care to look up how to properly focus the camera and adjust the lighting.
He actually kind of grimaced. It was very arts and crafts. It wasn't good.
He clicked through it out of curiosity nonetheless and came across the picture of him that he'd taken himself. She was wide-eyed and concerned, but she looked amazing.
At least he got to take one picture of her before she disappeared.
"Not too bad, Law."
-
Travis Scott: ASTROTHUNDER
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