There I was, yet again, in Joy and Glee.
Lawrence was still on the clock, technically, but I was impatient.
"I have to do my actual job, Dalia," he muttered as he adjusted something on his camera, squinting.
"Ugh. You're a bore. I'm tryna win an international competition here!"
"Do you have this amount of energy for everything?" He glanced over the camera at me. "What are the chances we even win this thing, anyway? You said it's international?"
He had on one of those Essentials hoodies with khaki shorts, opting to wear shades of brown to match the fall season. His slender legs were adorned in tube socks and creaseless Jordan 1's. He cleaned up nice for a starving artist.
"It is."
He stopped before putting a hand on his hip and swinging his attention towards me. "You for real?"
"I hate repeating myself."
"Dalia." He paused for an unnecessarily long time after saying my name. "You have not seen a single picture I have ever taken."
He was right. I was solely being led into this endeavor by intuition; I figured he wasn't half bad if he'd been introduced to me as a prodigy.
"So show me," I gestured an arm out.
Lawrence hesitated before looking at me where I sat perched up at the bartop stool and the door he had to leave out of shortly again. He was in the middle of something, I knew, and I kept distracting him. I would've come later in the day, closer to his closing, but I was anxious for one. Two, I couldn't drive so I had to hitch a ride with Wendy when she was available after school. It was the Monday after movie night, and I'd spent the whole weekend ruminating over the possibilities and staring at the past winners of Young Art. I knew it was a long shot, but something in my gut told me to pursue it anyway.
He raised a groomed eyebrow at me. "Just go to my website portfolio."
"Your what now?"
"My website portfolio."
"Okay, Mr. Fancy," I pursed my lips at him to show I was impressed. "Where might I find this website portfolio?"
"There's a link on this place's website. I'm sure you can find it. I gotta go," he gave me one last look before he rushed out.
I murmured to myself. "You ain't that busy."
I pulled up the Joy and Glee website to find a surprisingly modern interface. I tended to underestimate my parents. They clearly had some young people on their team helping them out with some things.
I lazily scrolled through, trying to casually browse, until I saw a headshot of a handsome face. "Lawrence Jake," read the caption.
I read through his bio briefly before finally arriving at a little link. It opened up in another tab which was struck me with an entirely different energy than the studio's website.
It was sleek and mainly black. The main page had three pictures on it, lined up horizontally. None of them featured faces. They were all pictures of Black hairstyles, ranging from braids on the left to locs on the right.
I switched back over to the Joy and Glee page to look at his studio work. Then I switched back over to his website. The images on both were vastly different.
The kid was a prodigy, that was for sure.
If it wasn't for my parents and my own failed stint with photography, I wouldn't take it seriously as a career. Taking pictures couldn't be as complicated as people made it seem.
It definitely was.
The word that came to mind as I looked at his work was... poetry. It felt fluid and feminine and like it was in motion somehow. I guess that was what people meant when they said a picture could speak a thousand words.
He definitely had an eye that most of his coworkers didn't, judging from the other work I browsed through on the company page. Somehow, it was enough to keep me thoroughly entertained until it was time for Lawrence's shift to be over.
He came back into the room quietly after a few hours. Too quietly. So quiet, in fact, that when he spoke behind me, I jerked back so hard that the stool tilted under me and tried to send me to the ground.
"What are you-- woah, oh my god," he said, trying to tip me back forward.
"Bruh, what are you grabbing so hard for? And in my pits of all places? Be normal, please."
I flamed him to distract the ache in my pits that had indeed come from his surprisingly strong death grip in those fingers. As I rolled my shoulders back, trying to dramatically soothe the pain, I eyed the culprits. "You've got nice hands. Smooth, clean, moisturized. Are you sure you're a man?"
"I'm definitely a man," he stammered as he rubbed the back of his neck. "You good though? You're not in here doing something illicit, are you?" he hazarded a glance at my computer.
"Nah, I was just looking at your portfolio."
"Still? It's been like three hours."
"Yep," I motioned for him to sit across from me as I turned on my stool to face the bartop again.
"So that means you're impressed," he gave me his first smug smile ever.
"Oh shut up."
He sat down across from me and swiveled my computer towards himself, getting more serious. "But really, what did you think?"
"Your prodigy title was definitely earned. You're the real deal, I'd say. I don't think I have enough creative capacity to do things like that," I motioned to his computer, then around us. "Or this."
I felt like I was decently creative, but guys like Lawrence were artists. They had things to say and stories to tell and passion that ran deep. I never felt like I was blessed with that.
"So what is it you're trying to go to college for?" he asked me.
I shifted in my seat. "Not sure. I always thought I might be into fashion or something like that. I've never thought too hard about it, and when I came across this competition, I realized I've never thought too hard about anything. I've had that privilege. I'm seeing that I'm failing, and I'm failing fast, and I'm trying at least a little to change it. Maybe do something for myself for once."
"Well I agree that you don't seem to think too hard," he smiled sweetly at me as if he hadn't just roasted me. I cringed. "But not like that. You seem free. Uninhibited. Confident. I think that's what gets most people where they need to go."
I blushed at the compliment. "Thanks." Then I switched the topic because I didn't know what one was to do after someone complimented them. "So about the competition."
"Yes. That. What's the theme again? Like the rules?"
I blinked. "You know what? I have no idea."
He blinked at me. "Okay." Then, he swiveled my laptop back in my direction.
"It's probably a better idea if you sit next to me," I offered.
"Oh," he stammered. "Okay."
He got up and sat down on the stool next to me, watching me type in the Young Art website's URL. "I know it seems weird that I didn't look at this before, but I didn't know what section I was applying for so that took up most of my energy."
"You just said you're not an artist."
"But I'm delusional."
"Ah."
I looked at him, and he looked at me, and we burst out laughing. "I have no idea what I'm fucking doing here," I laughed in between tears. On his come down, he just chuckled and shook his head at me.
I finally got the webpage open and saw that the year's theme was "Timelines."
"Whatever that's supposed to mean," I muttered.
"I have an idea," he shared, almost instantly.
There was absolutely no way I was going to be able to contribute to this project. "I have no idea what I'm fucking doing here," I said back to him, smiling again.
-
social media
instagram: rachelmcbriide twitter: rachelvmcbride snapchat: rachelmcbriide youtube: rachel mcbride tiktok: rachelmcbriide