A Long Way From You (22 page)

On the Monday of our third week, Professor Picasso begins photography week with a lecture:

“Of all the artistic media, photography has changed the most over the last fifteen years. This might give away my age, but I’ll say it anyway: When I first started teaching this class, we developed all of our film in the
dark
room.”

Ford looks over at me then scribbles a note.

See, I told you. Professor Picasso is from the Dark Ages.

I stifle a laugh and scoot my chair away from his so I can concentrate.

Professor Picasso continues, “Even after digital photography became very popular, I initially resisted teaching it. Finally, I switched. In some ways, now there is lots of room for mistakes in photography. In other ways, it’s still just as hard to get the one shot that makes people stop and stare as if they’ve never seen anything like it although they probably see it every day. Photography makes us see the beauty in the ordinary.”

When Professor Picasso shows us the school’s high-tech cameras and explains that we can borrow them until the end of our course, I get
major
goose bumps. The only camera I’ve ever owned is the cheap one on my cell phone. Amber used to have a nice camera and she snapped photos at every big event when I was little. But since my dad left, her camera has remained in the closet along with all of the clothes he left behind. Maybe she just couldn’t figure out how to adjust to a family of three.

Professor Picasso goes on explaining to us about aperture, focal length, and shutter speed. I take copious, detailed notes because if there’s anything I’m good at, it’s studying and replicating something. He runs a slide show with some basic rules of photography like the rule of thirds and the rule of not letting the backdrop overwhelm the subject.

“For those of you doing portraits, be careful that your subjects aren’t always performing or in character because that makes it nearly impossible to get a genuine emotion,” he says.

After what seems like endless lecturing, Professor Picasso turns us loose on the streets with our cameras. “Please don’t go searching for a particular subject. Let the subject find you.”

I’m sure that’s really good advice, but I already have my project planned. And if I want to do my project on Hipster Hat Trick, there’s no time like the present.

Once we’re outside, Ford asks: “Do you want to go walk around? We could take some photos and check out some of the summer sales along the way.”

“I’d love to,” I say. “But there’s somewhere I need to go. Can I take a rain check?”

Ford snaps my photo. “Sure,” he says. Looking through the viewfinder, he nods: “You look gorgeous. I have
such
a good eye.”

I laugh with Ford. Then I pull out my phone to text Tad to figure out where the band’s practicing today. Once he responds, I take the L train to meet up with him and Hipster Hat Trick. They are practicing in Erik’s cramped fourth-floor walk-up three blocks away from the Music Hall of Williamsburg. It’s not the ritziest of backdrops, but the apartment has good light.

“Hi, Kitsy,” the guys shout in a chorus as I walk in.

“Hey, dorks,” Tad says, facing toward Erik and Rider. “I’m pretty sure I already mentioned it, but Kitsy is going to take some photos for her summer-school project.”

I don’t like how he says “summer school” as if it were a school for dropouts rather than a selective art program. Maybe Tad’s one of those guys who acts different around his friends. Maybe he’s worried that they’ll tease him for liking art—or me.

“Awesome, Kitsy,” Erik says. “We really need to get some pictures up on our website. If people knew how good-looking we were, then we’d totally get more gigs. Well, I mean if they knew how good-looking
I
was.”

Everyone laughs, including me. I want him to know that these aren’t supposed to be glamour shots like the ones you get at the mall; these photographs are going to be art. Or at least I hope so.

The band begins to warm up, and I start looking through the viewfinder, trying to find the right angles. It’s
way
different from using a point-and-click camera to get a shot of you and your prom date.

Finding the right setting is fairly easy, but getting the guys to act natural is impossible.

“Pretend I’m not here!” I yell at Erik when he makes kissy faces for the camera.

“You’re too hot to be invisible,” he says with a wink.

Tad turns around and gives him a look.

“I need to get shots that make it look like I’m a fly on the wall. I’m not supposed to be part of the scene,” I say.

Tad gives me an encouraging nod and says, “Okay, guys, let’s ignore Kitsy. Besides, we’ve got a lot of work to do before our gig Wednesday.”

They continue their practice with the occasional argument over who’s doing what part of what song, but they still can’t help grinning every time I turn the lens on them.

After an hour or so, I carefully pack up the school’s camera and ask Tad if I can come to their next gig. I think there the guys will relax and seem less self-conscious performing onstage. There will probably be a ton of other people, so they’ll barely notice me.

“Sure, Kitsy,” Tad says. “We’re opening for a headlining band this Wednesday in the Lower East Side at a bar called Mercury Lounge. I’ll send you directions. But if we aren’t the best subjects for you, that’s okay. We won’t be mad. Well, we won’t be as long as you take a headshot for Erik to give to his adoring fans.”

Erik nods and winks. “That’d be cool,” he says.

“Are you kidding me?” I say. “Y’all are the best subjects I can imagine. I just want to shoot y’all in a few different locations to show your depth.”

“Depth?” Tad repeats and rolls his eyes. “See you at the gig, Kitsy.”

Maybe Tad’s skeptical about this project, but I’m not. Like he said, sometimes you can’t see something when it’s right in front of you.

On the train heading to the apartment, I look through my viewfinder at the other passengers: the lady with her head buried in a romance novel, the guy punching on his BlackBerry keys even though there’s no way that there’s service, and the middle-school kids wearing basketball jerseys and selling candy for their team. I even get enough courage to snap a few shots.

Scrolling through these subway photos, I try not to see what’s obvious: They are way better than any of the photos I took of Hipster Hat Trick. I ignore it and tell myself that I’ll get better shots at their gig on Wednesday.

Chapter 12
Home Sweet Home

I
HAVE SPENT ALL MY
free time exploring with my camera: I have shot a thousand photos in the last two days and had to delete my memory card twice. My camera’s becoming an extension of my body.

On my way to the Hipster Hat Trick gig on Wednesday night, I’m all worked up. After tonight I think I’ll have all the shots I need for my portfolio, and then I can move into the editing phase. Although I’ve been wrapped up in Photo Land, I’m excited to see Tad tonight even if he’ll be behind the microphone and I’ll be behind the camera.

As I walk, I play a game where I see everything not as it is, but as a photo. Then I force myself to think of it from yet another angle and shoot that, too. Even though I walk around here every day, when I snap a photo it seems like I’m seeing it all for the first time. Being behind the camera in New York makes me feel more comfortable somehow. When I first cheered at a varsity game, I felt amazing because I knew
why
everyone was watching me—because I was performing. Behind the camera, I feel like I do with my pom-poms—in control. Lately, I’m feeling particularly out of control in terms of the Amber situation. She keeps calling to ask simple questions and Kiki’s voice sounds a bit sadder each time we talk. I’m glad to get lost behind the lens for a while.

As I’m walking east across Seventh Avenue, I see a small crowd gathered around the sidewalk. I edge closer and see a man lying on the ground in the center of the group of people. He’s holding a piece of chalk in his hand and all around him is a beautiful, colorful drawing of a beach at sunset. In large capital letters, he’s written
HOME, SWEET HOME
.

“That’s amazing,” a kid on a skateboard tells him as he flies by.

An older woman, accompanied by a white toy poodle, says to no one in particular: “It’s going to wash away. It’s supposed to rain later today. Why is he doing this?”

“I don’t care,” the artist says without looking up. “It’s about the experience.”

“That’s no way to make a living,” she says before putting some spare change into his hat.

No, but it’d be a cool way to live.

Most people continue on their way, but I linger and watch. Choosing carefully from his selection of chalk, he blends reds and pinks into the pavement.

“Where’s home?” I ask quietly.

“Jamaica,” he says, without looking up.

“Why chalk?” I ask, snapping a few pictures with the school’s camera.

“It’s the only tool I had growing up,” he says. “I’ve tried oils for a while, but this is what I love even though it means I’m never going to make a living at it.”

“It’s incredible,” I say and find a dollar bill in my purse.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’m just trying to make the city brighter. Do my part.”

I hope that my art will do that someday, too, I think.

Once I’m in the Lower East Side, I spot a green-and-black sign with the words
MERCURY LOUNGE.
I smile at how easily I’m now finding my way around. Entering the dark space I spot Annika, already parked at the bar. Even though I’m anxious to start shooting, I walk over and sit down by her. She did let me in on her VIP status last weekend. Sure made for an interesting look at New York.

“Dontcha know?” she says. “It’s Kitsy Kidd,” Annika says in her best Minnesotan accent, which I guess is actually her normal voice.

“Hi, Annika,” I say. “I didn’t know that you’d be here.” Holding up my camera, I say, “I’m working on my final art project for summer school. It’s due next week.”

“You’re in
school
?” she asks. “That’s one thing I
don’t
miss: homework. My only homework as an actress is to get myself photographed and refrain from eating.”

I snap Annika’s photo without even looking through the viewfinder. “There,” I say with a smile. “We both just did our homework.”

“So how old are you?” Annika asks. “I mean, I know you aren’t legal, but how young?”

“I’m seventeen, and I’ll be a senior in the fall. I’m going back to Texas in just one week,” I say, but I’m not really paying attention. I’m looking for angles and light. Now, as a photographer, I have a hard time seeing like I used to. I’m always looking for the best shots.

“I’m nineteen, so I’m only two years older than you. Weird, it seems like way more, but this place makes you grow up fast. Hey, you never told me what you were running away from in Texas.”

Running away?
I’ve thought about my trip here in a lot of terms, but I’ve never thought of it as me running away.

“I’m not running away,” I answer, holding up my camera. “I just came here for the opportunities.”

“Everyone who comes to New York is running away from something, Kitsy. Don’t try to fool yourself. I’m running away from Annika,” she says. “I’m leaving her back in Minnesota to freeze. Here’s how to tell if you’re running away: Is there stuff at home that you left unsettled? Are you worried about going back?”

I look at Annika and say nothing.

She raises the corners of her mouth in a sad smile. “There’s your answer, Kitsy,” she says softly.

Is she right? I always thought that by coming here I’m moving toward something, but am I actually just running?

Tad and the other guys come onstage from outside, and they start warming up.

“I’ve got to go take some shots,” I tell Annika.

“Me too,” she jokes, pointing to the row of bottles. “I’m jealous of you,” she says. I look straight into the lens as I focus the camera on Annika to take her picture.

“Why?” I ask after snapping her picture.

“Because you still don’t realize how life makes you choose,” she says and releases her pose.

The gig at Mercury Lounge ended up awesome. While Hipster Hat Trick doesn’t have die-hard fans like our football team does, the band playing after them has brought in a good crowd. The guys worked really well together, and they didn’t stare back at me and smile every time I tried to take their picture. My best shot turned out to be the one of Annika though. She’s even more beautiful in photographs than she is in person, but something else about her develops on film: She looks lonely.

Even though I want to stay and hear the next band, I decide to go home early to edit my photos. My portfolio is my priority. As I’m getting ready to leave, Rider saunters up all sweaty and out of breath.

“Y’all were great,” I tell him, really meaning it. “Will you tell everyone thanks and that I had to leave?”

“Sure,” Rider says, wiping his brow with a handkerchief.

“So when are you heading back? Maybe we’ll be on the same flight.”

Rider shakes his head. “I’m not.”

“Not what? Not on the same flight?” I ask.

Rider grins broadly, and I can see why Corrinne fell for him. He’s handsome, in the opposite way than the guys on the football team. His features are delicate and his body lanky.

“No, I’m not going back,” he declares. “I don’t know if Tad told you, but we might get to go on tour and open for this wildly successful college band. I turned eighteen last month, so it’s up to me.”

“Oh, wow. That’s great.” I wonder where I’d be if anything was just up to me. Could I ever leave the Spoke behind forever like Rider if there weren’t people holding me back?

Looking at my watch, I realize I should head back to the apartment. “This is probably my last time photographing you guys, Rider. Next week, I’ll be editing. So I guess this is good-bye.”

I wonder if I ever will see Rider again, which isn’t a common feeling to have with a fellow Spoker. We’re used to saying good-bye in the see-you-later sense, not in the I-don’t-know-when-I’ll-see-you-later sense. It also makes me think about saying good-bye to Tad, and my stomach sinks in a bit. Is Hipster Hat Trick such a great photo project? Or am I just trying to take Tad with me when I leave?