That’s weird. When we were kids, he was super smart. “Bleak and dark. Very on-brand for you,” I say with a smile. “But I doubt photography will be a much-needed skill in the coming apocalypse. No one who’s struggling will give a damn about what I can do.”
“We need art to remind us that the struggle is worth something. That will never change.”
“Sure you’re not a thinker?”
“No one in this town would accuse me of being a brain,” he says, a little humor behind his eyes as he flips back through my portfolio. “I’m surprised how funny some of your photos are. And sad.” He points to a picture I took of a yard sale sign inPennsylvania:THREE DAYS BEFORE WE’RE HOMELESS. PLEASE BUY SOMETHING.“That’s heartbreaking.”
“Yeah,” I say, scratching my arm. “Mom bought a bunch of stuff from that woman just because—how could you not? No one plans to be evicted. That’s not part of the dream.”
“No,” he says soberly. “A lot of stuff in life isn’t. They don’t tell you that part, do they?”
I shake my head.
“You should shoot people next to the signs,” he says. “That would be interesting.”
“I hate shooting people. People are complicated. The lighting … the baggage.” I laugh a little, but I’m sort of serious, too. “Maybe my father could give me more experience with portrait photography.”
He hands me my portfolio. “Definitely see why you’d want to apprentice with him, for lots of reasons. He’s become a big deal over the last few years, yeah? But …”
“But what?”
“I’ve read stuff about him online. My opinion? He sounds a little bit like an asshole.”
“Oh, he is,” I say, smiling.
“But he’s the king, yeah? Guess that’s his prerogative.”
“Right,” I say, and then more firmly, “Right.”
“He’s probably a decent guy underneath all the gruff … right? All that talk about him evading child support and stuff is just gossip.”
“Of course.” Why is he questioning this? It’s making meuncomfortable. And he knows all this stuff, anyway. Mom didn’t ask for child support. She didn’t want him to have anything to do with me for years. I think the first time I met him was when I was three? But that doesn’t mean he’s a bad person.
I guess he realizes he’s being weird, because he backs off a little and says, “Hey, you gotta trust your gut. Don’t listen to me. I don’t know anything.”
“He’s my father,” I say.
“He’s your father,” he repeats with a shrug. “Bet you going out to LA will send your mom through the roof, though, right? Two birds, one stone.”
“That’s not the point,” I argue. “I’m not trying to stick it to my mom. This is just about me improving my craft. Photography is everything to me, and—” And of course it’s more than that, but I feel funny spilling my guts to Lucky about my yearning for a real family, so I change my mind and simply repeat, “It’s everything.”
He raises both hands in surrender. “Listen. If I had that opportunity and your talent, I would be dreaming up the same plan as you. A good teacher is important. There’s stuff you just can’t learn from watching videos online. I can tell you that from personal experience.”
“That’s all I want.”
“Then follow your dreams. Go big or go home. I mean it. All jokes aside. Even the bad ones.”
I don’t know what to say to that. He’s actually being nice to me? I don’t think I trust it.
There’s too much of a mess between us for niceness.
I can’t think about it too much, how good it makes me feel, so I don’t. I just zip up my portfolio and jump to safer subjects. “I want to help pay for the window.”
“Already told you—”
“You told me not to go to the police and turn myself in, but right now I’m talking about giving you money to help pay off the window faster. Two can pay it off faster than one, right? And I’ve got a subscription service online for my photos, and my patrons are a little down right now, but I’ll be getting some money from that in a few days. And I’m making money at the bookstore. I mean, it’s notboat-mechanicmoney, apparently,” I say, teasing.
He laughs and does an imitation of his father, using dramatic air quotes. “?‘It’s good fucking money, Lucky. No matter what happens, people will always need their boats repaired, and none of these pretty boys want to get their hands dirty.’?”
