Leaning into the warmth he offered, I looked through the viewfinder and took in the scene he had framed. He had zoomed in on the rooftops on the other side of downtown, neatly aligning a row of windows in the lower third of the frame. The yellow light behind them created a warm contrast to the dark, cold outside.Mountains in the distance filled the middle, though they blurred into an uncanny blob in the darkness of the storm.
“It’s not going to work, is it?” Theo asked, breathing into my neck.
“You can try. I like the way the windows look against the night sky, but the mountains probably won’t look impressive, even with a lightning bolt.”
“That’s what I thought too.”
I took my eyes off the viewfinder. Even though I wanted to linger for a few seconds because I didn’t want to part with his warmth, I still got up.
“Well, I guess I have to copy you then,” he added, rushing his hands to the camera body.
I traipsed back to my camera, wishing a little more than I should have that we didn’t have to stay on opposite sides of the room, and crouched down before my camera again, my hand automatically reaching for the shutter button.
For the next half hour, rain fell, thunder rumbled in the distance, and lightning struck close by every now and then, making our shutters click in unison as we waited for that perfect image we had come up here to capture.
“Can I ask you something?” Theo’s voice broke the focused silence.
I glanced over my shoulder and found him still looking relentlessly through his viewfinder. “Sure.”
“Did you mean what you said in the interview about only turning to photography because drawing and painting were too easy?”
“That’s what’s bugging you?” I grumble-laughed, unsure how I felt about him bringing it up.
Everyone—from the people atThe Aspect Ratioto the curator of my exhibition—asked me about that. This was one ofthose things that sounded sensational in a headline but wasn’t the full truth.
“I always loved art. All of it,” I went on. “It was a nice outlet for everything that went through my head. I started with drawing, then went on to painting. I don’t know why, but I’ve been fascinated by the might of nature since I was a kid. All I wanted to draw were storm clouds and tornadoes. I think my pictures were decent for a kid, but something felt off. Drawing a lightning bolt honestly felt too easy. Maybe even a little fake, if that makes sense? I could just bend reality to fit my skill, and… that didn’t do it for me. Dad then suggested photography, and that was the moment I got hooked. Even though it was hard as fuck. It took me almost two years to get a proper photo of a storm behind our house. But I can still feel the euphoria of achieving that because the image finally felt real.” My skin tingled. I leaned my forehead against the camera, letting my eyes focus on nothing for a moment. “How about you?”
His camera shutter clicked once, the echo hovering through the room for a second.
“More or less the same, although I have to admit, it was always photography for me,” he said, keeping his voice low. “When I was in college, I felt so… disconnected. Everyone around me seemed to see the world in an entirely different light than I did. Where they saw weeds in the asphalt, I saw a flower trying to survive. When they called someone ugly, I saw a person fighting to make it through the day. I started taking pictures with my crappy flip phone without really thinking about it. Then a friend of mine saw them and was amazed. That was when I learned that my view of the world could be shared by others once they saw it through my eyes. She suggested I join her for a photography class, and I did… I liked it so much that it made me change my whole plan for the future.”
I adjusted my grip on the camera, unsure what to say to something that honest. “Your reasoning is certainly more poetic than mine.”
“I wouldn’t say that. In the end, it’s the art itself that matters, isn’t it?”
“Theo, I know I haven’t said it properly yet, but… I really liked the portrait you took of me. The way you let me see myself through your eyes really did something to me.”
“You see, it was the same for me with your picture. The first time I saw it, I was just blown away. My own pictures seemed like child’s play in comparison.”
“But they’re not. You saw how I struggled to do something that comes easy to you.”
“And vice versa.”
I peeked over my shoulder again, this time finding him glancing at me too. We shared a smile that made me feel close to him even though we were on opposite sides of the room. This was exactly what I had always wanted to find: someone to share this with. But Theo was even more than that; he was someone who also challenged me to try new things I thought I was already too old for.
“I’m glad you joined me,” I said. “And that you let me join you last week.”
“Me too.”
Another thunderbolt shattered through the night, making both our cameras’ shutters click at the same time, although the conversation had probably let us press the buttons too late.
“Maybe we should focus a little more,” I said in an attempt to change the subject before we became too sentimental. My eyes wandered past the camera, taking in the scenery, until they landed on the creek flowing next to the park—although “creek” was no longer an appropriate word for it. It had becomea raging river, overflowing its banks and flooding the meadow surrounding the clock tower.
“Theo?” I muttered, my voice breaking away at the sight of the looming danger I had completely missed before. “We need to leave. Now.”
FRAME SIX
THE STORM OUTSIDE
