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They don’t see what I went through to get him to take me on. I wrote him letters, like a teenage girl obsessing over a boy band. I mailed him pictures and letters begging him to teach me anything. The letters weren’t enough though, he never replied and I kept on sending them.
Until I saw that he was going to be at an event in my hometown and I begged my parents to let me make the two-hour drive to be there. They were hesitant but ultimately gave in. They set all kinds of rules for their freshly seventeen-year-old son driving his junk box car not only alone, but hours away to another town.
They didn’t know how to stop me from going behind their backs and they knew setting guidelines and letting me go would be safer for me than sneaking out and doing everything in my power not to get caught. Even then I was a selfish prick. Some things never change.
Patrick couldn’t believe that I was the kid writing all the pleading letters and sending full-blown lookbooks full of pictures I bribed my sister into posing for. This was when he finally looked at me and took me under his wing. He had rules too, maybe that’s why I have such a distaste for them as an adult.
Pat’s first rule: I had to graduate high school. Once I had graduated, I could relocate and begin my training.
Rule number two: everyone you photograph must be a willing participant. No weirdo candid photos of someone you saw on the street or in the coffee shop around the corner.
And most importantly, capture the best base image you can so that you don’t have to edit the shit out of it to make it look good.
Make every shot count. Every turn of the head, look in the eyes, angle of the body. Catch every moment of it. You never know what captured emotion will resonate and make your cold dead heart feel something. Okay, that last sentence is more interpretation than a direct quote but you get the idea.
It was a chance that I got picked up by Ovis. I didn’t intend to go into fashion photography. My true passion, believe it or not, lying with newborn infant sessions. I dreamed of capturing the smallest, untainted little beings on the planet with all of their innocence still intact.
How fucking soft do I sound right now? I know, it’s surprising even to me. I fell in love with photographing babies when Ella was born. I was obsessed with everything she did and how every piece of her body was so tiny.
The smallest toes I had ever seen.
An impossibly miniature mouth that could let out an Earth-shattering cry.
Fingers so tiny they mimicked a ring wrapped around your finger.
She was every ounce of perfect and her presence completed our family. She was our missing piece that fell directly into place.
Ella cried nonstop but none of us seemed to care. We were enamored with her, fascinated and obsessed. She was the first baby I ever met and I was smitten.
Nowadays, it’s a struggle to remember her as that sweet innocent baby when she is talking my ear off about something ridiculous I don’t need to hear about.
Through all the years growing up together, she grew on me and I hate to admit it but she might be my best friend. Probably my only friend if I am being honest with myself.
We had different plans for our lives after we each graduated from high school. She was determined to get out from under the shadow of her big brother and leave town. That midnight train going anywhere song could have been written about her.
I clung to the familiar, staying close to home and sticking to what I knew. Photography and being an asshole. Though I suppose I wasn’t always cold but when people label you as one thing repeatedly, you can’t help but start to lean into that stereotype.
And now I have driven that stereotype right into the ground and my reputation and career are tied to it so tightly that I may never be able to escape. You can only be the asshole for so long before it starts to break you from the inside out.
I am done being that guy. The one that has a shitty attitude and an even shittier demeanor. The one who does nothing but make everyone around him miserable. The new BK starts with Carter because as much as I want to deny it, to pretend it has nothing to do with her. It would be a total lie.
BurgerKing:Wearen’ton set today or tomorrow, but I want to show you something. Meet me here in an hour…
There are many lovely ways to wake up on your day off.
Finding out you won the lottery and no longer need to go back to work…is a great way.
A gentleman with serious tongue stamina between your thighs…is an even better way.
The ding of your phone alerting you that your boss has decided your day off is nothing of the sort…not in the top fifty ways.
He includes an address for one of the mill buildings close to the river. I wonder if I can deny his request. Maybe if I turn off my phone and pretend I never got his message, I can use that as a cover story.
As much as I want to ignore his unwelcome demand, I am curious about what he could want to show me there. I hate it. I want to hate him but every time I hate him I see his face and the walls break. What happened between us can’t happen again. He is my boss.
Getting involved with him is sure to leave a permanent black mark on my reputation to match the dozens on his. He is the kind of man who gets into trouble no matter where he sticks his dick. I have read the articles and seen the scandalous trending interviews.
It’s no secret his typical relationship timeline averages about three weeks and almost always ends with a beyond-gorgeous model crying on camera. I don’t fit into a life like that. I don’t want a life like that either. I especially don’t want a reputation like that following me around now that I am making connections to further my career.
