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Against my better judgment, I pull on a well-loved pair of leggings and my favorite tunic. My plain black Toms finish off the look. The outfit is more casual than I normally wear to set but I have a longer walk to contend with and I need to be comfortable. The braids I twist my hair into after showering last night are still locked in tight so I don’t bother unraveling them. A quick brush of mascara onto my lashes and I am out the door.
I love living in Elysian. Growing up here, I never truly appreciated the picturesque surroundings. I thought every town was this beautiful. The trees cast shade along the cobblestone streets. Their leaves boast every hue of orange and red in autumn. Leaf peepers drive from all around to take pictures and see the way the mountains look aflame in the middle of September.
Now, walking through town as an adult, I can see how beautiful change can be. The leaves shed their skin every year, allowing for regrowth and rebirth. I wish we could do the same.
Shed our skin of regrets.
Be reborn with our flaws reset.
If only the world was that simple.
The crunching leaves provide a symphony under my shoes. I rarely listen to music when I walk downtown, the world around me orchestrating its own tune. It surrounds me and carries me along with its melody. I reach the old mill building, the warm brick mimicking the burnt hues of the leaves sprinkled across the ground.
Me: I’m outside, is this when you stab me with a rusty knife and drop my body in the river?
Burger King: I’m going to pretend you didn’t make a stabbing joke. Come to the door with an H on it, it’s unlocked.
I follow his instructions, finding the green metal door covered in rust and chipping paint showing its age. The bottom of the door makes a lovely scraping sound against the concrete as I pull it open, using more strength than I expected. The other side of the door boasts a column of stairs winding up.
And up
And up.
I start climbing, no other way to go.
Thankful for my cardio routine as I round the third flight of stairs. A year ago, I would be huffing and puffing trying to get to the top. Now it’s only the constant burn in my thighs reminding me I should start incorporating hills in my runs.
I reach the fifth floor, the door out of the staircase propped open with a brick. Yup, this is absolutely a scene from a horror film. I am about to meet my demise, nice knowing you.
Another heavy metal door and I am walking into a massive open room. The exposed ductwork mixed with the columns of brick throughout gives it a warehouse feel while the stark white walls and freshly updated flooring add a modern edge.
There is a mattress on the floor, tucked in one of the corners and I can see the river sprawling out through the windows on every wall. It is breathtaking, the morning sun tickling the water as it dances from the wind.
Either there is a homeless person who calls this home, or the world-famous photographer is doing some social experiment where he lives like one. I don’t see a kitchen and I’m guessing in the corner behind some weird curtain is the bathroom. No door. This is for sure where he stabs me.
I find BK surrounded by artificial lighting, fidgeting with his camera settings. The lights all flash in unison, the familiar clicking sound echoing through the hollow space. I try and step loudly to ensure he hears me approaching but he doesn’t acknowledge me.
Clearing my throat, I finally get his attention.
“Fuck, hey, one sec, I almost figured this damn thing out,” he dismisses me. I venture over to the wall of windows, looking out over the river and taking in the leaves reflecting off the water. It looks like a watercolor painting. The lights flash again and I turn back to him.
“Misbehaved lighting seems to be a commonality for us huh?” I ask with laughter in my tone. The throwback to when we first met surprisingly brings a smile to his lips and I am so shocked I have to be sure my mouth isn’t hanging open.
“Very funny. I have it working, it just wanted me to work a little harder. It should behave now though.” He pauses briefly, mounting his camera to the tripod nearby before coming toe to toe with me.
“We haven’t had much time to talk about our craft and figured since we have the day off what better time. Nothing better to do anyway, right? I won’t tell you all of my secrets, but I think the best learning experience for a photographer is being on the other side of the camera. By having to think about how to move and pose your own body, you in turn gain confidence in directing your model to perform those movements. So today, you’re the model.”
That shocked face from earlier is back in full force. “I - um, I’m not really prepared to be in front of the camera. If I had known, I would have worn something more…not this,” I ramble, gesturing to my outfit.
“Are you sure I can’t just use you as a model instead? I can learn plenty from that,” I’m borderline begging at this point.
I walked here, I am probably sweating through my shirt right now. Not to mention, I’m not in heels or anything that will make my legs look ideal in a lens. He starts shaking his head and I already know he won’t take that bait. Crap.
“That’s what gets lost in our profession though. Sometimes I miss the simplicity. The candid capture of a real laugh or a look between lovers,” he explains as he stalks towards me. “It’s not about the makeup or the outfit or the shoes. You can be photographing someone for a grunge album cover and the same principles apply. It’s about the moment and memory you want to cherish by capturing it for eternity.”
I can barely believe I am hearing this from him. As someone who has built his entire career on high fashion designs, how does he still feel like that isn’t ideal? The epitome of a career goal.
His body is almost against me now and he drops my bag off my shoulder. I nervously hold my hands in front of my body, crossing my ankles to keep from fidgeting.
