Page 33 of When You Smile

“Well, I’m glad you’re smiling. That’s the headline,” Emerson said, nodding toward Charlie’s phone.

“Right. Totally.” Charlie hooked a thumb over her shoulder, feeling strangely uncomfortable, as if she’d been spotted enjoying a rated R movie when she wasn’t yet old enough. “I gotta run. Hope your day is a good one.”

“That’s the goal, but this semester has me questioning my entire slate of life choices.” Emerson beamed through the proclamation, but Charlie didn’t. Her stomach turned because she felt the same way. There was something just beyond the edges of her understanding that called to her, tapping her on the shoulder and asking to be noticed. A faint voice in the wind she couldn’t quite decipher.

“I think we’re all in that spot about now. Maybe it’s because we’re about to be shoved into the great big world without a net.”

“That’s gotta be it,” Emerson said. “Take care of you, and keep up the amazing writing. And the Danny thing? Play it by ear.”

Charlie blinked because was Emerson that intuitive? She understood that she was supposed to say something like What are you talking about? We’re completely good. But she was feeling disoriented about her trajectory, and Emerson’s advice actually landed. “Thank you. I think I will.”

Charlie slid into the driver’s seat of her used Nissan Rogue and did the one thing that might bring a smile back to her face. She messaged Taryn.

When do I get to see some of your photos?

Like water to the parched, it only took a few moments before she had her reply.

When are you free?

* * *

The hallway was empty as Taryn sat outside her professor’s office studying the photographs that lined the hallway in 17x20 inch frames. The work all seemed to come from past students whose work had been deemed worthy of display. The choices were good ones and left her feeling inspired. She studied the captivating image of a ballet dancer midperformance. She was bending at the waist with her back leg extended, the stage light in the corner of the frame pointing directly down on her. The lines were beautiful and full of tension. She tilted her head, taking in the use of highlight to direct the eye impressively. Taryn wanted to be that good, to capture a moment, ice it with beauty, and create interest in a subject otherwise overlooked.

“Taryn, are you ready?” She stood from the uncomfortable black metal chair, ushering her thoughts back to the here and now. Her professor, who’d asked the class to call him Roger, stood in the doorway to his office. She was his two o’clock and more nervous than she probably should have been. Each member of the class had been asked to sign up for a time to meet with Roger to go over their progress before moving toward final projects. In many ways, she felt like she’d been playing catchup. Most of her classmates had experience before Roger’s narrative photography class. Meanwhile, she’d been relying more on instinct than technique, scurrying to apply technical skills they already seemed to have. To compensate, she’d been reading beyond the given assignments, tearing through trade magazines, online message boards, tech articles, absorbing as much on her own time as she could.

“Have a seat. Have a seat.” Roger often said things twice, she’d found. He was also a nice enough guy, if intense when it came to craft. His office certainly mirrored his personality. The walls were dark. A futuristic-looking lamp stood tall in the corner and served as the only light source in the room. A variety of photographs, likely his work, hung in metal frames on the wall. A black-and-white portrait of a child. Car headlights in close-up. A group of people leaping into the air at the same time in the middle of a forest. She tried not to stare but also attempted to gulp it all in. “How do you like the class?”

“I love it,” Taryn said without even thinking. While she still had a couple of basics to get out of the way, the three courses in her field of study kept her energized, learning what her future just might have in store. She wanted to capture and create. After a few months of living in the photography world, she was gone on the art form. “I just sometimes feel like I’m winging it.”

“I don’t think so,” Roger said, frowning. He thumbed through a series of shots she recognized as hers, along with their attached specs and notations. “The series from the on-campus protest is compelling. What made you choose to cover it?”

She nodded. She’d been on her way to class and came upon a group of students protesting a speaker on campus. “I saw their angry faces, jagged movements, and the way they stood united and knew there was a visual story there. It made me late to my Spanish class, but I think it was worth it.”

“You weren’t wrong about the story.” He set one photo on the desk and slid it in her direction. “This one in particular resonates.” It was a shot of a girl who’d sat down on the lawn, her sign face down in front of her. “Defeat.”

“That’s exactly what it was.”

“You have an eye for the quiet moments. That’s been your most powerful trend.” His finger pressed just shy of the photograph. “But don’t get too poetic. That’s a trap. The grit is every bit as worthy. I’m going to encourage you to get messy. Get ugly. You said the word jagged earlier.”

“Right. That’s how it felt.”

“I like the inclination. More of that. More of that.” He met her eyes with a fire and vigor in his.

Taryn understood the note and also knew it was contrary to her nature. She wanted the world to be a beautiful place, so perhaps that’s the reason she seized the quiet humanity within a tense situation, like the angry protest. “I hear you. I will work through the urge to soften.”

“I also want you to continue to work on the technical. Use foreground images for orientation in your darker shots.”

“Okay.” She wrote a note. “I hear you.”

“And get yourself more practice in the darkroom. Sign up for extra slots, and I’ll okay them. You’re overexposing your photos by a hair. Pull back.”

“I can do that, too. What else?” She was hungry for this kind of feedback. It motivated her in a way she hadn’t been prepared for.

“Make it a goal to learn from the others in the department.” He sat back, both hands resting on the back of his head. “The truth is I see a kernel of something really cool going on with your work, but you’re green as hell.”

A compliment and deflater in one. “I know. I feel it.”

“What would you say to me pairing you up with a student mentor? We’ve done it before to great success.”

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