Page 19 of Troubles

Click click click

The shutter counts out quietly. Lis turns and grins at me. “Can you imitate her pose?” Her right arm goes up and bends so that her hand is just behind her head. Looking back at the statue, Lis mimes gathering flowing robes and pops her left foot back just a touch so her shoe rests on the toe. “Tilt your head—to the right. Look down a little, toward the center of the pool.”

Click click click

This light. This is one of those moments. I don’t usually do artistic portraits. I shoot the news, humanitarian pieces, photos that oftentimes evoke hard emotions. That’s my career. But every now and then, God hands you a moment—a subject—that’s too good to waste.

Click click click

I need my other camera. Digital is good. I love the instant feedback with a digital camera, but there is something undeniably magical about film. Old school. It’s more of a challenge. Film forces you to focus on the subject as opposed to watching the screen. It’s more of an art.

I stoop down to grab my old camera body and glance up at her as I affix the lens. The sheet she brought for our picnic catches my eye. Pulling it out of the satchel, I unfold it as I approach her. She drops her arms and shifts toward me.

“Do you think we can use this? Wrap it around you like her robes?” I ask her.

She takes the sheet from me and turns to study the statue. Gathering the material, draping it around one shoulder, and tucking it into place, she does a brilliant job imitating the look.

I adjust the sheet as it flows across her chest and bunches over her left arm. After coaxing her back into the statue’s pose, I drag my hand down the underside of her raised arm. I tilt her chin, making minor adjustments as I hold her gaze. Scooping her hair forward over her shoulder, my fingers twisting through the silky burnished locks, I lean in so my lips graze her ear. “Breathe.” She releases her breath and closes her eyes. She’s as affected by this moment as I am.

I jog back to my spot, anxious to frame the shot. It’s beautiful, but— “Can you push your top down your shoulders a bit? Just so it doesn’t show around the sheet?”

Mesmerized, I watch as she does that thing girls do. That thing where they can slip out of a bra without exposing themselves? Yeah, that. She shimmies her tank top and bra off her shoulders. Fucking witchcraft. She holds my eyes as she raises her arm and gets back into position. Christ, now I’m the one not breathing.

Click click click

Click click click

We haven’t seen anyone else since we’ve been in this part of the garden. The sky is turning the most beautiful soft golden color as the sun moves further west.

Click click click

“Erm…the sun’s filtering through the sheet. It’s…it’s back-lighting your shorts. Really taking away from the stunning artistry of the shot.” I smirk as she raises her eyebrow at me. I know I’m pushing my luck, but it really is taking away from what this shot could be.

She cocks her head and reaches into her “robes.” God, how does she maneuver without dropping that thing? I can’t move my eyes as I watch her unbutton her shorts and wiggle them down her legs.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Damn, I have to keep reminding myself to do that simple task.

Click click click

I shoot more film as she gets herself back into the pose.

Breathtaking. Absolutely, fucking breathtaking. The soft rays of the sun highlight her curves and set her auburn hair to flame. The effect is unreal. She looks like a goddess.

Click click click

I work my way through the rest of the film, capturing subtle shifts in her expression and changes in the light as it slowly fades. I don’t know if she’s listening for the shutter click—that’s no longer there—or if she somehow senses that the moment has passed, but she raises her eyes to mine and time stands still.

I put down the camera and move toward her.

I can’t stop myself.

My hand goes around the back of her neck, fingers weaving into her hair. Neither one of us takes a breath for that moment. That moment just before our lips brush, ghosting across each other. It’s a split second that lasts for days. I press closer, kissing her again, suddenly all too aware of her lack of real clothing. Her lips are soft and yielding. She tastes faintly of strawberries and wine. The kiss is getting ready to take on a momentum of its own when I force myself to pull back just a bit.

“I should…we…” She shifts, and hugs the sheet closer to her body shivering a little. The sun is setting and the air is rapidly cooling. “The grounds close at dusk. We should probably get going.”

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