Page 8 of Busted Dreams

Leaning forward, he kissed me.

My breath stopped as I reveled in this moment of unexpected sweetness. No one had ever paid this much attention to me before, and I found it wasn’t anything to be afraid of like I would have once thought. Attention from Beck, or any of my guys, was the type of attention I could soon find myself craving with an addiction to rival the most desperate of addicts.

This boy was giving me a taste of something I’d never want to let go of.

“Here you go,” came from behind me, giving me just enough time to sit back before the girl set our desserts and coffees on the table. “Just give us a shout if you need anything else.”

Still feeling the heat in my cheeks, I picked up my silverware, tearing off the paper taped around the paper napkin. I didn’t have anything to say that wasn’t cheesy or weird, so I didn’t say anything at all.

“What was your favorite photograph?” Breaking the silence, he picked a topic that immediately brought my hard sought-after words back to life.

“There were so many!” I pressed forward until my chest hit the table, forgetting momentarily all about the delicious tiramisu right in front of me. “My favorite was probably the one titled ‘Napalm Girl,’ or ‘Brutality in Bangkok.’ Or maybe the ‘Harrowing Images from Haiti.’”

My smile died as the images came to the forefront of my mind. They were so powerful, so moving. No sane person could smile while discussing those particular works of art.

Beck nodded like he also loved those troubling images. “Those were some of the more violent images. Why were those your favorite?”

For a second, I looked for any sign he didn’t really care about what I had to say. My father wouldn’t have cared. Mother Dearest certainly wouldn’t have seen anything worth her time in those images, and for that, I felt sorry for them. But the genuine interest in his eyes had me settling into somewhat of a comfort zone, allowing me to bask in an intelligent discussion on meaningful topics.

I cut the fork through a corner of the fluffy, coffee-scented dessert as I thought over my answer. Why were they my favorite? I loved them all, but those were the ones I’d remember the most when I thought back on our date.

“Because I felt the emotion as if I were there. They were taken from such a perspective, I can feel what would go through my mind if I had witnessed it in person. And the tragedy of each image. Very few people have witnessed something of that magnitude, and to have your emotions strummed by such a picture does a couple things for a person’s soul. One, it allows a person to be grateful for the blessed life they lead.” A small smile curled the edges of my lips. “Too many people think their situation is bad when they haven’t experienced anything even a quarter as bad as some people in the world.”

Beck’s gaze sharpened on my face, and I knew what he was thinking. I had a horrible mother who did bad things and a neglectful father. But that wasn’t what I was talking about. In comparison, my life had been velvet sunshine and sweet smelling daisies.

“Second, it gives you just a little taste of what those people in that moment experienced. The ‘Napalm Girl’ for example. The napalm had burned all their clothes off and was literally burning their skin as they were forced to run away. Now imagine you are on the outside, watching these children run to you with unbridled terror and unimaginable pain in their eyes. How would that make you feel?”

He swallowed hard and shook his head. “I don’t even know. I would probably be in shock.”

Nodding, I agreed. “Shock is the first emotion most people would experience, then sympathy, urgency, fear for yourself and the children. I felt all those things looking at that photo. As an amateur photographer, I don’t even know how the artist had the foresight to snap a picture. I’m afraid I would have been too caught up in the moment.

“But I’m glad they did. Because they brought something to life that merely retelling the story won’t do. And in my eyes, the world is better for that look at brutal honesty in war or disaster or evil.”

We took a few bites of our desserts and a sip or two of our coffee.

“Sorry.” I grimaced. “That was kind of morbid.”

Beck took a deep breath, his chest expanding to the point I was worried for his T-shirt. He held it for a minute before releasing it, reaching over and trapping one of my hands in both of his.

“Astrid, you’re one deep girl. So smart and worldly, but naïve and innocent too. I’m awed to be in your presence most times. So no, that wasn’t morbid. It was deep and soul inspiring.” He watched as his thumb made circles around the back of my hand. Eventually, he went back to his dessert. “Do you think you’d ever want to be that kind of photographer?”

That actually took a lot more thought than I would have anticipated. What type of art did I want to create and put out into the world? I wasn’t sure beyond anything that inspired me in the moment. A conversation with Thatcher rolled through me as I finished off my tiramisu.

He had said I created subpar work when someone told me what to do, but my pictures were magical when I let the spirit move me. I agreed with him one hundred percent. But the real question was, how would I earn enough money to support myself if only some of my work was brilliant?

Pursing my lips together I responded slowly, “I don’t know. My first reaction is that I wouldn’t want to chase greedy wars or lurk in the poverty-stricken countries for a hope and prayer of catching something the world hasn’t seen or felt before. But this type of photography is a once in a lifetime thing. The artist just took advantage of it, because how could they not?

“Anyway, I don’t think my heart could take it, if that type of environment was my reality.”

“Then it’s settled, you’ll just be my concert photographer whenever I have a show.”

He grinned like he was joking, but something about the way the words dripped with satisfaction made me believe this was the reality he wanted for me.

And I didn’t have anything against that far off future. I’d happily follow him, Thatcher, Rhys, or Jonah anywhere, capturing moments that meant something to them.

We all had dreams after all.

Ilooked at the clock hanging over the entrance to the locker room.

---