‘So you prefer portraits to landscape?’
My smile is whimsical. ‘I think landscapes can have secrets of their own too. I like juxtaposition and contrast.’ I stand up, moving to grab the camera, flicking up the photos I took the day before. ‘See what I mean? The sharp tips of the Opera House, the gentle lifts of the tiny waves in the harbour? The shadows here and the sunlight there? Contrast makes us care; it intrigues us.’
He studies the photo. ‘This child with her ice cream cone and eyes so full of hope and the old lady on the bench, enjoying the sunshine.’
My heart bursts because I noticed exactly the same detail—I intentionally framed it that way. This is why I want to be a photographer. It’s a form of art and information. ‘Yes.’ Just a small breath sound.
‘This is very good.’ He clicks into another photo and another, then places the camera down.
I feel as though I’ve trapped a beautiful butterfly in a glass jar. These dreams of mine have been secret for so long, kept that way by my own certainty that they’re laughable and fanciful, and yet, with Holden, I want to share them with him.
I tilt my head to the side, trying to find the words, and end up blurting it out. ‘Actually, I’m hoping to pursue this as more than just a hobby.’ My cheeks infuse with heat. ‘I mean, I know it’s hard to make a living from something like photography, but I have a little capital, enough to pour into this, and it’s what I’ve always wanted to do.’
I’ve piqued his interest. He leans forward a little, his eyes assessing. ‘What does that entail?’
‘To start with, a course through the National Photography Institute. It’s here in Sydney, so kind of a no-brainer.’ I lift my shoulders. ‘I’m nervous, you know. I love photography and I’m worried—’
‘Why?’
‘Well, there’s a chance I might suck at it. And then what? I mean, I quit a great job for this, because I wanted to chase the dream I had when I was just a kid. That’s stupid, right?’
‘You don’t suck.’
I push his praise away. ‘But following my dreams?’
‘People seem to say you should pursue your dreams.’
‘But you don’t?’
His smile is
hard to analyse. ‘I don’t believe in dreams, no.’
Something chips at my heart. An ache for him, pain, deep inside of me.
‘But you’re talented. This isn’t a whim.’
Pleasure at his praise warms me.
‘And what then, after the course?’
‘Well, it’s a year long. Then, there are some great opportunities to shadow renowned photographers, depending on area of interest. Finally, the business part, but I can’t even think of that yet.’
‘And your career as a flight attendant?’
‘It served its purpose.’ The telling phrase is out before I can stop it. I lift some more waffle to my mouth.
‘Which was?’
I chew, fingering the lip of my coffee mug. ‘To see the world.’ It’s a version of the truth. ‘Sundown Creek is beneath the flight path for a lot of planes. I used to stand in our garden, looking up at the sky and watching those white trails track across the deep blue and I wanted, more than anything, to be on board. To go somewhere. I wanted to leave Sundown Creek, even as a girl.’
‘Why?’
He doesn’t fall for the romance of exploration. His question is more probing than that.
‘Lots of reasons. Haven’t you ever wanted to get away?’
His laugh completely lacks humour. It’s a gruff sound that makes my heart ache for him for a reason I can’t comprehend.