Illustration by Angelica Alzona
I’m leaning against a tree. The back of my shirt is beginning to itch and my palms are sweaty. It’s a humid August day, but on our ride home he insisted we stop.
“Isn’t that a nice tree?” he had said. It is: the branches hanging low, filtering the light like fireflies. There was no power I could have possessed that would have stopped him from taking a picture there.
“What’s bokeh mean, sweetheart?” I say as he adjusts his tripod set up. His lean arms are at a ninety degree angle, his fingers gliding lightly across his SLR, fussing with the focus and the aperture. “You say it all the time about your pictures but I’ve been too embarrassed to ask.”
“Why were you embarrassed?” he asks, leaning down and pressing his face to his camera, squinting through the viewfinder.
“Because you know a lot about cameras. I didn’t want you to think I was stupid or something.”
The only film camera I’ve got is a Holga, a cheap toy camera people get into because the plastic lens