Read Online Fighting Strong by Marysol James - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marysol James
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alarmed. “Are you going to be sick?”
“Oh, no. I just want to get in the front seat with you.”
“OK.” He pulled over.
Adam helped her in to the passenger-side seat and shut the door. He got back in to the car and looked at her carefully. She was pale but she looked OK.
“You nervous about crossing in to Nevada?” he said.
“Very.” She tried to smile.
“What do you need me to do?”
Katie stared at him, touched. “Nothing, Adam. Just… hold my hand. And talk to me, OK? Make me talk… distract me.”
“No problem.”
He pulled back on to the highway and took her hand.
“So, how did you get in to photography?” he said.
“Oh, boy.” She gave a small laugh. “That is actually one hell of a story.”
“OK.”
“When I was ten, my aunt gave me her old camera when she moved to L.A. I had no idea how to use it, you know, and my stepfather flat-out refused to buy me film. Mom would buy me Kodak film on sale sometimes, but even when I couldn’t actually take any pictures, I was fascinated. Mom said that I spent hours and hours just looking through the lens. After a while, I carried the camera with me everywhere and I spent more time looking at the world in that little window than not.”
“What were you doing?” he asked.
“I didn’t know it then, but I was framing shots. I was figuring out how to capture a small piece of something huge. I loved the idea that I could just pick and choose what to focus on, what to reject. I got really good at looking at a whole scene in front of me and zeroing in on what would look best in that tiny box.”
He nodded.
“When I was twelve, I got a paper route and anything I earned, I spent on film. That was when I started to really understand the power that I had.”
“Power?” He glanced at her.
“Yeah. Taking pictures gave me control and perspective. Distance.” She stared out the window. “It went both ways, actually.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when I held the camera up to take a picture, it created a physical barrier between me and the subject. My whole face was hidden, especially my eyes. Nobody could see me, but I could see them. I could see everything . It made me feel – safe. Like everything was separate from me, away from me.”
Adam stroked her palm with his thumb. “You said it went both ways.”
“Right. Well, when I developed my pictures, I saw the subject was smaller than it actually was in real life. You know? Like, reduced in size and frozen in time and totally in my control.” She sighed. “It helped.”
“Helped what?”
“I learned how to develop my own film and I started to… to take photos of my injuries. After he had hurt me.”
Adam looked at her sharply.
“My bruises and burns and stitches… I took photos of them all. And when I looked at them later, I saw them as far away from me. I switched over to black-and-white film around then, and that made the pictures even less emotional, somehow. Like – almost a documentary about someone who had nothing whatsoever to do with me.”
He was very still.
She looked at Adam. “I guess it’s hard to explain.”
“No. No, I get it. You were figuring out how to distance yourself from what was happening to you. Trying to take back some control in a situation where you were totally helpless.”
“Yeah, I think so. But the problem is that I started treating every part of my life like this. I – I’ve used my camera as a shield for over twenty years and I’ve stayed hidden behind it, observing my whole world through a tiny lens and in black-and-white.” She shrugged. “I mean, I have a good eye and I can capture an image in a split-second, but I rarely feel any attachment to my photos. I use them to be apart from my subjects; I don’t connect to anyone or anything through them.”
“You don’t feel any emotional connection to anything or anyone that you photograph?”
“Very rarely. For me, they’re just – pictures.”
“And your appearance
“Oh, no. I just want to get in the front seat with you.”
“OK.” He pulled over.
Adam helped her in to the passenger-side seat and shut the door. He got back in to the car and looked at her carefully. She was pale but she looked OK.
“You nervous about crossing in to Nevada?” he said.
“Very.” She tried to smile.
“What do you need me to do?”
Katie stared at him, touched. “Nothing, Adam. Just… hold my hand. And talk to me, OK? Make me talk… distract me.”
“No problem.”
He pulled back on to the highway and took her hand.
“So, how did you get in to photography?” he said.
“Oh, boy.” She gave a small laugh. “That is actually one hell of a story.”
“OK.”
“When I was ten, my aunt gave me her old camera when she moved to L.A. I had no idea how to use it, you know, and my stepfather flat-out refused to buy me film. Mom would buy me Kodak film on sale sometimes, but even when I couldn’t actually take any pictures, I was fascinated. Mom said that I spent hours and hours just looking through the lens. After a while, I carried the camera with me everywhere and I spent more time looking at the world in that little window than not.”
“What were you doing?” he asked.
“I didn’t know it then, but I was framing shots. I was figuring out how to capture a small piece of something huge. I loved the idea that I could just pick and choose what to focus on, what to reject. I got really good at looking at a whole scene in front of me and zeroing in on what would look best in that tiny box.”
He nodded.
“When I was twelve, I got a paper route and anything I earned, I spent on film. That was when I started to really understand the power that I had.”
“Power?” He glanced at her.
“Yeah. Taking pictures gave me control and perspective. Distance.” She stared out the window. “It went both ways, actually.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when I held the camera up to take a picture, it created a physical barrier between me and the subject. My whole face was hidden, especially my eyes. Nobody could see me, but I could see them. I could see everything . It made me feel – safe. Like everything was separate from me, away from me.”
Adam stroked her palm with his thumb. “You said it went both ways.”
“Right. Well, when I developed my pictures, I saw the subject was smaller than it actually was in real life. You know? Like, reduced in size and frozen in time and totally in my control.” She sighed. “It helped.”
“Helped what?”
“I learned how to develop my own film and I started to… to take photos of my injuries. After he had hurt me.”
Adam looked at her sharply.
“My bruises and burns and stitches… I took photos of them all. And when I looked at them later, I saw them as far away from me. I switched over to black-and-white film around then, and that made the pictures even less emotional, somehow. Like – almost a documentary about someone who had nothing whatsoever to do with me.”
He was very still.
She looked at Adam. “I guess it’s hard to explain.”
“No. No, I get it. You were figuring out how to distance yourself from what was happening to you. Trying to take back some control in a situation where you were totally helpless.”
“Yeah, I think so. But the problem is that I started treating every part of my life like this. I – I’ve used my camera as a shield for over twenty years and I’ve stayed hidden behind it, observing my whole world through a tiny lens and in black-and-white.” She shrugged. “I mean, I have a good eye and I can capture an image in a split-second, but I rarely feel any attachment to my photos. I use them to be apart from my subjects; I don’t connect to anyone or anything through them.”
“You don’t feel any emotional connection to anything or anyone that you photograph?”
“Very rarely. For me, they’re just – pictures.”
“And your appearance
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