March 10 – Profile Pictures

Book Two – Chapter 5

March 10 – Profile Pictures

By the next morning, the routine felt almost natural. Wake. Stretch.

Complain about the heater.

Coffee.

Check batteries.

Make sure Sean hadn’t somehow added another lens to the bag overnight.

He watched me as we walked down the hotel hallway toward the elevator.

“You good?”

“As good as a man who discovered three new knee noises yesterday can be.”

“Perfect.”

He adjusted the camera bag over his shoulder.

“Today is your close-up.”

I stopped.

“You say that like it’s good news.”

“It is.”

“For who?”

“For me.”

“Concerning.”

Sean smiled.

“Trust me. You’re going to want these later.”

That sentence did absolutely nothing to reassure me.

Warm­up

We’d gotten used to the drive.

The mountains still impressed me.

But they no longer appeared completely unfamiliar.

I recognized turns now.

Certain overlooks.

Sections of stone wall.

Places where Sean had already made me stop because the light was doing something apparently life-changing.

Bare trees covered the ridges.

The morning sky had cleared into a pale blue.

Sean had a plan.

Of course he did.

“First overlook is warm-up.”

“Warm-up?”

“Landscapes.”

“I thought today was portraits.”

“It is.”

“Then why landscapes?”

“Because I don’t trust you awake yet.”

“Fair.”

We pulled in.

Sean handed me the camera.

I checked the settings.

Looked through the viewfinder.

Took several photographs.

Then looked at the screen.

White.

Almost completely white.

I stared.

Sean looked.

Then slowly looked at me.

“What?”

“You changed the mode.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“When?”

“Apparently sometime between the hotel and now.”

I checked again.

“Oh.”

Sean started laughing.

“Don’t.”

“You just photographed the world’s brightest cloud.”

“I’ll delete it.”

“No.”

“Sean.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why are you preserving my failures?”

“They aren’t failures.”

He took the camera.

“They’re proof.”

“Of incompetence?”

“Of learning.”

He corrected the settings and handed it back.

“One day you’re going to look at those and remember when you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“I’d rather erase all evidence.”

“Too late.”

I lifted the camera.

“Fine.”

“Again.”

This time, the mountains actually appeared.

Progress.

Portrait class

Later, Sean directed me toward the overlook he’d really wanted.

Long stone wall.

Wide view.

Enough open space that we weren’t fighting other visitors for every angle.

Wind moved across the ridge.

I zipped my jacket higher.

Sean dropped his backpack.

Then clapped his hands once.

“Okay.”

I immediately distrusted him.

“What?”

“Landscape class is over.”

“Oh no.”

“Portrait class.”

I looked around.

Nobody else was nearby.

“That feels intentional.”

“It is.”

“You isolated me.”

“I created a controlled environment.”

“That’s what kidnappers say.”

“Stand by the wall.”

I sighed.

“Bossy.”

“Teacher.”

I removed my backpack.

The camera remained around my neck.

My blue glasses were already on.

Sean lifted his camera.

Then stopped.

“No.”

“What?”

“You’re already posing.”

“I am standing.”

“You’re standing like Chairman Dark Evil is about to announce quarterly earnings.”

I looked down at myself.

Shoulders squared.

Stomach unconsciously pulled in.

Hands positioned like I was waiting for somebody to tell me where they belonged.

I relaxed.

“Better?”

“Much.”

“What do I do with my hands?”

“One in your pocket.”

I obeyed.

“The other?”

“Let it exist.”

“Very technical.”

“Dad.”

“Fine.”

Sean stepped backward.

Raised the camera.

And looked.

For several seconds, he didn’t take a picture.

I became increasingly uncomfortable.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m composing.”

“That sounds like professional staring.”

“Look at me.”

I did.

Click.

Again.

Click.

Wind pushed at my hair.

Sean shifted position.

Click.

“Now look toward the mountains.”

I turned.

“What am I supposed to think about?”

“Nothing.”

“Impossible.”

“Okay. Think about the first day you walked into headquarters.”

“That I was insane?”

Sean smiled behind the camera.

“Perfect.”

Click.

I laughed.

He took another.

“Hey.”

“That one’s probably good.”

“You tricked me.”

“Exactly.”

Gradually, I stopped thinking about the camera.

That was apparently what Sean wanted.

My shoulders lowered.

My hands stopped feeling like foreign objects.

I leaned naturally against the wall.

“Hand on the stone.”

I put my palm against it.

“Look down.”

“My knees hurt.”

“Think quietly.”

“My knees hurt quietly.”

“Dad.”

I smiled.

Click.

Sean lowered the camera.

Looked at the screen.

Then back at me.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s twice you’ve said nothing.”

“Because you’re going to ruin it if I tell you.”

“Ruin what?”

“The picture.”

I started toward him.

“Nope.”

He turned the camera away.

“Later.”

“This is a dictatorship.”

“Correct.”

Through Sean’s eyes

Eventually, he let me look.

We stood shoulder to shoulder over the camera.

He scrolled.

There I was.

Gray hair.

Gray through the beard.

The blue glasses Elias had given me years ago catching the morning light.

My body fuller than it had been when I was younger.

Camera against my chest.

Mountains behind me.

I looked older.

That part was unavoidable.

But I didn’t look tired in the way I expected.

I didn’t look like somebody trying to prove anything.

I looked comfortable.

Sean stopped on one.

I was leaning against the stone wall.

Head turned slightly.

Small smile.

Nothing dramatic.

“That one.”

I stared.

“You like it?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Sean shrugged.

“You look like yourself.”

That phrase again.

It had followed me from Grayson’s graduation photograph to Sean coming home.

Now here.

“Apparently I finally figured out what that looks like.”

Sean smiled.

“Took you long enough.”

I nudged him.

He laughed.

“One of these is becoming your profile picture.”

“Do I get approval?”

“A little.”

“I own the profile.”

“I own the photographs.”

“That’s not how copyright works.”

Sean stared at me.

“Are you seriously bringing company law into my photography lesson?”

I smiled.

“No work.”

“Rule one.”

“Fine.”

He turned the camera off.

Then handed it to me.

“Your turn.”

I stared at it.

“My turn for what?”

“Me.”

“Oh.”

Sean walked toward the wall.

“You’ve been learning landscapes.”

He turned around.

“Now photograph a person.”

I raised the camera.

“This feels dangerous.”

“For me.”

“Exactly.”

My son

Sean stood where I’d been.

Green flannel beneath his jacket.

Camera hanging at his side.

Wind moving his hair.

For a moment, I didn’t lift the camera.

I simply looked at him.

There were still times when my mind tried to compare him to the little boy he’d been.

The child who slept under a different roof most nights.

The son I knew through schedules and weekends and whatever pieces of his life made it back to me.

But that wasn’t who stood in front of me now.

This was Sean.

Older.

Creative.

Opinionated.

Annoying.

Funny.

Still figuring himself out.

And here.

“Dad?”

I blinked.

“What?”

“You planning to take the picture?”

“Eventually.”

He smiled.

“Teacher says sometime today.”

“Teacher isn’t in charge right now.”

“Terrifying.”

I lifted the camera.

Remembered what he’d taught me.

Don’t center everything.

Watch the light.

Use the wall.

Look before pressing the button.

“Look at me.”

Sean did.

The joking disappeared from his expression.

Not sadness.

Not seriousness exactly.

Just attention.

My son looking directly at me through a camera.

Click.

I moved.

Changed the angle.

Click.

“Look toward the mountains.”

He did.

“Like you’re planning something.”

Sean smiled.

“I’m always planning something.”

“That’s concerning.”

Click.

He rested one hand against the stone.

Click.

Then I said something stupid enough that he laughed.

Not posed.

Not prepared.

His head tipped slightly.

His eyes narrowed.

Click.

I knew immediately.

That one.

“Got you.”

Sean straightened.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s my line.”

“I’m learning.”

He came over.

I showed him.

His expression changed.

“Whoa.”

“Good?”

“Really good.”

I tried not to look too pleased.

Failed.

“You got the focus right.”

“Obviously.”

“The background separation.”

“Obviously.”

“And I don’t look like a serial killer.”

“Debatable.”

Sean laughed.

“Ten out of ten.”

“High praise.”

He looked at the photograph again.

Then at me.

“You’re getting an eye.”

“I had a good teacher.”

Sean’s smile softened.

“I’m proud of you.”

That hit harder than it should have.

Maybe because fathers were supposed to say it to sons.

Maybe because nobody ever tells you how strange and wonderful it feels when the direction reverses.

“Thanks, teacher.”

He nodded.

“Anytime.”

Both sides of the camera

Sean took the camera back.

“One more.”

I immediately became suspicious.

“What now?”

“Both of us.”

“Who’s taking it?”

“Timer.”

“On a stone wall?”

“Trust me.”

“That phrase has caused every problem on this trip.”

Sean ignored me.

He positioned the camera carefully.

Checked the frame.

Adjusted it.

Checked again.

Then pointed toward a spot beside the wall.

“Stand there.”

I obeyed.

He set the timer.

Then hurried over.

A small light began blinking.

Sean stood beside me.

Our shoulders touched.

“Look at the view.”

“Not the camera?”

“Not the camera.”

We both turned toward the mountains.

At the last second, Sean leaned slightly into my side.

Click.

He checked it.

Stopped.

I walked over.

“What?”

He showed me.

Two figures beside a stone wall.

Mountains beyond us.

Neither looking toward the lens.

Not posed like a family portrait.

Just there together.

Sean beside me.

Me beside him.

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

He looked at it again.

“That’s really good.”

Then:

“One more.”

He reset the timer.

This time, when he returned to my side, he wrapped one arm around my middle.

I automatically put mine around his shoulders.

“Comfortable?”

“Yeah.”

The light blinked.

Click.

We stayed there for another second after the photograph had already been taken.

Then Sean stepped away.

He checked the image.

His smile appeared immediately.

I looked over his shoulder.

It was closer.

Less landscape.

More us.

My arm around him.

His around me.

The mountains softened behind us.

No dramatic pose.

No attempt to recreate the family we’d once been.

Just a father and son who had chosen to take a photograph together.

“This one stays private.”

I looked at Sean.

“You want it private?”

He nodded.

“Unless we both decide otherwise.”

I looked at the photograph again.

“Deal.”

He created a separate favorites folder.

Added it.

That mattered to me.

Not because the photograph was secret.

Because Sean had treated it like it belonged to both of us.

Evidence

The wind picked up later.

My fingers were cold.

Sean’s nose had turned red.

“Time.”

“Finally.”

“You wanted to stay.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

“My hands are numb.”

“Rule three.”

“My hands are numb.”

“Excellent.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

We packed the cameras.

As we walked toward the car, Sean bumped my shoulder.

“You did good today.”

“So did you.”

“I know.”

I stared.

He laughed.

Back at the hotel, we took over one bed with cameras, cards, and cables.

Sean began marking favorites.

My portraits.

His portraits.

The two of us.

He stopped on the photograph of me leaning against the wall.

“This is the profile picture.”

“You’ve decided?”

“Yes.”

“I get no vote?”

“You can appeal.”

“To whom?”

“Me.”

“Denied already?”

“Probably.”

I shook my head.

Then he reached the photograph I’d taken of him laughing.

I watched his face.

“You like it.”

“Maybe.”

“You do.”

“I look…”

He stopped.

“What?”

Sean studied himself.

“Happy.”

The word came out quieter than everything around it.

I looked at the photograph.

“You were.”

He nodded.

“Yeah.”

No analysis.

No supernatural interpretation.

No attempt to decide what that happiness meant beyond the second I’d captured.

He had been happy.

That was enough.

Sean continued scrolling.

Eventually, he reached our private photograph.

Stopped.

Then tapped the screen once.

“Ours.”

I nodded.

“Ours.”

The profile picture

That evening, Sean edited my portrait.

Nothing dramatic.

Exposure.

Contrast.

A slight crop.

No changing my face.

No smoothing the years away.

No pretending the gray wasn’t there.

No reshaping the body I’d finally stopped fighting.

When he finished, he turned the laptop toward me.

“There.”

I looked.

It was unmistakably me.

But through Sean’s eyes.

Older.

Gray.

Blue glasses.

Camera.

Mountains.

Comfortable.

“This is what you see?”

Sean looked at the photograph.

Then at me.

“Yeah.”

I swallowed.

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Dad.”

I smiled.

“I like him.”

Sean smiled back.

“Good.”

He helped me update the profile picture.

Dark Evil changed in a few clicks.

Not the name.

Not the company.

Just the image beside it.

For years, photographs of me had been about control.

Stand correctly.

Look younger.

Hide the stomach.

Fix the hair.

Choose the angle.

Present the version I wanted people to believe.

This one wasn’t perfect.

That was why I liked it.

Sean had taken it after I stopped trying.

Later

We ordered food.

Argued over whose fries were whose.

Grayson called.

Sean immediately showed him the photographs.

Grayson’s reaction to my new profile picture was exactly as respectful as expected.

“Look at you.”

“Don’t.”

“Professional mountain man.”

“Grayson.”

“The dad belly has branding now.”

“I’m hanging up.”

Sean nearly fell off the bed laughing.

Then Grayson saw the photograph I’d taken of Sean.

His expression softened.

“That’s good.”

Sean looked pleased.

“Dad took it.”

Grayson stared at me through the screen.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Dad?”

“I have talents.”

“Since when?”

“March ninth.”

Sean laughed again.

We did not show him the private photograph.

Not because Grayson wasn’t family.

Because some things didn’t need an audience the moment they were created.

They could simply belong to the people inside them.

After the call ended, Sean lay back against his pillow.

“Today was good.”

I nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Really good.”

“Yeah.”

He looked toward the camera equipment.

Then toward me.

“Thanks for letting me do this.”

“Take pictures of me?”

“Teach you.”

I considered that.

“Thanks for wanting to.”

Sean smiled.

Outside, the mountains held the last of the fading light.

Inside, photographs filled a memory card.

Landscapes.

Portraits.

Mistakes.

Good shots.

Bad shots.

One picture of me that would become public.

One picture of Sean laughing that I knew I’d keep.

And one photograph that belonged only to us.

They weren’t proof that everything between us was fixed.

They weren’t promises about what came next.

They were photographs.

Moments.

Real ones.

That was enough.

One frame

Before bed, I looked at the photograph of Sean laughing one more time.

I’d caught it without planning to.

A fraction of a second.

Light against his face.

Head tilted.

Guard down.

Happy.

Yesterday I’d thought about how a photograph could be true without being complete.

Tonight, I understood that better.

Sean had been happy when I pressed the shutter.

That was true.

I didn’t need the photograph to tell me anything larger than that.

I didn’t need it to predict tomorrow.

I didn’t need it to explain every part of my son.

It only had to preserve one moment honestly.

Maybe that was why I liked it so much.

I saved a copy to my phone.

Then turned off the screen.

Across the room, Sean was already half asleep.

“Night, teacher.”

A pause.

“Night, old man.”

I smiled.

Tomorrow could wait.