The Photographer (Ignazio Boschetto Fanfiction)

Chapter 26

Chapter 26

          When the fan kicked in and the gentle whirring filled the room, I groggily opened my eyes and stared into the darkness before me. I closed my eyes again and turned slowly onto my side, curling up and slipping my hand under the pillow. I lay there for a moment, listening to the whirring as I tried to drift back to sleep.

          Then I sighed and kicked the covers off. After having been refusing to get up for several hours, I was still thirsty and finally ready to give in and go the kitchen. I sleepily sat up in the bed and peered at the bright alarm clock on the bedside table.

          Two A.M., a time excellent for sleeping.

          I glared at the clock for a moment before turning away and setting my bare feet down on the cold hardwood floor. I winced as the cold jolted through my feet, and then I got up and slowly walked out of the bedroom into the hallway, trailing my hand on the wall so I would know where I was.

          I left the lights off as I walked cautiously through the living room and into the kitchen, feeling my way in the darkness as I firmly decided I would get my drink without the help of any light.

           That is, until I tripped over something in the kitchen and stumbled forward, slamming my hands down onto the cabinet to catch myself.

          I gasped and froze, frantically wondering what was on the floor. I stepped forward and reached out for the oven, fingering for the nightlight. I clicked it on and held up my hand to shield my eyes as the bright blue light penetrated the condo.

          I groaned and turned away from the oven to see the brown cardboard box sitting nonchalantly on the floor. I stared at it for a moment as it suddenly occurred to me how long I had left it sitting there in the midst of the kitchen.

          Lowering my hand to my side, I stepped forward and quietly crouched down beside it, reaching out and slowly moving the flaps aside. I reached my hand inside and pulled out the first National Geographic magazine, looking somberly down at it as I realized the only time I had looked at them had been when I first received them, when Barbara gave them to me during the little end-of-tour celebration. I sat beside the box, pulling it closer toward me. In the blue glow of the oven light, I pulled out the magazines and sat them on my lap, feeling their cold covers through my pajama pants.

          Forgetting about the glass of water and the time, I opened the cover and lightly touched the picture of a cityscape, running my fingers along the tops of the skyscrapers.

          I flipped a few pages and looked down at the snow falling on a wide open plain, the snow glowing blue in the oven light.

          “Wow,” I breathed, tracing the path of the snow with my fingertips and smiling softly in wonder. One day I’d flip open one of these magazines and find my own pictures inside, my own breathtaking images printed within the pages. People would get to see the beauty that I’ve been seeing, that I’d been capturing, and I’d share the scenes with peoples who would appreciate them like I did. People would feel the excitement, the wonder that I had experienced getting the picture, and they’d get to have the image for themselves. Beauty that they never knew was there would be held in their hands!

          I pulled the magazine to my chest, pressing the pages against myself and closing my eyes as I imagined spending every day capturing landscapes with my camera. Soon, in August, I could return to Harrison and pick up my new assignment, being a photographer for National Geographic. This job was only going to be for a year, and I wouldn’t be here much longer.