Me and Oli Talking

Taking a deep breath in, I focus my camera lens, narrowing in on the blue and black butterfly perched upon a nearby daisy. I let my breath out as I press the shutter button; careful not to make any sudden movements as my shutter clicks several times.
I hear him before I see him.
Oli plops himself down beside me in the tall grass scaring my unsuspecting subject away. I sigh before turning and pointing my lens at my best friend. I catch him looking down at a white, puffy dandelion caught between his forefinger and thumb. He spins in between his fingers, his brown eyes fringed with long lashes captivated in the small seeds that float gently to the ground with the motion of his twirling. I snap the shutter once, twice, three times. He lifts the weed to his face and blows. I press the shutter button, one, two, three, four, five times catching the whole progression as the seeds fly through the air and are picked up by the wind and strung out throughout the field. At that moment I wish I had caught the whole thing with a Polaroid. Then he turns his head and looks at me; smiling that lopsided, triumphant smile of his. This is how we spend our time with each other. I taking pictures, and he becoming the victim of my hobby in some form of another. I have millions upon millions of pictures of Oliver. He’s the perfect subject; so calm and carefree. He often reminds me of a puppy, a big lovable puppy. But it’s our talks I enjoy the most. Oliver may perhaps be the most down to earth person I have met in my life time. When he talks he tips his head back and looks off at the clouds, this distant look in his eye that tells you that he really is thinking about what you just said and is taking it in. He chooses his words carefully, and puts a lot of thought into his responses. Some times I find myself wondering if he’s one of those “old souls” I read about once in a book. Souls that keep being reincarnated therefore having the knowledge of thousands and thousands of years.
“So, tomorrow in our photography class you should help me with the black room.” He looks back down at his hands, “You know I’m not so good at that and you’re like the expert at making and manipulating film.”
I smile at him, “Of course. What would you do without me?”
He looks up at me for a long time, “You have no idea.”
Some times he says things like this which makes me think that maybe there’s more beneath this happy surface than he lets on even to me. It worries me, but I never push it. For some reason, Oli comes off as this fragile being when he speaks like that. I often wonder if maybe he’s the one that need protecting instead of me.
“Why don’t we go grab some tacos and we can go sit in my room and listen to some music. You can help me with my history assignment.” I grab his wrist and pull him up with me. There’s this great little taco shop on the way back to my house.
A smile graces his lips and he replies, “Sounds awesome. I’ll buy.”
“No, it’s my turn!”
“It’s the least I can do! I mean without you I’d probably be failing this semester what with the black room and the three essays you’ve helped me with. I’ll let you buy next time.”
I agree and we take off towards the promise of tacos. My camera hanging from around my neck, at the ready to catch my next photograph. The cool spring breeze messing my hair about. It’s moments like these that I am going to miss. Moments of sheer bliss, where things couldn’t be further from your mind. Ya know that place of peace in small moments and you just want to take up residence in it and stay there forever. I close my eyes. Sadly, you can’t. Moments are here and gone within a blink of an eye. I think maybe that’s why I picked up photography. Just the simply fact that you can catch a moment like that on film and cherish it forever and ever makes me happy. Without my camera, I might have been gone a long, long time ago.

Oli sits on my bed and watches as I pull my laptop open on my desk. His head bobs slightly to February Air by LIGHTS and I bring my web browser up and prepare to edit pictures if need. Then a thought hits me.
“Oliver, why don’t we hang out at your place?”
He gives me that thoughtful look before replying, “Because you’re mother loves me,” he’s makes special emphasis on the last two words, “And besides, you wouldn’t like it at my house. It’s full of noise and nothing would get done. Too many people there and I know how you like to concentrate when you work on your photos. I would never want to jeopardize that for you.”
“Hm,” I turn back to the glowing screen of my laptop and pull up my photo files. I hear Oli’s taco wrapper crinkle as he gets up from my bed and walks over to look over my should. The picture of him scattering dozens of white tuffs is pulled up.
“Don’t you ever get tired of looking at my face. I mean you have a million and more photos of me.” He squints his eyes against the glare of my screen.
“Nope,” I look up at him, “Besides, everyone loves my photos of you. You remind them of a puppy. They just can’t help but love you. If I stopped taking your photograph what would my viewers have to say aboot that? I don’t think they would be very happy.”
He turns and changes the track on my iPod letting The Weakerthans fill my working space. They’ve always reminded me a little of Death Cab For Cutie and I’ve loved them since I first heard them.
Oliver throws himself back down onto my bed and sighs, “Do you ever get tired of this place?”
I swivel my chair around to look at him, “What do you mean? My room?”
“No, this town. This state. Just everything?” He rolls to his side and propping his head up continues, “Have you ever just wished you could fly away from here? Like a bird and never have to settle in once place or another?”
I study his face for a moment before whispering, “What about my mom? I couldn’t just leave her like that.”
“What if you didn’t have to worry about that? What if you’re father was just like everyone else’s?” In that moment I see what looks to be sadness flash briefly across his face, but dismiss it as the lighting in my room.
“Maybe… I don’t really know. Have you?”
He looks down as if ashamed, “I used to, but now I don’t really know anymore.”