A Receipt for Time Spent

“There are more than enough photographers in the world but there are only a few time travelers that stop time with one snapshot. I see myself as one of those people, catching moments that pass by with time and admiring each unique perspective.”

Dre’s phone alarm goes off in the kitchen interrupting his speech and breaking his train of thought. With a sigh, he grabs his camera off a pile of books he stacked in front of the fire escape window sending them clattering against the metal. He searches quickly for his journal, kicking books off the edge and down into potted plants and trash bins. He doesn’t even care about the lost fiction as he sees the small black notebook balancing on the ledge in the morning wind. He stretches his bare foot across the metal and slides it towards him, grabbing it and swinging himself through the window and into the apartment.

9:52AM

He was supposed to be on Main Street 7 minutes ago but he’d been up all night editing photos and rehearsing so he lost track of time. He spent the next few minutes throwing yesterday’s jeans on, a hoodie, sneakers and a handful of cereal in his mouth slamming the door behind him.

10:15AM

“I don't take pictures, I take perspective. Photography is proof of the art found in a point of view.” He monologues, aloud, practicing his interview speech with the camera up to his eye. He stood at the cross walk across the street from a coffee shop filled with subjects. “And I think I just found the perfect example.”

He ran across the street walking into a beam of morning light that interrupted a cloud of people.

CLICK

He smiled, pulling the thin black journal out of his back pocket, scribbling:

10:26AM

'Off the crosswalk, to the right, a beam of light pushes through the morning fight.'

He trapped his pen in the middle of the notebook and slipped it back in his pocket.

Dre walked main street for hours every morning, building his portfolio and jotting mini poems to match the photos he took. The portfolio was for a huge interview for an internship at the New York Museum and School of Art. He’d be mentored in shooting art shows and writing short articles on the curators and he wouldn’t mind attending the school if he could afford it. The interview required an in person speech explaining ‘What photography means to you’. It wasn't his “dream job”, but it was something he’d enjoy that wasn’t delivery driving and walking the streets selling pictures he takes of passing strangers back to them.

Dre did hope that one day people would look through his lens of the world, though. He loves art but not the kind that's drawn, painted or sculpted. The kind that's experienced by one and witnessed by others.

Photographs.

Everyday he would capture random people in candid shots. Kids riding by on their bikes, road ragers with their fists up, old people sitting alone on park benches and his favorite, pictures of people taking pictures.

4:00PM

The sun stretched higher by the hour and he had taken about 60-70 pictures as the day passed, interacting with everyone from the early risers to the mid day runners.

Dre took a break in the coffee shop across the street, logging his last entry leaning on the window that looked out on the busy sidewalk. His foot fell asleep so he stretched his leg out, tripping a man walking by. The guy dropped everything in his hands including his coffee and shoulder bag, sending a folder of photographs and a couple photos that were enclosed in it across the floor and into a puddle of black coffee.

The room went still for about 5 seconds and then back to normal as Dre got down quickly, helping the man pick up his stuff.

“My bad.” Dre apologized, grabbing the folder and the wet pictures shaking them.

“You know you really should watch your footing.” The man calmly said standing straight up. Dre handed him the folder, still holding onto the pictures. “True. But you should really watch your step.” He replied.

The man chuckled, shrugging. “I guess you’re right, son.” And they both laughed.

The man pointed to the photos that Dre began to peer at, the sun from the window highlighting the coffee drops on them. The picture showed a mirror in a green grassy field that reflected the grey sky above it.

“I think...” The man said, gently pulling the photo from Dre’s hand “...this is dry now and if you don’t mind I need to get a refill.”

“Y-yeah of course” he stammered, still looking at the picture. “That’s dope” He pointed.

“Dope?” The man questioned, looking at his image. “I guess it was pretty nice before it had coffee on it, huh?” He joked. “Sorry man, I hope I didn't ruin it.” Dre said. “Can I buy your refill?”

5:13PM

The man who introduced himself as Charles sat with Dre as they struck up conversation.

“So you mean to tell me you just drive around delivering food to people and you ask them can you shoot them?” He asked, holding his empty mug by the handle.

“Yeah” Dre responded. “It’s the perfect time to capture someone in that happy moment when the food arrives.”

Charles laughed.

“They rarely seem to mind as long as the food’s still hot. It’s a win-win. I can build my portfolio and they get a copy for $5, plus their meal.” Dre explained. “I've met some pretty cool people, too.”

“You really love taking photos, huh?” Charles asked. Dre nodded slowly fiddling with his camera. “Mhm.” He responded.

Charles spoke. “I remember when I got my first camera… I wasn’t much of a photographer but I loved it because my father did.” He continued. “I was the person in my family who taped and shot everything we did and now we have so much to look back on.” He paused in thought.

“It’s like…..” He started.

“Time travel.” Dre finished.

“It’s like time travel.” Charles nodded, satisfied. “Photos are like receipts for time you’ve spent.”

The two pondered on that statement in silent agreement.

Charles interrupted the moment, reaching in his bag grabbing an old instant camera.

Before Dre knew what was happening, Charles snapped a photo of him. The camera whirred as a small polaroid ejected from the top of the device. “No 1,2,3 go?” Dre asked sarcastically.

Charles waved the photo around and laid it on the window sill. For the first time they both noticed that the sun was almost gone.

“Believe it or not, you can make a lot of money with a passion for photography.” Charles said breaking the silence.

“I wish.” Dre replied with a sigh. “People say, ‘A picture is worth a thousand words’, but I'd be happier if they were worth a thousand bucks.” He continued. “Like you said, ‘pictures are receipts for time spent’. You can’t physically relive the past and you can’t see something the same way as someone else, so photos are valuable.”

“Agreed.” Charles said. “Photography isn’t the fanciest career but it’s definitely worth more than people value it.” He continued. “I can tell you’d rather be taking photos than delivering food, hustling people at camera point.” He made his hand into a gun pointing it at his head. They laughed.

“So what’s it all mean to you?” Charles asked.

Dre lifted his brow.

“Photography, I mean.” He said.

Dre drew a blank face, having been trying to figure that out for himself all day.

“Not much to be honest.” He started. “I love it but there is no deep “meaning” for me. We all see through a lens anyway but we can’t always share it the way we perceive it.” He continued. “With photography we can capture perspective and share it exactly the way we perceived it in the moment, and to me, perspective is the rawest artform there is because of how unique each one is.”

Charles nodded with a big grin.

Dre laughed. “I know it sounds so ‘fake deep’ but that's my honest take.”

“Wow.” Charles sighed. “If that was “fake deep”, your “real deep” must be Shakesperian, son.” Dre scoffed and waved his hand at Charles, “He’s got nothing on me.”

“Is that so?” Charles responded. They laughed loudly.

“If I'd known I’d be interviewed today I would have recorded my responses for my real interview tomorrow.” Dre said tapping his pen on the little black book.

Charles responded. “Well I'm no interviewer but whoever has the pleasure of speaking to you tomorrow should choose you over anyone in the room, because your passion truly precedes you, Dre.”

“Thanks.” Dre shrugged. “I’m just trying to make dreams out of pixels.” He sighed, looking at the developed candid polaroid of himself.

6:25PM

The cafe was closing soon, so Dre capped their conversation. “It was nice to chat with you Mr. Charles but I better get home, sort through these photos and get this portfolio finished.” He stood up placing a $10 bill on the table.

Charles shook his head. “No sir, this ones on me. You spent the time to share such stories, so it’s the least I could do.” He said, shrugging. Dre nodded with a grin, shaking Charles’ hand.

Leaving the coffee shop, Dre crossed the street. It was busy with orange and red lights, bumping from muffled concerts inside the passing cars. He ran up the stairs, into his apartment and out onto the fire escape with his laptop, camera, and an armful of pillows, putting his headphones on for the night.

A cacophony woke Dre up as the railing his head was resting on wobbles. The laptop slid off his lap clanging against the fire escape. Rubbing his eyes he reads the laptop screen.

2:00PM

Hours after his interview was scheduled.

He jumps up in a panic. “No, no, please no!” He yells, jumping through the window into the kitchen to his phone.

2:01PM

With an angry sigh he erupts, “This can’t be happening!”, throwing his phone at the front door. With a soft thud it lands on a pile of mail. He walks over, boiling with anger and notices a large envelope with big red letters on the front.

PRIORITY MAIL

He picks it up, and tears it open.

‘NEW YORK MUSEUM AND SCHOOL OF ARTS’

His stomach twists in anxiety and confusion as It’s addressed to him and sent from ‘Mr. Xavier Charles, Head Director and Dean of Admissions’

His anxiety turns to anticipation as he tears it open.

Dear Andre,

I regret to inform you that you have missed your appointed interview. However, knowing your dedication, I can imagine and respect that you stayed up all night preparing and overslept. As you might remember, as if by fate, I had the pleasure of meeting you last night in a coffee shop and it wasn’t until I was looking through the interviews today did I realize you were the only one that didn’t show. Small world. So I am glad to inform you that an interview won't be necessary because you’ve blown me away with your passion and humor.

Other interns were selected but I have chosen you as my personal mentee and I also want to take a big chance on you and award you a $20,000 scholarship for our Photography and Journalism program opening up next year. You have great potential and I can’t wait to work with you. Come by the office on Monday with your portfolio to discuss registration and don’t be late.

P.S

Here are the receipts so you can pay me back later.

Best regards,

Your friend, Charles.

In complete disbelief and euphoria, he reached into the bottom of the envelope to find the polaroid of himself wrapped in a coffee stained receipt.