Michael J. Fox
An Unexpected Encounter Leads to Shredding Air Guitars
I was framed tight on Gina’s face, her eyes excavating my lens to reach the film. This was The Shot. “Do — not — move,” I whispered without looking up from the viewfinder. Then, racking focus with my left hand, eyes locked on her reversed image on the groundglass, I swung my right hand toward my bellows camera on a tripod to insert a 4x5-inch sheet film holder, ready to pull out the dark slide, close the lens diaphragm, and plunge the shutter release to fire my strobes — all in one choreographed maneuver. Aaaaaand . . .
Unexpectedly, Gina’s gaze darted off camera and snapped back. Just her eyes; she’d stuck the pose. I rechecked focus to make sure. Then it happened again; she looked past the camera and right back to frame. I aborted the shot.
Something distracted her. Our groove was gone. Annoyed, I raised my head from the viewfinder and looked behind me. A stranger was poking around, curiously at ease in my studio, picking things up and examining them, then putting them down, opening the fridge. . . Nothing obstructed my line of sight from the studio’s shooting space to the kitchen twenty feet away.
I looked back at Gina. She shrugged. I spun back around. “Who the hell are you?” I demanded.
