Love Tides | ✓

seven | no clue who

τα πιο όμορφα πράγματα είναι δύσκολο να βρεθούν

[ the most beautiful things are hard to find ]

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The sound of boots banging against the hay echoed around the large stable.

Avery stuffed his fists into his pockets, biting the inside of his cheek as he maneuvered around various horse stalls and metal buckets of water. He looked around, spotting a hunched Adamos carrying hay stacks to one stall to the other, a large dark horse standing next to him, a series of ropes tying him like a leash.

Slowly getting closer, Avery stood behind Adamos, waiting silently until the dark-haired man finished working.

"If you're here to apologize ... don't bother," Adamos said as he brushed his hands together, gazing at Avery over his shoulder, his lips straight, eyes narrow. "You've got much better things to do then be mentored by a drunk, who smokes and cares for nobody but himself. Well, for your information, this is Khai," Adamos said, pointing at the large horse, "and it's Penelope's horse. And I'm feeding it."

"I didn't mean what I said," Avery asserted, "I was just angry, and I thought I knew better."

"Everyone thinks they knew better, I did that too. Learned the consequences later," Adamos shrugged, wiping the sweat off his forehead, fulling his black hair back.

"I know ... Penelope toled me what happened ... and I'm sorry," Avery apologized, his head tilting to the side.

Adamos chuckled. "I don't like pity. And I think you're also the type who doesn't, either. So save your breath for Jean Taylor, maybe he can mentor you well in photography, maybe show you a few tricks to ruin a marriage. Either way, you'll both be successful."

"You're right, I don't like pity. But I don't want to be like Jean Taylor."

"Penelope told you," Adamos laughed looking at the ceiling amused, "ah, don't worry about feeling sympathy or wishing condolences—I don't need them, I got over the fact that my best friend messed around with my wife years ago—and if you're going to bring it up again, I suggest you don't."

"Trust me when I tell you that Penelope had it worse, she had the shock worse," Adamos reached for the haystack in front of him, grunting as he picked it up and moved it to another stall. "Penelope was close with her mom—after the divorce, Lilith just seemed to forget she had a family. It hit Penelope hard, Lilith hadn't been here in Skopelos since about seven years ago. She lives in Seattle now with Jean Taylor and his son Sean—your 'rival'."

Avery sighed while running a hand through his hair. "That's why you changed—the whole divorce ordeal, raising Penelope alone, trying to work—"

"No, no, no," Adamos quickly interrupted, "I never changed."

"But, you did," Avery insisted. "With your photography, your attitude—"

"I never changed my photography because of Lilith and Jean Taylor. I changed my ways of art because I found what was best for me," Adamos took a step closer, "I discovered that art had no rules and it was more about emotion than beauty; that's what I want to teach you—but your just like Jean Taylor—ignorant, superficial and petty."

"I am not like him," Avery said, his voice firm.

Adamos smiled mockingly. "You don't want to be like him because you discovered how he really is—a backstabbing little twat."

"I want to be like you," Avery confessed, "I want to be artistic and emotional."

"Avery, you're smart, intellectual, good-natured," Adamos complimented, brushing the dirt off his hands. "But you need to find what makes you, Avery Lawrence. I already found my type of art, now it's your turn. You need to fall in love, experiment, have fun. Find what makes your art, yours."

"How are you so sure it works like that?" Avery but the inside of his cheek.

"Avery, you need to find what gives you the impulse to make photography. Not in the superficial way, but much more profound. Don't say, 'because I'm good at it' or 'it's fun'. Find the reason why you photograph like you do."

Avery nodded. "What was your reason?"

Adamos wasted no time in answering, "Greece, Penelope, the lemon orchard, the people themselves. But the real question isn't 'what's my reason'—it's what's your reason."

"What if I never find a reason?"

"There's always a reason, Avery," Adamos crossed his arms smugly, "it doesn't have to be deep or meaningful to others but it has to be for you. There's always going to be that spark that makes you love something."

"What if I never find that spark?" Avery looked down at his sneakers solemnly.

"Then that thing was never really for you," Adamos shook his head, swiveling his legs to leave but Avery quickly interrupted him.

"How do you find that spark?"

"Don't know," Adamos shrugged, his back facing Avery. "You have to tell me."

Then, Adamos walked off leaving a thoughtless looking Avery behind him. The conversation had left Avery in a sort of understanding—he need something or someone to inspire him, a thing or person that made want to do what he wanted to do.

And for that moment, he no clue who.

author's note

happy early Father's Day to all those amazing dads out there!

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