Fish Eyes

3

The bus was musty and crowded the next day.

I had rushed out of Trent in order to catch the earliest bus into the city.

I'd had to stop home before getting on the bus because I didn't trust myself to keep my dad's camera unscathed throughout the whole day. Even if it was in my locker, I could find a way to knock it out of there or something.

I'd decided I was quitting. 

The Young Art Institute competition had been stressing me out more than most things did, even impairing my sleep. So I just decided to nip it in the bud. By quitting. I was protecting my peace.

It was time to move on to the next thing. Maybe I could finally get my driver's license, especially considering Wendy was the one that dropped me home and at the bus stop.

The bus wasn't usually frequented by people my age. It mostly consisted of homeless elders, working-class people, and young children with their parents. I was never unaware of the curious looks I'd get when I stepped on.

Most teens, especially those at Trent, were completely unaware of the bus and train system in the city. Trent kids had cars, and other teens usually relied on their parents or rideshare apps. My folks were always at work, and our schedules never lined up in a way where they could drive me around. And the bus/train was dirt cheap compared to those rideshare apps. They were faster a lot of times too, considering Atlanta traffic.

The soles on my platforms had not stopped squeaking in the time since I'd bought them. They made a lot of noise, and I couldn't help but walk like a penguin while stepping down from the bus. I thanked the bus driver with a smile, left a tip, and was on my way.

Despite living in the city (or just outside of it rather), for my whole life, I had not experienced much of its urban charm. Even going to the photography suite was a rarity. I was kind of excited for the venture because outside of my small adventures with Wendy out to eat or shopping, I didn't go out.

I had on a denim mini skirt and cropped white t-shirt for the warm occasion. It was either scorching hot or freezing cold in Atlanta, and that also got old quickly.

The GPS feature on my phone was doing well that day, for the first time in a long time. I'd cracked my phone badly some days ago and had yet to get it fixed. It was like I'd ruptured an antenna in there or something. Again, expensive equipment was not my thing.

It was times like that when I somewhat appreciated the work my parents did. I could be clumsy and terrible and not have to take any responsibility for it. That wouldn't do well for me in the future. 

My brain flitted to the competition, and I smacked myself in the side of the head to dead that, quickly.

I was terrible with navigation and directions. It was embarrassing that I could not locate the studio after years of visiting it, even if it wasn't frequent.

Joy and Glee Photography Suite had a regular amount of clientele there that day if my mind recalled correctly. I had not been there since July when I came to siphon the camera from my dad.

Of course, my eyes went straight to the camera that I would have the most guilt for in the case of breaking it. Despite the risk, my impulsiveness told me to get it anyway.

I had it strapped around my neck, but I felt like I still was not doing enough to keep it protected. Both hands were clasped around it as if my life depended on it.

The studio was painted in its signature baby blue. Despite many touch-ups over the years, the color had remained constant. The decor gave the space pops of neon color. For older folks, my parents had a flare for modern design.