a story in anything but words | A & M

The closer I get to the pair of robes and the woman behind the counter, the more cautious I get. Outside of my camera, which I handle with the utmost delicacy, I'm rather clumsy with things in my hand. And while the robes look well made, I don't trust myself enough to test that theory without some permission.

The woman opens up about the robes, which appear as if the sun is melting from the tallest cliff to the next, dripping shade after shade of warmth through the weavework. Alpaca wool. Where, exactly, alpacas come from and how wool becomes clothes, I'm not bright enough to understand. All the classes about making fabrics and clothes seemed to gloss over my head in school. Now, I just photograph for money. Memories are worth a thousand cheaply-made shirts, after all.

These, though, look priceless. I imagine they cost at least the price of two me's, by the looks of it. When she asks me what I want to know about them, my finger doodles through the air, drawing the mountainous figures through the wind. "How do you get inspiration for these robes? I've never seen anything like these patterns or scenes in Eight. It's unique."

The Polaroid camera held behind my back practically begs to come forward and snap a shot. Not everyone knows the ins and outs of the clothing markets of Eight. If they should know about any stall around here, it's this one.

The story about her work is what I expected. After all, why would a creator give away her secrets? In addition to their visual appeal, the texture looks thick and warm. Usually, stuff like this bypassed Eight's shops and catapulted straight to the Capitol. It speaks to her faithfulness, that she's telling the prettiest work she has here. I bite my gums and smile when she compliments my eye for detail and how I stayed despite the price ta- Oh! Okay. I sort of get why some people pass by.

"Your work probably costs a pretty penny. The price only seems fair." I show my Polaroid camera and nod in response. "But yeah, I'm… a photographer of sorts. I've got more professional cameras back home, I promise, but this one is for candid photographs in the district." I turn it in her direction, finger on the shutter release. The frame catches her as well as the robes on her left and right. I hold the camera up for a moment, just to see her reaction to the lens. I don't take impromptu photographs.

"I'm Mars, by the way," I lower the camera and walk closer to the stock. "I've been going around the shops today and taking photographs to post as advertisements out in the Town Square." I pull at the price tag of one of the robes, its colors like sand and stones. "I would love to help get your shop's name out there!"

My thumb slowly glides across the cardboard, covering the first digit of the price. "Such a favor might warrant a discount of sorts, no?" A playful wink begs, pretty please?

Astrid. That's her name. You could fit the word 'artsi' in it if you started to spell artsy with an 'i' rather than a 'y.' Regardless, it suits her. The camera, ironically, does not. I can see through the frame that she's unsure what to do with a Polaroid lens directed at her. But after the test is done, she does something that I didn't quite expect. Astrid pulls the earthy robe off of its mannequin and lays it out over her hands in my direction.

Was I expecting anything for free? …No! But I'm never going to turn down a gift. If Mom and Dad were around, they would make me pay double the price for it, accusing me of taking advantage of someone else's hard work and craft. That's one of the things I appreciate about being with the Gaultiers now: no one judges you for taking a win when it's right in front of you.

"I want you to have it. We can make a trade—your photos for the robe. But… you gotta promise you’ll wear it. Deal?" By the time Astrid asks me to promise I'll wear it, my fingers are already poking through one of the sleeves. "Deal. I mean, who wouldn't, right?" The robe is warmer than I expected, like a coat without the zippers. I leave the front exposed, preferring my crewneck shirt as a complementary layer. (Fashion, another free class from the Gaultiers.)

I set my angles up while she asked how to pose. I'm quiet for a moment, every thought outside of photography theories wiping off the face of my mind. I take a step to the left, but there's not enough sunlight, and when I take a step back, there's too much sunlight overhead. Then, I have to worry about the rule of thirds and ensuring that the robes as well as Astrid share enough focus in the photograph to recognize both the person and her body of work.

It clicked about thirty seconds later that I never answered her question. I chuckle, raising my head from the camera and keeping my hands still in place. "I've got you at a good angle. You could smile– well, you should smile, it looks great on the camera." Smooth, smooth. "Maybe display the robes a bit. You could hold one of the sleeves a little closer to show off their designs. That way, you're advertising the work."

My hand rests on the shutter. "Let me know when you're ready and I'll count you down."

The click from the camera is so subtle that I barely register its shot through all the sound and distractions. The viewfinder keeps my gaze until Astrid interrupts– "Wow, is that it? Can I see?" I lower the camera as it begins to buzz, generating the picture inside. "Oh! Yeah, it's coming up in a second. This is one of my less professional cameras, so it takes a second to develop." Centimeter by centimeter, the Polaroid picture fills out from beneath the camera. It always surprises customers and friends how big the pictures actually are and how significant their quality is. The white back of the lightly laminated paper stops printing, dangling from the bottom of the camera.

I pull the paper out and give it a shake, its shine going in and out as it shifts between light and shadow. "Tch.. Tch.. hmm…" I pretend to think, fingers pinching my chin and all. "I would say that this photograph should buy the entire stock you've got here." I lean back. Garments line the walls and mannequins to maximize the space, like the tornado drills we have once a year here. "Any Gaultier product is priceless, I'd say."

Fuck, I've never been known for keeping up a bit for more than twenty seconds. "Nah, I'm kidding. Just the one is fine, I'll take as many pictures as you want–" I press a button at the bottom of the camera, and the tray filled with Polaroid papers flips open. "–or however many this is. Ten? Fifteen?" The sheets blow through my fingers like a deck of cards. Close enough.

"I would love to take more pictures here. Or maybe I could get a closer look at your production process?"

See, there are two tiny, microscopic people on Astrid's shoulders right now. One's yelling at me "Be serious!" while the other has a smirk on its face. I smirk back at the imaginary daredevil.

"You work from home?"

Smooth. Flirtatious. Playful. Am I looking for a relationship… I'm not too sure, but it doesn't hurt to brush up on your flirting skills now and again!

"Seriously, though. I think customers would be interested in seeing how it works."