Nacho Night

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I smile as the phone illuminates under my hand. His text short but sweet. I chuckle before my fingers touch the cold worn screen… a quick reply shoots from my fingertips. I wanted nachos in my belly. No, I needed nachos in my belly. He doesn’t respond immediately and my mind turns back to work.

Another text quickly flashes across the screen. He wants to know why he’s still at work so late on a Thursday. The same as us all I chuckle. The conversation quickly turns to dinner plans and Nacho Night is mentioned.

Nacho Night had vastly become a favorite Thursday night pastime of adulthood. A chance to pretend we didn’t have work and adult responsibilities tyin’ us down. Nacho Nigh sounded perfect to me. Nacho Night was needed.

My fingers shot back against the screen, “works for me. I’ll even buy the supplies needed as long as I can take pics. Y’all know I gotta practice what I’ve learned.”

I scurry through the isles of the local grocery store worried my phone would die before I picked the last ingredient. I paused at the bean isle careful to make sure the purple vegetarian flashed across the can in bright white letters. I gathered the remainin’ items; instagramin’ along the way careful to say thank you to the cashier as I scurried out.

I knocked on the worn and creaked screen door moments later. The noise of a warm Texas early night greets me. The Cicadas chirp a lovely cadence. A cadence familiar to those in The South as Spring and Summer approaches.

I rush through the door almost droppin’ the groceries in the process. A little one no more than a foot-high barks and rushes to meet me. He beings to move items out of the way careful to make ready for the onslaught of pictures he knows I’ll take. I pause, used to this gesture. I ready myself for the over indulgence of information I am about to throw his way.

I start yammerin’ on about the class and the lessons I’d learned. “First rule of thumb is to touch or move nothing, “I holler. “So stop movin’ things.” He rolled his eyes as he continued… “It doesn’t count if I move my own items he fusses!” I oblige careful to leave no footprint.

He chuckles as he begins to indulge me. "So, what else have you learned from this class you won't stop talkin' about?" "Well", I pause.. "I'm no expert", I say. But I am learning. For example did you know that you are not allowed to mess with the lighting. You are to shoot as is. And all those times you tell me to tell you how to pose. Yeah, that's a no go in photojournalism. If you wait long enough kids will repeat themselves. You should never stage or encourage the subjects in a photo." He nods his head as I continue on about the class. All the while I know he couldn't really care less. We're friends so he pretends.

"Get this", I tell him. The biggest thing I learned from the class is to shoot for what you want. You can clean up a photo but you can't crop a photo. "Man, you've been goin' about this all wrong," he chuckles. He shoots me a glance and hollers, "The reason you can't get better is because you keep stoppin' to look at each photo you take. Just keep snappin' and you can asses them later." That's somethin' I probably wont ever get used to. But I suppose that's what the class is for.

The next arrives, not even phased by the camera I shove in his face. He’d grown accustom I suppose. The night rolls on, a hint of adult responsibilities and tiredness hits us. We rise to end our stay, but not before I grab the camera and hit snap.

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