If I Lose Her by Greg Joseph Daily Read Free Book Online Page A

real step to becoming a serious
photographer. I was running around, covering everything from chess club matches
to football games to shooting portraits of the homecoming king and queen, which
taught me two important things. The first was how to think on my feet. In a day
I could easily go from shooting something outside, in the sun, to taking
pictures in the cafeteria, and I didn’t have time to dink around with my
camera. I had to know what kind of shooting situation I was going into and
adjust for it quickly. Remember, I didn’t have a digital camera at the time to
show me on an LCD screen what kind of shots I was getting. The second thing I
learned was how to comfortably approach and photograph people. This would later
prove to be critical in my photography career. 
      Jo and
I had been dating for a few months now and we were together as often as we
could be. I went with her to gallery showings now and again, and she went with
me when I had to shoot a sports piece or something off campus.
     That year
Aurora West was doing pretty well in baseball and we were on our way to the
state championship, so I was tasked with covering the games as often as I
could, which was about twice a week. It was the beginning of May and we were
playing one of the semi-finals at home. I asked Jo to go with me, and she was
happy to.
     It was a beautiful
evening. A clear sky and enough warmth to let you know summer was on its way. I
could smell the hot dogs already cooking somewhere inside the stadium, and I
watched a little boy chase his sister around their dad with a purple gun that
shot a stream of bubbles.
     Since I was
photographing the game, Jo and I got in for free and my pass gave me access to
the player’s dugout, which was a big deal to me at the time. Jo didn’t care at
all for sports so she brought a book with her and the journal that always rode
around with her in her purse, probably to doodle down whatever inspiration
struck her for her photos.
     I had been
studying up on sports photography for several weeks because of my regularity at
the games, and I was eager to try out some new techniques. So, as the players
played, I moved around and captured some interesting moments. One shot was of
our team lounging around in the dugout during the first three innings, when we
were a few runs behind, and another was of the coach and the players all huddled
together as he tried to lift their spirits with a pep-talk. Then Patty O’neil
stepped up to the plate.
     Now, Patty
O’neil was about as Irish as you could get and proud of it. He was also strong,
one of the strongest kids on the team, and just about every time he swung at
the ball he would swing at it like he was trying to kill the thing.
     For about an
hour I photographed the batters from a safe spot on the side of the field,
where I could see their faces, but I was getting bored, so I decided to get a
little creative. I changed my position to where I was directly behind the
batter, up in the stands just far enough to see over the shoulder of the
umpire.
     Patty swung.
     Strike One.
Strike Two.
     Nothing.
     This looked
like it was going to be just as great as the last nine players at bat.
        Patty stepped away.
     He stretched
his arms and swung the bat a few times freely through the air.
     I looked up
and saw Jo watching me with a simple smile from where I had been shooting
previously. The book she was reading lay open in her lap. I winked at her and
she looked away in a playful way then back at me.
     Patty’s
father sat just to my right, cheering his son in with whistles and claps. Argh,
my stomach is starting to hurt. I’m ready for lunch.
     Patty
stepped back to the plate.
     I lined up
my shot, and as soon as he started to swing I pulled the shutter release.
Crack! Patty’s bat splintered like tinder and fell to the ground as the ball
flew across the infield, outfield and the back fence like it was on its way to
Rome. I stood to my feet and mashed