What You Don't Know

What You Don't Know
(First Chapter; Partial, Beginning)
By Shaire Blythe

The camera came into focus. Through the viewfinder, I was taken aback by the natural light streaming like God himself was in this very small living space, casting out to Ricky Lorenzo in the middle of the room. Dust particles flowed about him, but it didn't appear to bother him as he waited for me to give him the go ahead. I hadn't pushed play just yet.

I rotated the camera to the right just a tad. I wasn't rich enough to obtain a tripod, so positioning my three-weeks of hard-working money on a stack of boxes had to do. The wooden boards beneath me groaned just a little as I leaned in closer to zoom in on Ricky. He still waited patiently, his hazel-glimmery eyes on me, in the only chair I had as of now. I knew it wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world. It was wooden and had all types of splinters and frayed edges from its ancient age.

I zoomed in too far; the angelic light had disappeared from sight. I wanted to keep that frame, which would make Ricky's story come to life. I zoomed back out, toying with it some more.

Cars honking and roaring on the city street below us filled the silent space of the studio. It was its own form of entertainment and would make perfect sound for the background. Authenticity. That was what I was going for. Hardly anything was to be edited or altered when my masterpiece came together into one whole.

"Ashton." Ricky softly spoke his first word since I had led him up to my area. This was my comfort zone, this was where I felt the most at home. There existed no yelling between my parents, or my older sister who couldn't seem to get her life together and get off the drug-filled and walking-prostitute streets. There was no abandoned niece of mine, crying to be held, to be fed - to be loved. There was no throwing. No lies. No hatred. This space was peace.

I glanced up from the iridescent screen to look him right in the eyes. Ricky looked so different off-screen than on. Fairly purple bags were under his eyes, maybe from lack of sleep. His hair was more tousled, curls stringing out in desperate need to be trimmed. His clothes were faded, like they had been turned in the washer and dryer too long. However, they still fit him loosely.

"Yeah?" I questioned. I figured he was ready to get this show on the road. We'd been here for almost an hour, but exploring the space rather than getting to business. There wasn't much to explore, though. I had just rented it out and plastic was all over the room, covering anything that the last tenant had left. I hadn't touched it, it was coated with gray dust.