Chapter 13

13

Ethan

Maddie's brain and body are in competition over allowing her to just be herself in front of my camera. She's the most beautiful woman I've had in front of my camera, and it's clear she's used to being photographed, but I'm looking for something more than just her beauty to show up in these photos. I want to see her essence and the only way we'll get that is if she discards her perfectly choreographed mannerisms and lets her soul do the talking.

We drove to the Pittsburgh Botanic Gardens to take these photos and the setting is gorgeous with the picturesque fall foliage as our backdrop. Maddie removed her wig, so we found a secluded space amongst trees that offered privacy, and we've spent the past fifteen minutes trying to get some good shots, but I haven't been happy with any of them.

"Is that one better?" she asks as I inspect the photo I just took.

It's a perfectly fine photo that a lot of photographers would be happy with. However, it doesn't even begin to capture the Maddie I'm getting to know.

"We can do better."

She frowns. "Really? I thought that one would have been good." She walks my way. "Show me." After I let her look, she says, "Seriously, Ethan, what's wrong with it?"

"Everything."

More frowning. "Well, that's cleared things up for me."

"I want to see you in the photo, Maddie. I'm not seeing that."

"I'm seeing me in that photo."

"No, you're not. You're seeing Madeline Montana in that photo. Show me Madeline Miller. Show me what you're feeling right now, today. Show me your confusion and hurt. Show me your worries. Show me your hope. Hell, show me your anger and your middle finger. If you want to connect with the people who will look at this photo"—I move into her space and touch where her heart is—"that's what will make them look a little longer and think a little harder about who you really are."

Her breathing slows all the way down as she stares up at me. "How?" she whispers. "How do I show all that?"

"Do you have any of your notebooks with you that you write lyrics in? The lyrics you told me about that you haven't shared with anyone."

"Yes, I have one in my purse." She sounds anything but confident about where this is going.

"Okay, take it and go sit on that bench." I point to where I want her to go. "I want you to read what you've written. Connect with it. And I want you to think about everything you've given up to be Madeline Montana. Write more if lyrics come to you."

She nods but I see the hesitation in her eyes, which is good. Exactly what I was hoping for. I need her to feel vulnerable so we can peel back some layers and I wondered if sitting with her inner thoughts in public might get her there.

I snap photos while she sits on the bench with her notebook. I stand a good distance away, letting her immerse herself without my presence. She takes about ten minutes to start writing in her notebook and then it's another twenty minutes until I sense she's losing herself in her thoughts.

Moving closer, slowly, I take more photos until I reach her. When I sit at the other end of the bench, she continues writing for another minute before lifting her head and staring out at something in front of her. Then, she slightly angles her face down and toward me. It's a side profile and it's fucking perfect with the way her eyes are closed. I take the photo right before she opens her eyes and looks at me.

"I don't know who I am anymore, Ethan," she confides so softly I almost can't hear her.

I snap the photo.

"Did you write something new?"

She nods and I take the photo.

"Tell me."

She swallows whatever she's feeling and I get that one too.

Glancing down at her notebook, she reads the lyric out to me. "Lost in the shadows, trying to make myself whole."

I get every one of these photos.

She continues reading. "I've discovered the truth, I'm not erased." Tears slide down her cheeks and she brushes them away as she closes her notebook and looks at me. "That's what I've been feeling for so long. Erased. But I'm not."

"No, you're not."

"I'm not going down without a fight."

I fucking love the determination in her voice.

"Good."

"I know the photo I want you to take." She stands. "I need some things from the car."

Five minutes later, she's retrieved a cowgirl hat and a long sleeve denim jacket that looks very western with the long fringes on it from her suitcase. We walk back to the area near the trees and she turns away from me before taking her shirt and bra off and putting the jacket on. It's long enough that it ends almost exactly where her shorts end. When she turns back to me, the jacket is undone and she's holding it closed. She's standing in front of me wearing her cowgirl hat, cowgirl jacket, frayed shorts, and fuck me, her mask is gone.

"I don't want to share a fuck-you-Tucker photo." She opens the jacket, letting it fall so that it covers most of her breasts but not all of them. "I want to share one that says, ‘I'm broken and bruised, but I'm still here.'"

When she drops her hands to her sides and tilts her head ever so slightly, I take the photo and I know without having to check that it's the one.

Madeline Miller is standing in front of me.

She's ripped her heart out and offered it to me.

Her essence is bleeding from her.

And when I look at the photo, I'm struck by the way the shadows cover most of her face, making her eyes hard to see. It's so fucking perfect in its imperfection.

This photo captures how exposed and naked she feels.

I hold out my camera and show her. "As far as I'm concerned, this is the one, but if you want me to keep going, I will."

She stares at the image for the longest time before finally lifting her face to mine. "That's it."

Yeah, it is.

That's the photo that shows Maddie's unglamorous truth.