Snippet #1863919

The store offered Chris a bonus for the new shipment of clothes, stating that the previous stuff sold out in a day. The praise and money made him proud, but it still was not the recognition he needed in order to make it big. Making custom clothes for the local shop did not make one famous. Still, he agreed to make more for them as soon as he could, perhaps even remake a couple of the older styles that many people had shown interest in. It was more regular business than the high school, anyways. Maybe he even had a chance to pay back his father if he focused enough.

The rain had grown into a full-out downpour by the time Chris made it back to the studio. Large drops of water fell down his bangs and dripped onto his chest. Nice, he thought solemnly and he began to unbutton his soaked shirt. It was hard for him to not think and worry about Adriella and this weather just seemed to darken his mood. Wadded shirt in hand, he headed up to his bedroom to change into some dry clothes. He still had a couple hours before he had to go to his Aunt and Uncles so he decided to continue Adriella's work and clean. Sporting a pair of old jeans and a white t-shirt, he started with the heavy photography equipment scattered around the sewing section. He didn't want Adriella to hurt herself trying to move it later, plus he was one who knew how to organize the stuff. Backdrops and lighting hoods were carefully folded up and placed on a shelf. Lights and poles went to the small closet underneath the stairwell. The hard work left him little energy to think about anything else and his attitude began to improve.

Lifting up a fallen backdrop he spotted an old trunk covered in dust. Curious, he set the backdrop aside and pulled the heavy trunk out into the light for him to get a better look. He had never seen this before and, even though he was messy, he always kept track of the equipment in the studio. Flipping the levers, Chris opened the lid carefully to not crack the old leather binding. Inside was a camera cushioned by foam and a small note that he recognized as his mother's handwriting. Proof that you're more like your father than you know. Love, Mom. Setting the note aside with a smile, Chris lifted up the camera and examined it. His heart skipped to his throat when he recognized it as part of the classic 1971 Cannon F-1 series. "Woah," Chris breathed to himself. It was a thing of beauty and design; the pinnacle of professional cameras in its day. He lowered the camera to lift up the foam and stared down at the case in shock. It looked like all of the accessories, from the lenses to the filters, were neatly organized within the trunk. A printed name glared out from the corner of the trunk: Benjamin C. Miller. His father. Smiling softly, he carried the camera over to his work desk and began to clean it.