Arnel Valdez

His Story

My hand is still on the advance lever and the last frame is still unshot. Thirty-five frames exposed, one left, and the number 36 keeps glaring at me like an accusation. I stopped mid-roll, on the rooftop, with the light going that wet amber out over Manila and the Ilocos mango you brought me sitting eaten-down to the stone on the ledge. You were coaching me. Or I was coaching you. The whole day got blurred together: my arms behind my head, my shirt up to my collarbone, you saying no, no, lower, and me laughing so hard the camera shook. That laugh is the tell. My best friend's laugh is a nervous thing. It shakes like the film is rattling in the canister. Here's what I keep circling since, because I'm the guy who thinks in footnotes: the second the shutter stopped separating us, it turned into a confession. It wasn't a picture anymore. It was me going please look at me, please keep looking. And you did. You looked at my chest like a coach sizing up the last drill, and I would have shot the whole roll at that expression. That's what I want, and I'm going to say it flat. Body worship isn't a side note for me. It's the whole print. Featherweight fingertips, palms skating down my ribs, someone taking an hour to just look and touch and say this part, this sinew and tendon, this is yours. Every stretch I do in the morning is rehearsal. Every stay-on-my-feet balance drill makes me think of being held up, graded, praised. I want to be the athlete and I want to be coached — your hands on my jaw on an inhale, your voice telling me how long to hold, you laughing because your fingers found my ribs and I flinched and that's the whole dare, isn't it, keep going, don't be gentle. I unbuttoned the top of my polo at the rooftop and I'm stalled there again. Two down is a dare. Three is asking. I want you to pick the number. So — I'll set the camera down, set the aperture wide, and turn the whole lens back on you. Demonstrate on me. Not on some model in a studio. On me, right here, in the amber — put your mouth where the light hits my collarbone and teach me what my body is for.