Well, I made my debut as an amateur photographer today, taking pictures of my friend and her bandmates.

It was definitely an interesting group of people. Though first impressions can sometimes be deceiving, their personalities seemed easy to discern.

Both her husband and his brother, were more of your average mild mannered professionals. The kind who liked to entertain the notion of living out their rock god fantasies, while making a little extra money on the side.

The drummer was another story. The type of guy who bathed himself in masculinity, in order to attract girls with his jet black hair and his smarmy come hither attitude. From the way he seemed intent on making sure I was noticing him, it was obvious that he was more interested in making conquests, than making music.

But it was the last guy that intrigued me. He had the sort of face, that seemed as if it had a story to tell. Shy and reserved, I watched him purposely keep himself to the fringes of the group. The kind of behavior you see, when someone doesn't really think they belong there. I could tell that I made him nervous, an unknown factor in his usual sphere of being, that he didn't quite know how to act around. I automatically wanted to make him feel comfortable, ensuring him with a smile, that I wasn't a threat.

I would have loved to have taken pictures of just him alone, tracing with my camera every line on his face and the slope of his nose that seemed out of proportion. His was a face in which a camera could fall in love. Not handsome, and not of the manor born, but a hard, weathered face, that looked like it had spent too many days in the sun and too many nights in stormy weather.

He was a man in black, standing tall with cowboy hat partially shading his eyes from view. The kind of man who preferred to see himself out of focus and out of the picture whenever possible. The kind of man who wasn't used to someone attempting a peek at his soul.

But when he smiled, you could tell that it reached up all the way into his eyes. The same kind of smile you'd get from a toothy seven year old. It was genuine and honest.

It was clear to me, that the picture needed to revolve around this man. He was, what the others were not. Maybe it was his deep reserve that accentuated the stoic-ness of his posture, manipulating the light around his form to shine on him like a beacon. I focused my camera on his face, and let the others provide the backdrop to the scene, imagining in my mind what the picture would look like in black and white.

"He needs to be in the back." said one of the groupies as she hovered behind me scoffing, "He's not much to look at."

I wanted to turn around and call her out and tell her all of the reasons of why she couldn't have been more wrong. I wanted to explain to her the difference of looking and really seeing someone. But I knew she wouldn't get it. Still I felt the need to defend him.

"Actually, out of all of them here," I said, "he's the one who'll look the best. His face has character. Putting him in the back would be the biggest mistake."

She seemed startled by my input, pausing long enough to give me the evil eye and the you sure don't know what you're talking about kind of look. But it made me feel good to defend the honor of a man I didn't even know.

There was just something about him, the way he reminded me of a kindred spirit. Someone who was lost and still struggled to be found. Someone who thought they weren't worth as much as the people surrounding them. Maybe it was just that I recognized a little bit of myself in this man, and wanted to honor him in the only way I could. Making him feel, as if he really belonged.

I kept finding myself wishing there was some way, I could have singled him out for a shot alone, with the barren landscape jutting sharply behind him. But they wouldn't have understood, and he would have been too embarrassed to let me.