Tennessee Sunburn (part 1)

         They weren’t ready to go. Planning had never been their strong suit. The car wasn’t packed, the route untraced, the necessary supplies not even considered. In fact, the whole trip had gone vastly under-contemplated thus far. They would have you believe that they weren’t to blame for the impending catastrophe, that it was circumstance. Bad luck. But mostly, it was them.

         This trip, grandiose occasion as it had been intended to be, had once been quite thoroughly planned to the finest detail. But things don’t necessarily work out as planned. The group was now incomplete. What once was three had become two, due to unpleasant situations and misfortune. One didn’t want to admit what a blow this dealt to the trip and the other certainly didn’t want to be the one to bring it up. That this not only altered the plan, but completely departed with it. It went unspoken. They thought of this as a spontaneous approach to the trip. Think on their toes. Go with the flow. I Ching and adaptation.

         See also: Put it off until the very last minute.

         Tall Man awoke first, stumbling around in a morning haze. His lanky body still cranking the ignition for his turning mind. He stumbled out of his bedroom with its dragon decor, down the hall and into the living room. There he crashed onto the couch as though a tiny lumberjack had hacked at his ankles. He groaned while his hands moved automatically to find the glass pipe and the bag of marijuana strewn on the coffee table. Still more or less asleep, Tall Man’s fingers moved through the bag, broke up a sticky pungent fuzz ball, an herbal caterpillar, and stuffed it into the pipe. He found a lighter and finally he sat up, igniting the psychotropic plant and inhaling sharply.

         After holding it in for those few sweet moments, he exhaled a gossamer cloud that writhed across the living room.

         Through the smoke, he noticed Rand, tousle haired and several days unshaven, had emerged from his own dank lair and was leaning on the wall in the hallway. Rand, too, was struggling with awareness. Fighting the morning fog. He shuffled his way over to the couch and took the pipe Tall Man was offering him, groaned his appreciation.

         Tall Man groaned in response.

         There was a long period to follow in which little communication occurred. In fact, little movement of any kind occurred save the passing of the bowl.

         Then there was some cereal, lots of cereal.

         After showering and the usual morning routines, these two fresh daisies arrived once more at the living room boasting some semblance of cleanliness and newfound communicative prowess.

         “We ready for this?” asked Rand.

         Tall Man said, “We were born for this.”

         “Got the tickets?”

         Tall Man said, “Yup.”

         “Alright, I should probably get some directions to this thing,” Rand opened his laptop computer. The machine was not fond of mornings either it seemed as it hummed and moaned to life, rising like an addled zombie. Rand sympathized. When the computer finally blinked the single eye of its screen, Rand quickly pulled up the information on the internet and sent it to his printer.

         The printer didn’t just hate mornings. The printer hated existence. It groaned and grinded and barfed ink all over the pages in spackled globs. The words were still printing on the paper, if in the marbled styling of Jackson Pollack during a DT induced seizure. Legible enough anyhow.

         Rand yanked the pages from the angry printer.

         “Should we, like, pack anything?” asked Tall Man.

         “Like what?”

         Tall Man furrowed his brow, “I don’t know. What was Courtney gonna bring?”

         Rand snapped, “How should I know?”

         Awkward silence mingled with the smoke still drifting in the apartment, dancing between the two.

         Tall Man cleared his throat and fanned away some of the murky mixture, said, “Let’s just stop by the store on our way out. Hey, are we even sure your car will make it?”

         “Dude, I’m not even sure my car will get me to work and back each day.”

         Tall Man frowned, “Oh yeah.”

         Rand sighed, tossed up his hands. It always frustrated him when Tall Man second guessed. Especially since his lanky friend guessed considerably more than a second time, every time. “Look,” Rand said, “are we going or not? I already told you I’m fine with us just staying here.”

         “No. We go.”

         “Sure?”

         “We go.”

         “Sure?”

         Tall Man grinned, “Oh yeah. We go.”

*

         Driving Rand’s car was definitely a risky proposition. It was 2004 and he was driving a 1982 Mercury Topaz. This car had been around as long as its owner. The Topaz was a boxy, three cylinder, four door. When Rand had purchased it, Mercury had long since eliminated the model from its production line. Anyone who had driven one could see why. It ran like a tightly wound rubber band, strained all the more by the passage of time. Plus, its transmission was a little off.

         But, given the situation, options were few.

         In fact, transportation options had narrowed to just one. This one.

*

         The Topaz was on the interstate, in motion and without occurrence, blaring Black Sabbath through its static filled speakers. Its rear bumper pointed toward Newport News, Virginia. Its nose toward Tennessee. Its contents were Tall Man and Rand, two backpacks hurriedly stuffed with supplies, a tent, and a cooler.

         The two travelers had decided to forego shopping until they arrived and would just eat when necessary. It was after 9 am, they were already running late. At least, it seemed that way. It was difficult to tell without any sort of forethought. But with an eleven hour drive ahead, the faster it began the faster it could be done.

         Tall Man turned down the radio, “Are we gonna talk about it?”

         “No.”

         “I think we should. I think you should.”

         “Easy there, girlfriend. You’re not my shrink.”

         Tall Man laughed, “I would rather staple my balls to a moving car than be your shrink.”

         “Thanks, man.”

         Tall Man slapped Rand’s shoulder, “C’mon! It’s not the end of the world. Look, you know we’re probably gonna see her there, right?”

         “What are the odds? It’s one-hundred-thousand people.”

         Tall Man raised his thick eyebrows.

         Rand said, “Shut up.”

         “I’m telling you, I’m a good listener.”

         “Me, too,” said Rand. “Let’s practice.”

         Again, Ozzy’s shrieking vocals filled the long, vacuous absence of speach. The song was Symptom of the Universe, and it effectively covered the wordlessness for a time. The travelers occasionally cleared their throat or adjusted in their seat to aid it along.

         Suddenly, Tall Man jerked upright in his seat. “Shit, dude,” he shouted, “we gotta go back!”

         “What? Why?”

         He patted his pockets, “I forgot the tickets.”

         “No fucking way.”

         “Seriously, dude. We gotta go back.”

         “Get out.”

         Tall Man winced, “Dude…”

         A wry smile crossed Rand’s face, “It’s okay. I think I forgot the directions.”

*



         Back on the road, the two travelers in their boxy ride had made it further out now than when they had turned around. But Rand had the feeling that an unfortunate opening did not bode well for the remaining acts. Like a bad omen, foreshadowing an epic failure ahead. But he ignored it. The two had already decided that this was going to go down, none of the unfortunate incidents preceding it would stop them. Thus it was written and thus it would be.

         But, so far, the eleven hour journey would take twelve hours.

*



         As previously mentioned, the destination of this journey was Tennessee. Manchester, Tennessee to be more specific. About 60 miles out of Nashville. And the Topaz hurtled toward it at the best approximation of speed it could muster. Inside, Tall Man was saying, “I think it’s for the best. I mean, you two didn’t even seem like you wanted to be in the same room together there in the end. And now you’re a free man. Independent. On the prowl. How many people out of 100,000 do you figure will be women? A hell of a lot, I think.”

         But Rand wasn’t listening. He was distracted by his bright red beacon of a left arm. It had managed to escape his notice until a few moments prior, but in searching for a distraction to help ignore Tall Man’s ranting his eyes had fallen upon it. And having noticed it he couldn’t look away, thought maybe it was throbbing. It was like a heinous gory wound, all he could do was gape in horror. His whole arm was completely sunburned from shoulder to knuckles. It had been resting on top of his door, in direct sunlight, the entire time he drove.

         They were on hour five.

         Rand had driven the entire trip thus far (while frying his arm,) but not because Tall Man was unwilling. When the travelers had numbered three, Courtney had always done the driving. Always. The planning too, actually. With her absent Rand would be the one to fill the driver’s role. Probably to prove to himself he didn’t need her, or something equally as stubborn and manly. He could do it, without her car and without her plan, without any plan. That’s what he told himself.

         But his throbbing arm begged to differ. And the sunburn was not Rand’s only concern.

         As the Topaz moved around a bend in I-81 south, its passengers began to feel that inertia was carrying the vehicle around the curve more so than any type of combustion in its engine. This suspicion was confirmed as the vehicle slowed to a halt on the side of the road. A dead stop. Neither occupant moved, neither said a word.

         The car had come to a stop at the intersection of bumfuck and the ass crack of nowhere. No town, no signs, no way of identifying where this place was. Somewhere on the outskirts of Virginia. In the woods. With the trees. There was a single gas station, which was quite possibly the towns general store, town hall, and hip hangout spot as well. It was the only visible building. It was made of old wood, dyed red but faded and languished with dry rot. Had a steeped, black shingled roof. Looked a lot like a barn. A barn in hell.

         Other than that, there were trees. Nothing more.

         The world was still.

         Slowly, Rand took the key out of the ignition. The grinding noise of key on tumblers filled the car, made it feel cramped. His hand dropped into his lap.

         Again, the world was still.

         Finally, Rand said, “Shit.”

         Tall Man said, “Yeah.”

         “Fuck.”

         “Yeah.”

         “Hell.”

         Tall Man said, “Yeah.”

*



         Inside the gas station resembled a barn just as much as the outside, save the concrete floor and shelves of strange goods. The pair of travelers weren’t sure if it was a theme or if that was the only type of structure the rustic locals knew how to build. The goods on the shelves looked anachronistic, ancient. Like old relics forgotten by time, they were all covered in a thick layer of dust. It looked as though most of the products had been produced in the 1960’s.

         Tall Man whispered, “Do you see that? Those sodas are in glass bottles.”

         Rand said, “Maybe the milk is in glass bottles, too. Although,” he ran his fingertip through the dust on a bottle of soda, “we should probably avoid the dairy in here.”

         “We should probably avoid this place, period. It’s giving me the willies.”

         “You’re just high.”

         “That, too.”

         “Well,” Rand said, “unless you want to live in this backwater hole we need to find a way to get the car fixed.”

         The two weaved their way through the dusty racks of archaic items and up toward the counter top, complete with a register that looked older than its stock. The wood of the counter appeared just as dry rotted as that on the outside of the barn-like structure. Behind the counter was a pair of blue eyes nearly as striking as the pair of large breasts that bounced below them. Both sets of orbs radiated a warm intensity as the travelers approached.

         Attached to the abundance of orbs was a veritable country rose, an American beauty. Big blond hair feathering around her head like petals. The stem of her body slender and yet beautifully curved. Both approaching men couldn’t help but picture her glistening with morning dew. Part homecoming queen, part queen of the trailer park, all man eater. There was a glint in her smaller orbs that said none in town had said no to her whiles or whims. And none ever would.

         It was Rand who found himself thinking, as Poison had before him, that every rose had its thorn. He was immune to the sirens call of her buxom blessings, lashed firm to the mast of his bitterness. Tall Man was another story, always and completely helpless to the allure of a beautiful woman. Rand knew his lanky friend would be a malleable mess after this bumpkin vixen was through. She knew it, too.

         Rand needed to do the talking.

         The woman’s nametag, of all the things it could have said, it said Rose.

         Rand began simply, “Hi.”

         Her luminous and large teeth took up the majority of her face, but still came together in a smile most appealing. Her exaggerated lashes fluttered like epileptic butterflies, “Hiya, sweetie!”

         “Is there a repair shop around here somewhere?”

         Every word she spoke, her every gesture was as blithely forceful as a hyperbolic cheerleader. The joyful shout, the stiff and calculated movement. “Oh no,” her back straight, feet together, one hand over her mouth, “ya’ll break down or somethin’?!”

         “Um, yeah.”

         “Oh no!”

         “Yeah.”

         “That’s terrible!”

         “Yeah. So, is there?”

         Rose cocked her gargantuan coiffure to one side, “Is there what, sweety?”

         “A repair shop. A garage.”

         Clapping her hands together and jumping a little, Rose said, “Why didn’t you just say so?! I know a guy I can call!”

         Tall Man could fight the siren’s call no longer, “Really?”

         “Yeah,” she was already picking up the phone, an old rotary model, and dialing. “I’ll give him a call for you guys!”

         For some reason, Rand was skeptical of this convenience. Or maybe just bitter, cynicism had always come naturally to him. But despite his feeling that Rose already had her hooks in Tall Man, there simply weren’t any other options. Pushing the car to Tennessee was out of the question.

         Tall Man said, “Great. Did you here that, dude? This chick’s awesome!”

         Rand grunted a little.

         The eleven hour journey would now take an indeterminate amount of time.

*



         A tow truck arrived carrying a sweaty mechanic with the handlebar moustache and grease on his face. The one that Rose had phoned. His ball cap was mesh on the back half and looked to conceal an impressive mullet. The nametag on his dirty overalls, of which he wore no shirt underneath, said Elton. He offered to hook the Topaz up to his truck and tow it to the garage. For an extra charge, of course.

         Rand asked, “How far is the garage, anyway?”

         Sweaty Elton squinted at Rand for a moment, chewing. After he was finished his dispassionate appraisal, he pointed to the other side of the intersection, “Over thar. Past them trees.” It was a distance of roughly twenty feet.

         “Uh, I’ll think we’ll just push it,” said Rand.

         Elton was still squinting, “Ya sure, man? Awful hot.”

         “We’ll live.”

         Elton hopped back in the tow truck and shouted, “Have it yar way. See ya over thar.” And the tow truck pulled away and back over to whence it came, on the other side of the intersection.

         Rand popped the car into neutral and the gravel crunched as Tall Man joined him in pushing the car toward the garage.

*



         Now Elton, Tall Man, and Rand were all drenched in sweat. Moving closer to Tennessee felt more like moving closer to the sun. Elton was staring at Rand’s bright red left arm as he said, “Yeah, it’s your distributor. That’s pretty bad. I can get her fixed and I can even do it fast enough for you to get to your gathering thing-”

         Tall Man said, “Bonnaroo.”

         Elton squinted again, “Wha’sat?”

         Rand hurriedly said, “A music festival. It’s like a bunch of concerts at the same place, activities and camping and stuff.”

         Elton said, “Sounds weird.”

         “I hope so.”

         “Do what?”

         Rand said, “Nothing. How about the car?”

         “Well,” Elton started again, “it’s your distributor. I can get her fixed and done in time for your thing-”

         “Bonnaroo,” said Tall Man.

         “Whatever,” Rand quipped.

         Elton continued, “I can get er done on time and all but it’s gone cost ya, man. Gone cost 300 bucks.”

         The travelers had only scrounged together a little over 400 dollars for the entire trip, after Courtney’s funds had been subtracted. By this point, they had a little more than 300 remaining. Rand knew that Elton would happily wipe them out financially, so he told the mechanic that they only had two hundred dollars left. That was all they had, he said they’d give it all to Elton if he could fix it.

         Elton squinted for a few seconds, “Lemme go ask ma boss. Be right back.” He sauntered into the garage, right under the plywood sign that said ‘Elton’s Repair’ in spray painted letters.

         Rand sighed. While Elton was away he used the opportunity to clue Tall Man in on the intricacies of negotiations and of underbidding, and illuminate his plan to save them as much money as he could. He assumed Tall Man was unaware of his intentions. He was right. But eventually Tall Man seemed to understand, said he understood.

         Elton shuffled back over and said, “Okay, I can do er fer 285-”

         “We’ll take it!” Tall Man shouted.

         Glaring at him, Rand groaned, “Hooray.”

*



         Elton had given them an unspecified amount of time until the Topaz would be ready. Rand and Tall Man did the only thing that they could: they ambled about. But the area where they were stranded was remarkably unremarkable. Unless you were a big fan of watching trees grow. Mostly, they were just shuffling around in the heat blurred gravel of the parking lot. Kicking rocks.

         The sun, seemingly extraordinarily close to this particular area of the United States, was malicious. It rested its rotund mass right on their shoulders, running its incendiary fingers through their hair. The muggy grasp of humidity tugged at their sleeves. Everything blurred and obscured from the heat, distorted like one giant fata morgana.

         They sat in the shade beside the building, on a dried up log.

         Rand had already decided mentioning that Tall Man’s hurried cave during the negotiation process had cost them the trip. Having already paid Elton for the repairs, they had 40 dollars remaining. That was 40 dollars to get into and across Tennessee, survive the weekend, and then get back home. There was no way it could happen now.

         To be truthful, Rand hadn’t even wanted to come on this trip after Courtney had dumped him, though he had never admitted as much. He had only come because Tall Man had asserted himself about whether or not they should go. Tall Man rarely asserted himself about anything, and it may well have been the first time he had asserted himself to Rand. Rand had wanted to honor it.

         But it’s difficult to form a backup plan when there was never much of an initial plan.

         Rand said, “We have forty dollars.”

         “Yeah. We do,” there was no ennui in Tall Man’s voice. No despair. Instead there was what sounded like determination in him. He had stood.

         Rand looked up, squinting in the sun.

         Tall Man said, “I think we should still go.”

         “What?”

         Tall Man nodded, “Oh yeah, we should still go. We’ve made it this far, and we’re probably closer to Bonnaroo now than to home. What the hell, man! Let’s do this!”

         This type of cavalier attitude had dominated most of Rand’s young adult life. He had always been so devil may care, reckless even. It made him feel alive. That and he was very self-destructive, of which heedlessness can be very helpful. But he had never seen any of this behavior in Tall Man before. It fascinated and excited him. Maybe this trip still had his attention after all.

         But Rand still felt the need to play the skeptic. He said, “How?”

         “I don’t know, man. I don’t know. Look, we got enough money to get there, right?”

         “In theory.”

         “Okay, so we get there, we find people we know. Meg and Tim are gonna be there. Megan’s there, too. And Courtne-”

         “No,” Rand interrupted.

         “I’m just saying.”

         “No.”

         “Whatever,” Tall Man went on, “we find someone we know maybe they’ll help. Hell, we find some friendly strangers that’ll help us out. We find anyone, someone. There’s bound to be someone out of 100,000 people, right?”

         Rand smirked, “Not necessarily.”

         This small bit of cynicism, which came so naturally to Rand, had perhaps been too much. He had chipped at Tall Man’s spirit. The chip spread cracks, splintering through his tall friend’s resolve. All of this was happening in a matter of  seconds and Rand was watching it on his friend’s face. If Rand were going to seize this moment, he had to do it right then.

         “Let’s do it.”

*



         They had found a field on the side of the road, a ways down from Elton’s Repair. A field may not generally be worthy of note, and true this town had precious little else to occupy one’s mind, but that wasn’t why they had stopped. They stared, gaped even, into the heat obscured distance. But it wasn’t the smothered field at which their gaze was so curiously directed. It wasn’t the surrounding woods, or the mountains in the distance, or the blazing sky.

         It was the semi-circle of toilets residing in the middle of the field that stopped them. No enclosure or partitions, no stalls of any kind. Just seven toilets arranged on a curvature, in the middle of a field.

         Many question sprang to mind when faced with such a visage. Many questions indeed.

         Rand said, “Do you think they work?”

         Tall Man said, “Dunno.”

         There was something obliquely striking about the image, something vaguely arresting that rooted them to the spot. It was confusing yet intriguing. Alien. Illogical but it had possibilities, possibilities that required one to think outside the usual mindset. Expand one’s concept of functionality. Or maybe it was the heat.

         Either way, there they smoked a bowl.

         Tall Man said, “Maybe…maybe this is like where the town council convenes or something.”

         Rand laughed and said, “Or it’s like a communal Japanese bathhouse. Only we’re Americans, we use shitters.”

*



         The sun was just beginning to set, and still the travelers waited. They had not seen Elton since they had paid him the money, had not gone into or even around front of the garage. They had sat there for a while, in the shade along side of the building, and listened to the hiss of the hydraulics in the car lift, the crank of turning ratchets, the bumps and grinds of car repair. Like the sounds of beasts making angry love with metal genitalia.

         Somewhere in the mishmash of broken down cars, more in need of retirement than repair, was the Topaz.

         Elton had assured them that they would be jumping the line, so the mechanic could get them out as quickly as he could. But not to the very front of the line. There were some vague maintenance and repair activities that demanded his attention before he could be the savoir of Rand and Tall Man’s journey.

         So, they continued to wait.

         The toilets, which the guys now referred to as Pottyhenge, had only held their attention and speculation for so long. That and it had begun to feel like the sun, too, had leaned in for a gander at the one and only Pottyhenge (ninth wonder of the world.) Though the triad, two sun burnt stoners and one hard working gas giant, had come up with little in the way of explanation for the phenomenon, they all still held the lingering mystery of it. The intangible possibilities.

         Rand and Tall Man had decided to let their minds chew this meaty conundrum without the input of the lofty gas giant. They had returned to the shadow along side the garage. Even in the approaching twilight, even weakened by dusk, the sun was an overbearing councilor on just about any matter.

         A silence enveloped them, the shade cocooned them. This laconism enhanced by the tone deaf melodies of a hundred singing crickets playing overlapping solos. And then there were the footsteps, crunching toward them in the gravel, an appropriately off tempo to the nonsensical music.

         They both looked up.

         Elton rubbed a rag, white in places but mostly motor oil black, over his hands that were just as black with road soot and grime. They watched him for a moment as he exchanged shades of sanguine between the two and chewed.

         Finally, Elton said, “Well, you’re all done up. Finished.”

         They needed to get back on the road.

         The eleven hour journey would now take eighteen hours.

*



         During the next eight hours of driving, Rand and Tall Man only spent 2 dollars for 2 cheeseburgers outside the funds they bled from the Topaz’s tailpipe. Gas prices were eternally on the rise, it seemed. They couldn’t have incinerated their money as fast as the gas tank was consuming it, but they were almost there. Miles from there destination, ground zero of Bonnaroo. There Bob Dylan awaited, before his radio show and garish Pepsi ad, still on his Never Ending Tour that had begun so long ago in 1988.

         Rand was a long time and quite zealous fan of Mr. Dylan’s oeuvre. Tall Man had most likely never even listened to Mr. Bob, acoustic or electric or at all. But he had been to many a concert with Rand and they had always had a blast of a time. And to the two travelers, Bonnaroo had been something special, a momentous event. After all the toil, it had become a right of passage.

         By this point in the journey, they barely remembered that it hadn’t even been their idea. After the dubious trip, the countless pitfalls, they barely felt anything outside of the euphoric exhaustion of a successful exodus. The Topaz, however, was ending out the trip on a much more hostile note. Over the course of the last 8 hours of driving, the car’s RPMs had steadily inched higher. The needle of the RPM dial now rested just below the 3, that was when the car was idle. Not to mention the excess heat it now produced. (That Elton sure done them up good.) The two knew this was not good, but diverted little energy toward its concern. They had made it and  that was enough for the moment.

         The trip had originally been Courtney’s idea; her energy had gotten them excited, her hype had whipped them into a live music frenzy. She could be very affecting like that. It was also her plan that had guaranteed them safe passage. When she had left Rand, she had taken her plan with her. But sheer stubbornness, and perhaps stupidity, had carried them through.

         Despite all the adversity, Rand’s Topaz still cruised angrily toward the gates of Bonnaroo. It was unfortunate that snaking out its gates was the longest line of cars either of them had ever seen. Running all along the road inside the camp site, out onto the road to the campsite, out onto the exit ramp to the road, out onto the interstate itself and all down its shoulder.

         They were still miles away, and yet they had stopped. The line of cars extended down the side of the interstate for miles, and it looked very stationary. A snaking basilisk of conveyances, growling and breathing exhaust, blocked their path. Their only way in was to battle it.

*



         It was the last of their weed. They had been rationing the bag during the trip and had whittled it down to its final bowl. Ideally, they were going to pick up some more pot, amongst a few other possibilities, from any festival patrons that happened to be selling. Realistically, the Topaz’s rapacious gas tank had consumed their every last dollar, save two spent on cheeseburgers. So, this was perhaps the last herbal assisted high they would get over the weekend.

         It hadn’t occurred to them yet that the cheeseburgers might have been the last meal they would get also.

         Rand had decided they should used their final bowl to attract some friends, they were going to need as many as they could get. This decision seemed especially prudent considering the car in front of them was filled to capacity with females. Giggling and shouting. Scantily clad from the heat. Climbing in and out of the car through its windows, tossing their hair. Drinking beer and smiling through Topaz’s windshield.

         Per the unspoken law, Rand was the front man always and eternally. He was ballsy and brash, and had charmed them into some pretty desirable situations throughout the years. He both loved and hated the responsibility. But before he knew it he was sitting on the hood of the Topaz with a girl named Laura, trying to ignore the strange growl to his car’s engine and the extra heat from under its hood. Spirit and Ellen leaned against the car too.

         Now, Rand had a beer.

         Tall Man finally came to join them. Rand had wanted his tall companion to be the guy with the weed, to offer to  share with the girls. So, he would come out looking like a champ, despite his shyness. While Tall Man’s approach was stiff and painfully awkward, the girls seemed titillated to know he was carrying even the smallest wisp of Mary Jane.

         Tall Man had a beer too.

         Intoxicants were passed and bonds were formed, merriment commenced. For the first time since they’d left the parking space in front of their apartment, Rand felt like maybe this trip had a shot at being great after all. Maybe some of those possibilities were just a bit more tangible than he’d thought. Maybe, even, that there was a reason they had come here.

         A sense of wonder and possibility equaled only by Pottyhenge, now seemed opened to anything. Everything.

         These girls.

         This weekend.

         This life.

         Well, not the Topaz, but everything else.

*



         Laura had a degree in photography. Coincidentally, Rand had been pursuing a degree in photography before he decided to do nothing at all. But he still had a bit of a spark for photography in him, and it gave him something to talk to Laura about.

         Laura was mysteriously demure, charmingly sheepish, with a continual if slight flush in her cheeks. Her hand frequently over her mouth. Averted eyes and giggles. That wealth of acceptance in her gaze and an abundance of mischief in her smile. There was a naughty girl under her downy innocent veneer.

         “You just gave it up?” Laura asked, her words like light laughter. Her eyes on Rand but her face turned sheepishly away.

         “Well, yeah. I guess I kinda did,” Rand looked away now, some of her timidity rubbing off on him. “I haven’t really taken any pictures since I left school.”

         “Why? You loved it, right?”

         Rand was suddenly glad to be looking away, “Yeah. I just, I don’t know. I just had this feeling like the only way to make a living with it was with digital. I love analog so much more. I didn’t want to make the change over.”

         “I use digital,” she said, “I love it.”

         “I mean, I know there are upsides to it. Clear images, less limitation on the number of shots, instant results, blah, blah-”

         “So, what’s the deal?”

         “I just…it just…it eliminates the entire darkroom process,” Rand said, “It just feels like it takes a lot of the craftsmanship out of it. Half the skill, you know. Photoshop is such a point and click affair, it feels more like IT work to me than any kind of art form. It has so much less soul. It makes me…” it was at this point that Rand remembered Laura used a digital camera.

         Laura raised her eyebrows.

         “Makes me feel like a whore,” he laughed awkwardly, “but, you know, that’s just me. I‘m not, not saying-”

         “It’s okay,” she laughed, “Actually, I kind of know what you mean. It was mostly a business decision for me to switch to digital. I fought it for a minute but I was too scared to stick with analog, didn’t want to come off pretentious. I’m such a whore,” she giggled.

         “I have no problems with being pretentious,” Rand said through laughter. He suddenly realized how long it had been since he’d laughed.

         It felt great.

         He said, “Still, your choice was better than mine.”

         “True,” she said. She didn’t pull her punches.



(continued in part 2)