by Martha Woods
I rose into the starry sky, hovering in space for several seconds. Simply accustoming myself, after years of suppressing my true nature, to the reality of who I was, and what I was doing once again.
It was like riding a bicycle, I found. My second nature restored to me after so much time.
I flared my nostrils contentedly, and talked myself into a sense of satisfaction that I wasn't entirely sure I truly felt. Nevertheless, I was determined to regain the feeling I had known in my dream. That sense of pride. Of control over my fate. Of, at the very least, doing something. Of rebelling against the Dark Ones in at least some small way, of showing them that they did not own me, no matter how sincerely they might have believed otherwise.
And so I bolted off into the dark of the night. Beating my wings mightily, soaring across the clouds. Telling myself I felt alive and free. That this, after all this time, was what I truly needed.
And yet, as the world beneath me soared along, receding fast beneath my flying mass, I couldn't help but ruminate on Fri's warnings. I couldn't help but wonder just how right he might be, and how much I may be putting at stake for the sake of my recklessness.
I didn't really know.
All I knew for sure was that I just couldn't stand it any longer.
Whatever happened from here on out would just have to happen.
I just hoped I was as ready as I told myself I was, when the shit finally hit the fan...
2
Alicia
“Can you tell that this is Robert DeNiro?” I asked, sliding a photo across the table to my friend Elle, libidinously running a pink spoon around the edge of her frozen yogurt bowl, with whom she seemed to share a deep, intimate attraction, trying to get every last drop of hot fudge up off the bottom.
“Who?” she asked, her typical, spacey self.
“What? What do you mean, who? Robert DeNiro! You know– Taxi Driver?”
“Uh, why would Starlite want a photo of a taxi driver? Anyone could get that! What is he, like super viral or something?”
“What– No! Taxi Driver is one of his movies! Goodfellas, The Godfather Part II...”
“I've never heard of any of those,” said Elle. “He just looks like some old guy.”
I sighed, growing frustrated. “Yeah... He kinda does,” I said. “No one under the age of like fifty is going to care about this. And I mean, that's assuming that it's even actually him. I was like positive that it was when I saw him in person, but I kind of stumbled around getting my camera out, and now I'm not even sure if it's him or not the longer I look at it.”
I squinted at the photo. Robert, if that was his true name, was scowling at me, clearly not that pleased at being harassed by a paparazzo like me while going about his daily business.
I got a lot of looks like that, if you can believe it. And honestly, I didn't even really blame the celebrities I photographed for giving them to me. I mean, if I was in their situation, I would be pretty pissed off by a bunch of fame hungry leeches like myself doing anything and everything to capitalize on their image. Invading their privacy. Following them like stalkers, just to try and get a scoop.
But that was just the name of the game, really. You did what you had to, or else you didn't get paid. Surely actors, of all people, had to have some understanding of that very basic concept.
Still though, I had never felt great about what I did for a living. And when all my best efforts lately only managed to produce a bunch of dreck (and that was being generous in the matter,) I found that it slowly began to grate away at my opinion of myself.
“Well what's the caption gonna be?”
“What?” I asked, tearing my eyes back from Maybe-DeNiro's.
“What's the story?” Elle asked, taking one final lick of her spoon, and surrendering at last to the fact that her bowl was now empty. “I mean, if it's a really good story it could make up for the picture, right? And, I guess, nobody knowing who this guy is... It's crazy how so many people just get famous because of scandals, when before that you've never even heard of them before.”
Elle and I were the same age, in our mid-twenties, yet I found myself annoyed at her insisting that no one knew who Robert DeNiro was. I didn't want to turn into one of those old folks who berated youngins for naturally being familiar with their own generation of pop culture icons, while leaving the old ones to wither away. And it wasn't really like it mattered all that much in the grand scheme of things, but I still had to hold my tongue to keep from sparring with her about it.
Focusing instead on her question, I rubbed my neck, staring at the photo, and thinking.
“God, I don't know... I'm just the photographer. Half the time the writers at Starlite just make up whatever they want to. I mean, you can kind of make a story out of anything, even if it's not the truth, if you just add a question mark at the end of it.”
“Really?” asked Elle, leaning in, clearly interested in this idea.
“Yeah,” I said with a shrug. “I mean, like for this one. You could do, I don't know... DENIRO SPOTTED BUYING THEATER TICKETS FOR MISTRESS? DENIRO FURIOUS AT BEING PHOTOGRAPHED- SECRET DOUBLE LIFE?? DENIRO'S DYING DAYS??? Something like that. And since it's just speculation, and not like they're reporting cold hard facts, they can still get away with it.”
“I guess I never thought about that!” said Elle, who clearly thought this was a lot cooler than I did.
“Yeah, I mean–” I said, and found myself trailing off mid-sentence. I don't know what it was, but a deep wave of shame suddenly washed over me. It was like hearing myself say all of these things aloud had just revealed the trashiness of my job for what it really was. For what I had known it was all along. And now, sitting there, staring such ugliness straight in the eyes, was too much for me.
I sighed. Then I collapsed slightly, folding my hands together on my table, and letting my head plop down on top of them. I felt like crying, but didn't want to break down here in such a public place. So instead I just laid there, trying to figure out how the hell I'd gotten to such a low point. And more importantly, how the hell I was ever going to get around to digging myself out of it...
“Hey, hey, what's the matter?” asked Elle, patting me on the shoulder. Clearly she was well-meaning, but I couldn't help but think she would be wholly oblivious to the sorts of issues I was grappling with, unable to understand what I was making such a fuss about.
“I'm such a fraud,” I said anyway, shaking my head, not expecting much of a response either way.
“What do you mean?” she asked, sure enough.
“I mean look at me! Taking pictures for a rag like Starlite... This was never what I wanted to be doing with my life! I didn't go to art school and dedicate six years of my life to studying photography, just to ambush people who might or might not be celebrities going about their day to day life. I hate it! I'm ashamed of it! But I can't find work doing anything else, at least nothing to do with my major! The student loan people have been breathing down my neck for money I don't have, and meanwhile I wouldn't even be able to afford rent if it wasn't for Evan...”
“Aw,” said Elle, somewhat sympathetically, but I could tell she didn't think my problems were actually really problems at all. “Well there's something, right? I mean, you're lucky to have Evan, aren't you? He's such a catch, and you get him all to yourself...”
I winced at this, but I was careful not to say anything in response to it. It had begun to heavily suspect, more and more as the days went by, that I did not have Evan to myself at all. A lot of “wrong numbers” had been calling his cell phone whenever the two of us were together– which was far less often than usual over the past couple of months. And always I would hear a female voice over the receiver, sounding far too flirtatious for it to truly be a wrong number.
Honestly I didn't have much doubt in my mind that he was being unfaithful to me. And maybe I would have been more upset about that fact, had I actually been all that in love with Evan in the first place.
More than anything,
ours had come to seem like a relationship of convenience. We'd talked about getting engaged, and we probably would at some point, even with me harboring the suspicions that I did about his infidelity.
I was just so tired of everything. What was the point of fighting, when I'd spent my whole life fighting for what I really wanted, and I just had to keep settling for the best I could get, instead?
I knew there was no way I could afford to stay in the city living on my own, and I kept clinging to this hope that working for Starlite would somehow open up doors for me in some way. My whole life kind of felt like that. Doing things I hated, waiting for opportunities that never came. And then, instead of moving on, just lingering behind in the places and the situations that were so clearly leading me nowhere.
Growing more and more depressed about it all the more I thought about it, I moved the subject from Evan, back to where it had been a moment ago.
“I just thought I could be more, I guess,” I said with a shrug. “I thought I could accomplish something. Do something great, or at least good... Use my photography to make the world a better place. Or even just be able to enjoy it again, if nothing else.”
“Life's a bitch sometimes,” said Elle with a shrug. “You do sound like you need a break, though. Maybe you and Evan should take a vacation or something. Go for a trip, even if it's just for like a weekend or whatever.”
“Actually, I was thinking of doing something like that,” I said. “Not with Evan, just by myself. Heading out into the country maybe. Camping for a couple of days.”
“Ew, gross,” said Elle, turning her nose up at this. “I hate that sort of thing.”
Of course she does, I thought, but simply shrugged.
“I just want to get some more practice with wildlife photography,” I said. “Something that actually matters. And maybe that could lead to something in time, if I'm any good at it. I've been researching equipment and all that, and I think I have a pretty good idea of what I need to bring. I wouldn't mind trying to build up my portfolio a bit, with something other than blurry photos of Reese Witherspoon on her cell phone and Taylor Lautner bending over to tie his shoes...”
“Ooh, Taylor Lautner bending over?” Elle said excitedly. “Lemme see!”
I smiled, and rolled my eyes at her, but I felt strangely better all of the sudden, talking about my plans. It would do me good, I thought. The great outdoors. Being out in nature, fresh air, taking pictures of animals. Already I felt more relaxed just thinking about it, and though I'd been on the fence about the whole trip up until now, I suddenly felt as though it could just be exactly what I needed.
_____
And so the weekend came. I headed south without even telling Evan goodbye, or where I was going, and hardly to my surprise, he didn't even bother writing me to see where I was or what I was doing.
He'll probably spend the weekend with his floozy, I thought bitterly, though still not caring a particularly great deal about the fact. Again, I decided, it would probably be in my best interest just to put the whole thing out of my head, and forget about it the best I could.
I needed to focus on myself this weekend. Try to untangle things, and not let my hopelessness get in the way as I so often did.
I did my best to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, remaining as mindful as I could on what was happening immediately, and trying not to think too far beyond the boundaries of what I could control.
I pitched my tent with far greater finesse than I might have imagined, feeling quite pleased with myself after having done so. I brought in my things from the car, then I went out looking for sticks and logs across the forest floor, piling them up in my arms until I couldn't carry anymore. I brought back load after load, until at last I had a respectable enough little pile. I lit a fire and warmed myself up a little bit, then cooked a couple of hotdogs on a skewer, as well as a couple of marshmallows for s'mores.
There was something really enjoyable about all that. Warm, quaint, and cozy. It was like I was getting to relive a childhood I had never actually known, and I found myself with a smile on my face throughout the entire experience. All of my problems seemed so far away all of the sudden, like they'd never really been problems at all. Just a whole lot of nothing I'd talked up in my head, making it all a lot more serious than I knew it truly was.
I was in the perfect mood to do some shooting by the time I'd finished with dinner, and I set up my camera on a tripod, deciding to start small, and work my way up.
I snapped a picture of the cutest little mouse, lit up by the golden flames of my campfire, casting a long black shadow across the forest floor beneath him. I got one of a squirrel, foraging for nuts. A woodpecker, banging his head against a tree, with just the right amount of motion blur. And then there was an owl, perched up on a high branch, his eyes staring intently down at me.
The sky was a creamy salmon color, the stars were just starting to come out, and the entire scene had a kind of magic about it that I couldn't help but fall in love with.
I took the picture, then scrolled through my viewfinder, quite pleased with myself and how well the photos had all been turning out so far.
I'd spent so long taking pictures of things I really didn't give a damn about, under circumstances that were infinitely more stressful than rewarding, that I'd seriously forgotten how good I actually was at what I did. There was an unmistakable craft to these photos. An unmistakable talent that was reassuring to me. Reminding me that even if my life wasn't perfect, I still had a real gift for this. And the secret to happiness was really just finding out how to harness that gift better than I had been, letting that become my purpose, even when everything else seemed to be going so badly for me.
I was breathing far more easily now. I could barely recognize the girl who'd needed to come out here in the first place. And remembering my true self was the sweetest of feelings, like revisiting a very close old friend after a long time spent away.
I decided I wasn't ready to head back to camp just yet. I was still feeling too energized, too eager to ride this wave I was on, and that was when I discovered some deer tracks, leading up a hillside.
I thought for a moment– it would be getting very dark soon, and I didn't want to get lost in the woods. On the other hand, I thought I had a pretty good idea of how to get back to my campsite. And I'd recently seen these really cool nighttime wildlife photos in National Geographic that I found were now egging me on, leaving me wondering whether I could try to emulate such an effect myself in my own work. I even found myself thinking of Nat Geo as an eventual goal for my work– it might be a bit of a stretch, but they did this thing where ordinary people could submit photos and have them featured in the magazine. Crazy or not, I was interested in seeing whether I might have any luck photographing something worthy of publication, and from that moment on I was determined to do just that.
And so I crept along into the forest, following the tracks in question, until at last they led me to precisely what I was looking for. Standing stock still, I snapped several photos in a row of a gorgeous twelve-point buck, silhouetted beautifully in the ephemeral white glow of the moonlight, shining down over its pelt as it dipped its crowned head down into a stream to drink.
I almost wanted to burst out crying at just how beautiful a shot it was. To run up and wrap my arms around the deer, thanking it for its amazing contribution to my overall happiness and well-being.
Of course, though, I restrained myself, and instead just stood for a long time, watching that beautiful creature. Grateful for this encounter. For the gift of his presence. For its restorative powers to my psyche, and the reassurance that somehow, as long as there was beauty like this still in the world, everything would be alright.
Finally, after how long I didn't even really know, the deer ambled off again. Seemingly as oblivious to my presence as it had been upon my arrival.
My heart beating quickly, and the smile stubbornly refusing to fade from my lips, I grabbed my camera on its trip
od, and headed off, back in the direction I thought– or at least hoped my campsite had been in.
I walked. And I walked. And I walked.
And I began to grow worried.
“This isn't right...” I muttered to myself, though in reference to what, exactly, I wasn't entirely sure. I couldn't see a damn thing, and although I felt that I must be going in the wrong direction– it was taking me entirely too long to make it back at the rate I was going– I had no idea what visual landmarks I could possibly go by to make such a declaration.
“Damn it, damn it, damn it!” I muttered to myself, as I seemed to go around and around in circles, to what possible ends I didn't have a clue.
I had just gotten the perfect shot, and now I found myself wondering whether I'd sacrificed my life in the process to get it? I thought of the artists you heard about who were really good while they were alive, but who never had any kind of success until after they were dead and in the ground. This sent a shiver through my body. Both the comparison, as well as the fact of it being such a flawed one– after all, I wasn't leaving any particularly groundbreaking work behind by which anyone might remember me when I was gone. Hell, even the amazing photos I had in my camera would never see the light of day if I didn't make it out of here in one piece. And if that was the case, then what was the point of doing any of this to begin with?
I needed to calm myself down. I was panicking, and I knew it, and I knew that it wasn't going to do me any good. I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath. Exhaled it slowly. I thought if I could just get back in the mindset I'd been in earlier, doing my best not to bite off more than I could chew, I might just be alright.
And then I opened my eyes, and everything was completely pitch black.