“I know, and I’m not ready to give up film yet either, but I can store two-hundred photos on one memory card and carry it in my pocket. I mean that’s crazy. And for stuff like yearbook photos, I think this will make things a lot faster. I bet half my time last year was spent in that darkroom developing photos.”
“Yeah, that’s true. But I’m going to stick to film for now.”
“You do that,” I said leaning over and kissing her cheek.
Then we got out, went in and enjoyed our burgers.
Nineteen
It was a warm, autumn afternoon when I picked Jo up to go with me down to the Taste of Colorado in Civic Center Park, a festival thrown each year with music and food-vendors from all over the state. It was also our one-year anniversary, and I asked Jo to wear the Oxford-blue dress she wore on our first date. I had spent weeks putting the evening together, and she had no idea what we were doing, other than taking some photos of the event.
“I got some really great news this afternoon,” she said as we drove from her house downtown.
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“I won a scholarship to study at Oxford this summer!”
“Oxford? Really? I didn’t know you were applying to Oxford.”
“Well, I don’t have any plans to get my degree at Oxford, but mom and I have been applying to any scholarships we could find, and this was on the list so we figured, why not? I don’t think either of us thought that I’d actually get it.”
“How long would you be gone?”
“Three months,” she replied looking unsure how I would respond. “Is that okay?”
There goes another summer together.
“I turned to her and smiled. Of course it is. You don’t have to ask me that. So, what’s involved? Are you getting to take classes or what?”
“Yeah, the scholarship gets me into a three-month scholar-in-residence program, and pays for food, housing and tuition to some basic courses. And, it looks like I can get credit for the classes towards my degree. I think it’s meant to show people what Oxford’s like who wouldn’t normally apply. One of the criteria for the application was that I lived outside the UK.”
“Could it open the door for you to go full-time?”
“Maybe, but I don’t know how I’d possibly pay for that. I mean it’s not just tuition I would have to pay for. There’s also living expenses and food and travel back and forth to the states. I don’t really see that in the cards. But how great is it that I get to go for the summer?”
Not very.
“That’s awesome.”
“Maybe you can come with me!”
I chuckled at this.
“How would I pay for that? The flight alone is probably eight-hundred-bucks. But, it sounds like a great opportunity for you. When would you leave?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have the details yet. I just got the acceptance letter in the mail this morning.”
Stay positive Alex, this is big news for her.
I took her hand and kissed it.
“I am really happy for you.”
I was happy for her. I just knew that I was going to miss her. I was looking forward to finally getting to spend the summer with her, but I couldn’t blame her for wanting to go to England– to Oxford. I’d kill to go to Oxford if I had the opportunity, but no one was offering me the opportunity.
We parked the car three blocks from Civic Center Park; far enough away that I knew Jo wouldn’t be able to see the car from the park.
The leaves on the trees were already beginning to turn for the season, and I could hear a live jazz band and smell a mix of fry batter and butter from where we were.
She’s going to hate me for this.
“So, for our one year anniversary I thought you could get anything you wanted to eat at the festival and we could listen to one of the bands,” I told her reaching into my pocket, pulling out a rolled up twenty-dollar bill and handing it to her. Then I reached down and fiddled with the dials on my camera, trying hard to look nonchalant about what I just said.
From the corner of my eye I could see her looking at the twenty and feeling something between confusion and disappointment.
“Okay? I thought maybe… we could go out to dinner somewhere?”
“Are you kidding? The food here is great. There are chefs from all over Colorado. I don’t think you’ll find better food than this.”
Then I took the twenty from her, handed it to the guy behind the concession stand at the festival entrance and handed back to her twenty-dollars worth of food tickets.
Next to the concessionaire was a cotton candy machine, surrounded by kids, that was a twisting spiral of color. I readied my camera and started taking pictures. Click. When I had my shot, I turned to her again. She was forcing a half-smile but looked clearly disappointed.
“It will be great, trust me,” I said then I kissed her cheek.
Over the next hour we wove our way through the rows of food vendors, and I filled my pocket-full of new memory cards with all the shots I could possibly think of.
You had your standard carnival fare like cotton candy, corn dogs, turkey legs and hamburgers. Then you had an entire section of tents frying everything from cheese to ice cream and chicken wings to snickers bars. I even photographed one little boy eating a fried pickle almost the size of his face. Click click.
Then we walked up to a stand selling kebabs of strawberries and banana pieces drizzled in white and dark chocolate.
“Oh, I’m getting one of those,” Jo said starting to walk up to the vendor.
“NO! uh, don’t you think those are too pricey? They’re like six-bucks.”
“You said I could get anything I wanted,” she said scrunching her nose at me.
“I know, I’m just saying they’re kinda pricey that’s all. Let’s go get some regular food first and we can come back.”
“Oh, alright. But, I am definitely coming back for a berry kebab.”
We kept walking and passed rows of beer and wine vendors, vegetable and fruit growers, salad makers and pita stuffers while another section of tents held restaurants selling plates of food from their restaurant menus. The smells of spices and sugar were making my mouth actually water, and every time I turned around Jo had another cup of lemonade, cob of corn or chicken sandwich that she was nibbling on. I stole bites from her when I could, but she was still a little annoyed that this was the best I could do for our one-year anniversary.
One stand that really caught my attention had come all the way from Belgium to sell gourmet waffles topped with fruits, creams, chocolates and cheese.
I walked up to the counter as a man with a thick-grey handlebar mustache poured batter onto a hot waffle iron. The smell of waffle batter and melted chocolate was so thick I could almost taste it in the air. I could also hear the batter pop and sizzle as he poured more onto the hot iron. I put my camera to my eye and pushed the shutter release. Click click click.
“Would you like a sample?” He asked me.
“Yeah, I’d love one.”
He handed me a plate with a torn corner of a warm waffle dipped in chocolate. I took the plate, thanked him and took a bite. SO good. Then I turned and handed the rest to Jo, who had also been watching with great interest.
She put the piece in her mouth, as a drop of chocolate fell across her chin.
“You dribbled a little bit,” I said reaching over and smearing it across her lip. She laughed.
“It looks like you had a little something also,” she replied wiping some of the chocolate on her fingers across my lips.
“Oh really?”
Then we kissed and licked the chocolate off of each other’s lips.
Jo decided that they were too good to pass up so she spent some of her food tickets on chocolate covered waffles, and I looked at my watch. It’s almost time.
We were visiting some more vendors when we both heard a thick Jamaican accent calling out above the crowd. “Shea budda, shea budda. Get ya real shea bud
da.”
We walked over and saw a crowd of people surrounding a black man wearing brightly colored clothes with dreadlocks hanging down past his waist. He was scooping what looked like piles of butter out of a large wooden rind into plastic tubs and weighing them.
“Shea budda. Get ya shea budda, one hunded pacent. Aint nuttin like it no way.”
I looked at my watch. Then I held up my camera and took a photo.
“Pua shea budda, one hunded pacent. Come an try now,” he said scooping a glob onto his face an rubbing it in. Then he held the pot of the yellow butter out to the crowd.
“Come an try now. Pua shea budda, one hunded pacent.”
“You should try some,” I told Jo nudging her forward. She looked at me and shook her head, then stepped forward. As she did I watched her take some butter and rub it on her hands, and I slowly stepped back and disappeared into the crowd. She lifted her hand and smelled it. I quickly changed the lens on my camera to my longest telephoto and looked through it to see her turn back to me. I was gone.
“Alex?” I could see her ask as she went back to where she had last seen me and started looking around. Just then a little boy walked up and handed her an envelope; ‘Trust Me’ was written on the front. She tore it open and pulled out a photograph I had taken of her, in her Oxford-blue dress the night of our first date. The one I shot through the gallery window of her laughing and talking to people about her artwork.
Jo smiled and looked around. Then she turned the photo over. On the back was written:
My dearest Jolene
Please trust and follow me
As I show you
A small handful of clues…
Clue #1
What is oh so sweet but just “too pricey”?
It only took her a few seconds to realize what I was talking about. Then she turned and made her way back to the berry kebab stand.
“I have this clue,” she said holding up the photo to the woman in the tent.
The lady smiled, handed Jo a berry kebab drizzled in chocolate and revealed another photo from behind the counter. Jo bit into a strawberry and looked at the photo of me with a strawberry in my mouth and my lips dripping with chocolate.
I kept watching her through the long lens on my camera and snapped another photo of her as she flipped it over and read the back.
Clue #2
On the corner you will see, those that blossom like the spring.
I watched her think and try to figure out what that meant. Then she read it again.
She started looking around and walked out of the festival to the edge of the park. Nothing.
Again she read the clue. Then she bit off the last piece of fruit and walked down the road. I followed her.
This is what stalking someone feels like, I thought to myself and laughed.
She got to the street corner and looked around. Over on the next street corner was an elderly man at a flower stand.
Say hi to Joe, Jo, I thought as she walked toward him.
She held up the photos like a pair of playing cards.
“Hello, this might sound weird but…”
“Are you Jolene?” He asked.
“Yes.”
“Then these are for you my dear,” he said reaching behind his stool and handing her a large bouquet of red roses.
I watched her close her eyes, burry her nose and take a long smell.
“This is for you as well,” and he handed her another photo.
“Thank you,” she said taking the small picture. This one was of me holding out a bushel of roses as though I were handing them to her myself.
She smiled and touched my face. Then she looked up and I ducked behind a car.
I hope she didn’t see me.
Slowly I stood up far enough to look at her through the car’s windows.
She turned the photo over and read the back.
Clue #3
Don’t think it that Obscura to find a photo here-a.
I knew when I wrote it that she wouldn’t even have to think about this one, because Camera Obscura gallery, where she worked last summer, was only a couple hundred yards down the street from Civic Center Park.
She took off with a quick pace, tapping the photos on her fingers. I wanted to follow her and watch her find all the clues, but I had to go and finish getting ready. It wasn’t until later that night that she told me how she walked down the street and saw a photo taped to the large flowerpot sitting out front of the gallery.
She pulled the photo off and looked at it of me leaning the pot over and pointing into it with a goofy, clownish look on my face. She looked into the pot and saw a small corner of plastic poking out of the dark brown dirt. She pulled on the plastic, and out came a small zip lock baggie with a tiny remote control inside.
‘Press Play’ was written on a small piece of tape on the handle.
She pressed play, but nothing happened.
She pressed it again, and nothing happened.
She looked around and pointed it off in different directions and pressed play again and again, but nothing happened, so she flipped the photo over and read the next clue.
Clue #4
I liked your photos
the first time I saw them.
You should come to the place
where you first sold them.
She told me how it took her a few minutes to figure this one out because she had sold one or two to friends of her family, but figured that couldn’t be what I was talking about. It wasn’t until she read the line again about the first time I saw them that she realized I meant her first gallery showing.
It took her about ten minutes to walk to Dumo on Santa Fe Blvd, and when she arrived, the gallery looked closed. She walked up to the door and tried it. It opened.
She walked into the main gallery and heard people talking in the café in the back, so she walked back. The few people who were sitting around chatting and drinking their hot drinks looked up at the girl in the black dress holding flowers. One table was empty; the table where we had our first hot chocolate together.
On the table was a cup of steaming hot chocolate, and a photograph was taped to both of the chairs. One was of her and one was of me.
The girl behind the bar smiled as she watched Jo detach the photo of me from the chair and turn it over.
Clue #5
My sweet Jolene
You’re almost there
The car out front…
Then she looked over at the second photo, pealed it off and read the back.
Will bring you here.
“He was in here just a few minutes ago,” the girl behind the coffee bar said. “You’re a lucky girl.”
“I know.”
She saw my white Cougar sitting out front so she ran out of the café with flowers, hot chocolate and photos in hand, but it wasn’t me she found in the drivers seat, it was my mother dressed like a chauffer.
“Dawn,” she said laughing. “Where’s Alex?”
“I can’t tell you anything, but you should get in.”
Jo climbed in the back seat, and my mother drover her down Santa Fe and out to Platte River Drive.
The timing was perfect, because the sun was just setting.
“Have fun,” my mother said as Jo got out of the car.
“Thanks.”
Through the glass doors of Paris on the Platte, Jo could see the flickering light of 200 candles. She walked into the café and found me standing in the middle of the large room, dressed for a night on the town.
“Alex,” she said starting to tear up. “This is…”
I held my finger up to my lips. Then I pointed to the little remote control she was holding.
She looked at it, smiled a smile of realization and pushed play.
Elton John started singing ‘Something About The Way You Look Tonight’ in the background, and I walked up to her.
“Happy anniversary,” I whispered into her ear and I gently kissed her.
She set the
gifts down on a near by table, stood up on her toes, since I was taller than her and slowly kissed me back.
“You didn’t actually think I was going to relegate our one-year-anniversary to a random band and some food money at a festival did you?”
“Actually, you did have me going there for a while.”
“Well, thanks for playing along and trusting me.” Then I kissed her again. “I’ve hired the whole place out for the night, and the barista is yours. You can order anything you want,” I said leading her over to the counter.
“Really?”
“Yep, you can even call him Bob if you want.”
“Bob huh, are you okay with that Bob?”
“Actually, Bob is my name so yeah that’s fine.”
Jo laughed.
“I do have one more thing for you though.”
“A gift on top of all this? Wow, if I didn’t know better I’d think you are trying to get me to like you,” she said in her full flirty way.
I reached out and Bob handed me a large, red box I had wrapped with a white bow.
She slowly took it from me, walked over to a table and unwrapped it.
Her eyes grew as she saw that inside was a photo album from our first year together.
“Alex, this is beautiful,” she said running her hand over the leather cover.
She flipped through the pages, one at a time, remembering all the little moments we had shared together thus far.
“And I made room for these,” I said taking the stack of photographs that she had collected during her little scavenger hunt.
I flipped to the last two pages of the book and pressed each of the clues into the spots that I had reserved just for them.
“It’s perfect Alex.”
Then she kissed me again.
We swayed to the music of Elton John for a while, then she decided that she wanted to try out her own personal Bob the barista.
If I Lose Her Page 12
