Awake Asleep Dreaming Dead

by John Siwicki

  Esther would sometimes think, They have nothing to do all-day-long. Time is a trap for some of them. It’s strange how these people had gathered so much knowledge during a lifetime, then as they aged it slowly vanished. I listen to all the old memories and stories they tell again and again. I should have some good ones, with Sam.

  And they did have fun together. Esther and Sam went on many vacations and long drives. He took pictures in the high misty clouds of the Smoky Mountains.

  They enjoyed lying naked together under a blanket in the cool morning on a deserted white sand Savannah Beach. Clutching each other, embraced, skin on skin, watching the sun rise, and in Daytona they watched and listened to the thunder of engines, so loud they had to cover their ears.

  The Alamo, now surrounded by a city that spread in all directions, still recalled the echoes and memories of battle.

  Lake Tahoe, beautiful, a shining sapphire surrounded by mountains and Sequoia Forest. The tall wide trees covered the sky and the air held the fragrance of cedar all around.

  They followed a trail through Monument Valley, a timeless graveyard of giants, watching painted shadows rise from the stone monuments.

  They went to the Grand Canyon, the Rocky Mountains, Glacier and Yellowstone Park. They hit cities too, crossed the Golden Gate in San Francisco, and went on a tour of the White House in Washington D.C. They stayed at Waldorf, walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, and had pizza cooked over a fire there. Stood on Wall Street, climbed the Empire State building, and strolled down Broadway. Esther always had dreams of being an actress in New York because it seemed possible there.

  They watched the Kentucky Derby. Beautiful horses running like the wind, placed a few bets, and even won some money. Sam told Esther about a Stanley Kubrick movie. In the story Sterling Hayden’s character plans to steal money from a horse race track. He gets away with it, but in the end loses the money at the airport when the suitcase falls off the cart, opens, and the money blows away in the wind of a plane engine.

  They saved up for a trip to the Orient. First a flight to Hong Kong to see where Bruce Lee had been born, had tea at the Peninsula Hotel, and took a guided trip to Mainland China. Next, they were off to Japan. A stop in Tokyo, Hokkaido, Osaka, Kyoto. And in Nara at Todaiji Temple they stood in front of a door with a wooden lattice that let in a glowing light that reflected onto a blue stone floor. Sam talked with an old Japanese guy who said it was the center of the universe, then told Esther he thought it looked like a door to another dimension after he took a picture of it.

  The following year they went to England, the Lake District where Beatrix Potter created Peter Rabbit; Scotland to see the Loch Nest Monster’s home. Germany, France, Italy, Spain; swam at Waikiki beach in Honolulu, a cruise to Maui, and The Big Island where Sam took pictures of the volcano and lava flows.

  Back home they’d go to the school playground where they first met, sit under the oak in the afternoon or at night, and talk about the places they’d been, where to go next, and their dreams.

  JOB

  Sam covered weddings, took a lot of portraits, and occasionally got a commercial job. He did aerial work for private pilots who wanted shots of themselves flying their own planes. Sometimes a farmer, business, or real estate company would call to have an aerial shot taken for their own pleasure, or want a shot to advertise a piece of property. The locations varied, sometimes a supermarket, a hospital, or school. The last commercial job was at a place that made and sold clocks. The owners were a couple of guys from Austria, very particular, and never paid Sam for the job.

  Sam always enjoyed reading National Geographic stories, and looking at the photographs. He always had a camera wherever he went so he wouldn’t miss a shot, and remembered as a kid looking in awe at magazines at the barber shop. The pictures from around the world inspired him, and the stories he heard from the barber presented many new ideas. Where did he get them from? Sam wondered. How does he know so much about everything? The dream of directing a movie never left his thoughts, but work and life with Esther kept him busy, so it remained an idea for later, an idea for someday, a dream.

  The phone rang late one afternoon after he’d just finished some high school senior photo sessions, and had thought twice about picking it up because he was tired.

  It’s business, he thought, and answered the call after hearing it ring a number of times.

  Location Photography, Sam speaking.

  Hello, my name is John Wax. I work for a magazine called Architectural Design. I’m interested in knowing who took the pictures in the display windows at your studio. I really like the one of the old plane, and the herd of buffalos is nice. The interior and exterior shots of architecture are what I’m really interested in, though. They’re great shots.

  Sam sat up with a big grin.

  Hi, that would be me. I’m the photographer, and owner.

  Well, let me get right to the point. I’m the editor at Architectural Design. If you haven’t heard of us, we’re a trade magazine. We do articles about architecture, old and new, and architects alive and dead. At the moment we’re planning to do a story on Alan Rogers.

  I’ve heard of him, and studied his work in school. I was planning to be an architect before I got into photography.

  Well, that explains the pictures that you have on display. I knew when I saw them they were done by someone with an eye for architecture. I stopped by the other day to get a closer look, but your studio was closed.

  Thanks, it’s always nice to hear that someone likes my pictures.

  Are you interested in photographing Alan Roger’s home and school for the article?

  Am I’m interested? Of course!

  The school was on a large estate in the country outside a town called Ellsworth. The landscape was covered with the distinctive structures Alan Rogers had designed, and where most of his famous ideas were created. This man’s accomplishments and exploits were legendary. Sam was stunned to be considered for the job to photograph Alan Roger’s architecture. This was a big break, and the kind of job that could lead to more commercial work. Sam thought, It’s one of those times in life when you think, Life is great, and opportunity is knocking, so open the door.

  I’d like to stop at your studio and discuss the details. Talk about what shots we need, and negotiate your fee. When’s a good time?

  I’m flexible. When would you like to get together?

  Okay, how about tomorrow at one o’clock?

  Perfect!

  Then, I’ll see you tomorrow. Oh, your name. I didn’t get your name.

  It’s Sam, Sam Young.

  Sam Young, he repeated. Okay, then I’ll see you

  tomorrow, Sam.

  Thanks for the opportunity, Mr. Wax. I can’t thank you enough.

  Bye, Sam.

  See you tomorrow.

  After hanging up the phone, Sam dialed Esther’s number to give her the good news, but there was no answer. He sent a text message.

  You’ll never guess what just happened. Call me when you get a chance. We’re going to celebrate! Meet me at the oak tree.

  After locking up the studio Sam got in his car, and drove to the playground. He waited for Esther under the oak.

  Esther saw him sitting there, quietly walked up from behind, and tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped.

  What’s wrong, Sam, scared of a girl?

  You scared the hell out of me.

  Well, tell me what happened.

  Fantastic news; I’ve got an appointment tomorrow with a guy who works for a magazine.

  What magazine?

  A guy named John Wax.

  Who is he?

  He works for an architectural magazine. He called today, and asked if I’d like to take some pictures for the magazine.

  What does he want you to take pictures of?

  Of Alan Roger’s school. You know the famous architect. The guy who disappeared. I told you about him.

  Why?

  It’s a personal profile story about him
, and his school.

  When do you have to do it?

  Don’t know. We haven’t talked about any details. I’ll find out tomorrow.

  You seem really happy.

  Cloud nine, girl, Sam said, and kissed Esther. Let’s celebrate. Feel like going out to eat?

  Sure, fine with me.

  Why don’t you drive your car home. I’ll follow, pick you up, and we’ll head over to the Cutlass for a drink, then have dinner at the bowling alley. Let’s go!

  I feel like a big change is coming, Sam said.

  Sometimes dreams do come true, Sam.

  THE MEETING

  When the buzzer for the front door went off, fire alarm bursts of activity surged as thoughts rushed through Sam’s mind. He took several deep breaths. It’s him . . . this is the guy. He turned off the studio flash system, took a few deep breaths, and stepped into the front display area where he met clients. At the door in a dark gray suit holding a black briefcase was the editor of the magazine. The man paused a moment; he was a shadowy silhouette with the light glowing around his frame, then he closed the door. He stood fixed and looked around the studio. He looked left and right at the pictures hanging on the walls, in the display windows, and the ones behind the counter. After their eyes locked, smiles formed on their faces, then they approached each other. Smiling, they shook hands. Sam seemed surprised at the grip, and the rough hand he was shaking. This was a man who worked with his hands. A builder or a farmer, not an editor of a magazine. Maybe he exercises a lot, lifts weights, or does gardening, Sam thought. He looks in pretty good shape. Out of habit Sam always sized people up. It was his business. A good rapport was the best way to make a client comfortable when he took their picture.

  Nice to put a face to the name, Sam. I’m John Wax. His voice was low like Earl Nightingale, the famous motivational speaker.

  Thanks for coming. I’ve been thinking about nothing but this job, and what you said since getting your call.

  We’re excited to have you take the photos for the article.

  How about some coffee or something to drink?

  Coffee sounds good, thanks.

  I’ll bring it in. Have a seat, Sam said, and gestured to the circular oak table he’d made.

  Nice table. I like the wood. Is it oak?

  Yes, it is, and one of my many hobbies. I make background sets for the studio, and sometimes I build furniture. You do any woodworking?

  A little bit.

  I’ll get the coffee, and be right back.

  Wax was looking for something in his briefcase as Sam came in with the coffee. Here we go.

  Thanks, this smells good, and lifted the cup, taking a drink. After seeing your work in the display windows, and now after meeting you, I’d say you’re the perfect choice for this job. I really like your work.

  Thanks, that’s really nice to hear.

  When did you open this studio?

  About five years ago. It used to be a barber shop. The owner wanted to sell because the building’s old, and needed a lot of work. I was the only person interested in buying it, and we made a deal.

  Well, you’ve done a nice job with it as far as I can tell.

  Thanks a lot, still working on it. Seems there’s always something to do. I’m fixing up the small garden area I have out in the back. It’s coming along, slow but sure.

  As I was saying those shots I saw in the window really convinced me that you were the right person for this job. I’d like to see more of your work?

  Okay, Sam said, and went behind the counter to retrieve a portfolio. Have a look at some of these. The albums held the bulk of Sam’s work from his early days up to now.

  Wax turned the pages, scanning the photographs, making sounds of surprise and satisfaction. I was right, he said. You’re definitely the guy for this job.

  What kind of shots do you need? And when?

  I’m going to leave the picture taking up to you, and the article comes out in six months. Shoot a lot, and we’ll choose what we like.

  Six months, that should be plenty of time.

  What do you know about Alan Rogers, and his School of Architecture?

  I’ve been there, Sam said, and studied his designs. Like I said, before I opened this studio I studied architecture, and was planning to become an architect.

  That’s right, I do remember you saying that, and Wax added, and that’s exactly what we’re looking for. A resourceful all-around capable photographer that understands how to photograph architecture.

  I can’t tell you how I feel, Sam said, and raised his hand to shake and seal the deal.

  Okay, Wax said, then stood. I’ll be in touch. In the meantime figure out when you can do the job, and I’ll make all the arrangements. Let me know how long it’ll take you to shoot the school and surrounding area. How much you’ll need for the expenses and time.

  I’ll get working on it right away.

  Good, Wax said. Once you know what you need to shoot the job, send me a cost sheet, and we’ll go from there.

  That’s sounds great, Sam said. I’ll let you know when I put it all together.

  Sam followed Wax to the door, and gave one last wave as he got into his car and drove away. Did all of this just happen? Am I dreaming? Sam thought.

  Sam knew about the architectural academy. It wasn’t far from Four Corners. The surrounding property and structures were a popular tourist attraction. Students lived and studied architecture there. After visiting the place he thought he’d like to study there. He remembered how all of the structures on the property seemed to fit into the landscape. A signature practice of Alan Rogers. Man and nature co-existing together in the same space. That’s what Sam had read in one of Alan Rogers’ books. How he strived for this balance of nature using materials like stone, wood, and what he called earth resources. He used materials not alien to the terrain to create new kinds of colonies, hamlets, and communities. Rogers was doing with architecture what others only dreamed of.

  During the meeting with the magazine editor the mystery of how the architect vanished off the face of the earth never came up. But Sam had heard stories about how eccentric he was. He would grow a long beard, or wear his grayish hair uncombed, and lose and gain weight quickly. He was known to sit for long periods staring out a window just looking at the land. He had quite an extensive car collection too, and drove different vehicles on occasion, charging up and down the local valley roads.

  Only an unconventional person could have come up with some of the designs he was celebrated for. His fame was wide spread. The designs were built in countries around the world. Houses with water falls, floors that moved vertically and horizontally, and buildings that looked like sculptures bending in the wind. His mysterious departure added to his already unusual lifestyle. Multiple marriages and relationships, participation in controversial organizations, and long absences from the public. There were conspiracy theories from Truth Seeker, a tabloid with stories about alien abduction, and crimes of passion.

  Alan Rogers was a recluse, always working on designs and drawings, and when he didn’t communicate with colleagues or friends for long periods of time, no one thought it strange. After an extremely long absence, much longer than ever before, his sister went to his house to check on him. When she arrived, and after she walked through the house, found various drawings, designs, drafts, and blueprints scattered around. There was uneaten food in the living room and kitchen, and half filled glasses of wine. Everything seemed normal, except no Alan Rogers. Nothing but a big old empty house filled with hollow echoes reverberating through the wood, bouncing off the glass, and fading into the geometric corners leaving a resonating harmonic chord. The only thing that seemed to be missing was her brother, Alan Rogers.

  She went to the police, was interviewed, questioned, then returned to the house with them to investigate. They concluded that Alan Rogers was indeed a missing person, but nothing to show he was a victim of foul play. Years later he was declared dead in absentia, and his entire esta
te went to his sister. Some believed that she had something to do with his disappearance, but nothing was ever proven. The tale became murky, the disappearance never solved, no body found.

  Alan Roger’s last job was to take a forty acre parcel near the river just outside Four Corners, and turn it into a park. It had been set aside, and designated to be used as a park by the farmer who donated the land. This job came about after Alan Rogers sent a letter to the mayor offering to construct, landscape, and cover all expenses. The town took advantage of this great opportunity and obliged. An invitation was sent to Alan Rogers to attend the next town meeting. There, he presented his plans for the park, and in the end was given a free hand in the project.

  He arrived at the meeting prepared. He had designs, answered all of the questions, talked of other architects who he admired, and gave them his vision for the park. He wrapped up his appearance confirming the town would in no way have to pay for any costs. It was an incredible proposal, impossible to turn down, and approved that day right after the meeting. A year later at the ribbon cutting ceremony they named the park The Forty.

  Alan Rogers vanished the next day, and was never heard from again, and the mystery of his disappearance began.

  THE BIRTHDAY PARTY

  Sam was taking pictures around the park thinking he could use them for the magazine, then trucks, cars, and bikes bounced into the park down a narrow gravel road that led to the river. Horns honked and headlights flashed. The two trucks leading the pack were pulled by raw power roaring under the hood. The old truck in front was beat-up, covered in mud, and had a skull and cross-bones painted on the hood. The one hugging its bumper was a new decked-out, chrome-wheeled, shiny toy. The driver of this new oversized Christmas tree ornament was Joe Conrad. He was a good-natured guy, unless there was a reason not to be. He used his truck to go fishing, camping, or occasional road trip. In the box of each truck, sloshing and banging around in steel cattle troughs, was a cargo of ice, beer, and other beverages. Both trucks drove up next to the river bank and parked. The drivers turned off the engines leaving only music blazing through the trees battling for the ear. How’s it going birthday boy? Joe asked in his mellow, woody baritone as he stepped out of the truck. Joe was an unstoppable hulk. When he played football in high school he tackled like a boulder rolling down a mountain. A gentle giant always ready to help. Sam was glad they were friends.