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30

hand forged implements reflected in bucket of water

Ethan walks into the photography lab where Jake sits at a workbench, running a slide show on the large wall mounted flat screen.

It is a series of high contrast macro shots of really surprising things.  Ethan’s not sure what many of the images actually might be, but all are clean and sharp, yet with a pervasive aura of decay.

bicycle parts

Not for the first time Ethan is overawed by young Jake’s skill.  Talent.  genius.  Whatever it is, Jake is good.

Ethan slips quietly into a chair by the door so as not to disturb Jake’s series of photographs.  Now it looks to be shots of some kind of fabric, nicotine yellow with a loose weave, maybe antique lace because it looks like it’s crumbling to dust.  Then there are images of some kind of fungal growth on what might be tree bark with an almost luminescent undertone to the lighting.

But the images that speak to Ethan are a series of metal connectors, ball bearings, and what he thinks might be the links of a bicycle chain.  His favorite is a low angle shot of a rusted out bolt protruding from some kind of sheet metal.

What makes the image so interesting to Ethan is the refracted halo of light from above.  Ethan’s not sure if the light is the sun or a clever lighting effect.

looking deep into a rear bicycle reflector

The screen goes black and Ethan asks, “Are they natural or have you been dipping into Photoshop?”

“Straight up, Ethan.  I’m a purist.  I don’t do Photoshop.”

“That’s cool.  They’re really good Jake.”  Jake looks a little uncomfortable under the praise, so Ethan continues, “You’re probably wondering why I’ve called you here today.”

Jake nods, “What’s on the agenda?”

“Professor Mol wants a slide show that can run during the Christmas party.  You know, kind of a year book effect.”

“Taking portraits of everybody?  Not my kind of thing.”

“That’s not what she’s looking for, Jake, she specifically said she doesn’t want formal portraits.  She wants a vérité kind of look  and she liked my idea of a mix of sources.  You know, web cam shots, cell pics, black and white, out of focus, blurry stuff, whatever.   She said we should be  canvassing the whole student population for contributions of their favorite candid shots of their friends.”

gargoyles at Old City Hall, Toronto ON

Jake smiles as he thinks about it.  “Sounds like a monster amount of work.  But you know, it might be fun, but we’ll need heaps of storage.  More hands too.”

Ethan flips open his laptop and logs into the Christie Photography Student wiki.  Logging in under his Teaching Assistant account he starts a new page called ‘Candid Submissions,’ and says,
“How about this, then.  People can upload their candids here then we can go though and pull the cream and assemble it all into a mammoth slide show.  That’s gonna be the grueling part.”

“Well, yeah, but first you’ve gotta get everybody’s attention.  Paper the campus with flyers, maybe make a Facebook fan page?”

detail shot of vice close enough to see tool marks

Jake asks, “So what do we wanna say in our flyer?”

“How about ‘We Want Your Pictures’.”

“Too boring, Ethan.  How about: ‘Star Quality’ ”

“Okay.”  Ethan nods, “Better.  You have any ideas about people we can dragoon into helping?  How about Q?”

Jake rolls his eyes.  “I know he’s your friend and all, but Q doesn’t seem to be straight very often.  We’d be a lot better off with Boris.”

“Okay, yeah.  And Natasha.”

backlit detail of a cast iron forge

Jake watches for Ethan’s reaction as he adds, “And Liz too.”

“Um.” Noncommittal, Ethan looks away.  “I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean, you don’t think so?”  Jake says, “She’s got a good eye.”

“Maybe she does.  But maybe I’d be happier without her.”

“I don’t get it.  What’s your problem with Liz?”

“You’re too young to understand.”

Jake closes his laptop forcefully.  “Don’t give me that crap.  Ethan, you’re not my dad, you’re only a few years older than I am.  Funny how I’m not too young to do a bunch of work on your extracurriculars but suddenly I’m too young? You know Liz is a friend of mine.”

green machine equipment detail

“Okay, okay, you’re right.  I’m sorry.”  Chastened, Ethan rubs his eyebrow, staring at the table, the floor, anywhere but at Jake.

“Look, it’s, well …” he shakes his head.  “Even though it’s an extra-curricular I’m expected to work it.  I can’t afford to blow this T.A. gig, Jake, I need the cash.  But it’s just that Liz … whenever she’s around it’s like I can’t open my mouth.  I look at her and it’s game over.  I like her, okay.  I really like her.  But if she’s on this crew I’m not gonna get diddly done.  She … distracts me.”

“That is just too weird.”  Jake asks, incredulous.  “You don’t want her on the team because you like her?”

Ethan nods sheepishly.

“Don’t be a goof, it would be a great chance to get to know her better,” Jake says.  “Why don’t you ask her out?”

light comes through a molded glass window

“I just can’t, man.”

Ethan swivels in his chair.

“She’s a nice girl, Jake.  She doesn’t even drink.  More than that she’s a star.  What’s her average, in the nineties?  Probably almost as good as yours.  And me?  I’m faking it.  What am I, some goofball drinks too much, smokes up and parties.   I’m just barely making the grade.  She’s sure as shit too good for me, Jake.”

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31

blue enamelled kettle on stovetop

Amelia heads for the kitchen to grab a quick cup of Ramen soup to get through the afternoon.  She plugs in the kettle and nips upstairs for the book she needs.  They say Kindles might be free soon, maybe that’ll make it easier to have the right books every time.   Returning to the kitchen she’s shocked to see a strange man pouring water out of her kettle – until she realizes it’s Eric.

“Hope you left enough for me,” she says.

He nods to the soup bowl and she sees that he filled it before filling his mug.

“Thanks.  You’re better trained than most.”  she smiles, and he nods. God he looks rough.   “You coming to class today?”

Eric shrugs as he fishes out the tea bag, and starts ladling in sugar.   “Probably not,” he mutters.

She leans back on the counter and looks at him.  Unkempt. Stubble does not suit this guy.   “Why not?”

“‘Cause I really don’t feel like it, that’s why not.”

She cocks her head, “So what, you’re gonna wallow in self pity for the rest of your life?”

He takes a sip of his tea.  She can see it’s too hot and he’s burnt his tongue, but he sticks to the tough guy act and pretends it doesn’t.  “Maybe.”

“I’d think about it.  You wanna kiss off the semester, fine, but if it was me I’d be down at the office dropping out formally so I’d get at least some of my money back.”

Eric nods, continuing to look miserable.

“‘Course, it was me I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.”

He pins her with a glower, “But it wasn’t you, was it.”

She glowers right back, “No it wasn’t.  You don’t have the market cornered on pain and suffering.  This is the first time you’ve said two words to me and you wanna be a jerk?  I may not be a goddess but I sure don’t deserve any crap.  You wanna dump on somebody, dump on her, not me.”

Amelia turns on her heel and stomps out of the kitchen, soup and notebook forgotten  in the grip of overwhelming anger.

Eric’s jaw drops, then he calls, “Wait.”  But she doesn’t hear him, she’s too angry.   Feeling like a jerk Eric goes after her,  “Wait.  I’m sorry.”  She keeps on going for the door and is just getting it open when he catches up with her and stops the door with his hand.

“You’re right.  Look.  I didn’t mean to be a jerk.  I haven’t been thinking, and, and, you haven’t even touched your soup.”

His contrition drains away her annoyance.  “No.  I haven’t.”

“Look,” says Eric, “Why don’t you eat your soup and I’ll go get cleaned up so I can come to the lecture with you.”

She looks at him, appraisingly.

“I’m really not a jerk.”

Amelia raises an eyebrow.

“Not usually.”  Eric makes a pitiful stab at a smile.

“Okay.  Go get cleaned up.  If you’re good I’ll let you come to class with me.”  Amelia shakes her head, smiling ruefully.

His smile touches his eyes for moment.  “Deal.”

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33

oak leaves haven't yet fallen on a bright fall day

“I can’t believe this weather,” says Krystal, stopping beside the wooded path that leads to Fyfield House.

Oscar says, “I agree, it’s better than what we had for summer,” as he shakes the blanket, letting it billow out and settle on the grass under the huge weeping willow.

“Pity it won’t last,” says Maggie as she sits cross legged in the middle of the blanket, balancing her laptop in her lap. Oscar positions his bag in the corner of the blanket and drops down beside Maggie, laying back and using the computer as a pillow.

Krystal holds a finger to her lips and cautions Maggie, “Shhhh … mother nature might hear you,” then she lays down along the blanket’s other edge, parallel to Oscar, but on her stomach, propped on her elbows as she opens her email account.

Oscar laughs and says “Climate change seems pretty real to me. Never know what we’re going to get. Perhaps winter will give us a miss altogether this year.”

“In your dreams, Oz,” says Krystal. “Hey, didn’t you go home this summer?”

Oscar says, “If you knew my family you’d understand why.”

Maggie watches Krystal type. “I don’t know how you can type like that. I tried that once and lost all circulation.”

Krystal smiles. “I dunno … works for me.” She scans the subject column, routinely marking obvious spam for destruction.

Maggie clears her throat. “Uh, Krys, there’s something I have to tell you.” Maggie says. Krystal rolls over on her side, looking up at her friend.

“That doesn’t sound good, Maggie.”

“Yeah, because I think you’re going to be mad.” Krystal watches Maggie, who is having a hard time making eye contact. “I’m sorry Krys, but I was really down and I, well, I kind of told Oz.”

“You what?”

From his side of the blanket, Oscar looks over at Krystal, meeting her eyes firmly. “I dragged it out of her. I’m sorry. And in future we’ll be very careful not to let it go any further.”

“Further? What further?” Krystal’s eyes narrow. “Who else knows? What did you do, run an ad on Craigslist?”

“Worse. We discussed it in the common room.”

Krystal shakes her head and sits up. “I don’t believe you Maggie. First you haunt me until I tell you and when I do you broadcast it to the world. It’s my life, don’t you get that?”

“I’m sorry. I thought we were alone but Jake came in and heard too. I’m so sorry.”

“It wasn’t intentional, I promise you that.” adds Oscar.

“Jake? Jesus, you guys. So that’s everybody? You didn’t tell anybody else? I mean, Jose doesn’t know, right?” Both Oscar and Maggie shake their heads solemnly, looking dejected. “Look, you guys need to understand. It’s hard enough for me to be here, but if the whole world knows I won’t be able to stick it out.”

“I get it Krystal, and I can’t tell you. I’m just sorry.” Maggie tells her with feeling.

“Okay.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask, I may not tell.” Krystal replies wryly.

“Why are you here? I mean, I don’t know that I’d go to school if it was me.”

“Really? Where else would I be? I’m here for the same reason you are, I love computers. I like working with them, getting them to do what I want them to. I like learning to make them do stuff I don’t even know I want them to do. It’s fun.”

“But, if I only had … ”

“You think so? You could be hit by a bus tomorrow Maggie. Why waste your time if this isn’t what you want to do?”

Maggie nods, “I guess. I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Well, I have, and I decided to live like I mean it.”

“I guess you have. I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Krys.”

“Yeah, I know you are. So now you can stop apologizing and move on, okay?” Krystal holds her eye, “I just want a normal life.”

“I understand.” Maggie nods.

Krystal smiles, “On the other hand if Hugh Jackman called me up and asked me to loll in the sun on the French Riviera it might be different.” Krystal looks at her unhappy companions. “Okay, who knows a good funny story?”

Sniffling, Maggie asks, “Funny story?”

“That’s what I want, to hang out with friends and have fun.”

Krystal turns to Oscar. “Come on Oz, got any more Oscar Wilde stories? I really liked the one about the cowboy.”

“That was good, wasn’t it.” Oscar grins, “You know, Maggie has her own wild story. Did she ever tell you about her flasher?”

Krystal’s eyes widen, “Flasher? No way. Tell!”

Maggie rolls her eyes. “But it wasn’t funny.”

“Ah, but it was,” says Oscar.

Krystal turns to Oscar, “Come on, then, Oz, spill it.”

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