Abel: I’m calling you
The phone rings seconds later.
“My man, when did you even get back to the US? I thought you were shooting big cats in Siberia for Nat Geo?”
“I finished that up a few months ago and decided to work on my photo essay on lost spaces. I took all my photos and now I’m back to put the thing together.” The folding chair creaks as I drop into it. I swing my legs up on the windowsill and settle into my favorite people-watching position. From here I can see the front walk, the entrance to the parking lot, and the corner of the street. Across the way, the green and white 7-11 sign flickers unevenly.
“And you chose to do it at—” he pulls the phone from his ear to look at his screen—“Caring Acres? Is this an old folk’s home?”
I sniff. Is that what that odd odor is? Decayed flesh? It explains so much. “Could’ve been.”
“I didn’t realize you were desperate for a place to stay. You should have called me. I’ve got some sweet properties to rent. I just finished up this place in Bell Heights and—”
“No. This is where I need to be. Just send me a crew because I think the floor might cave in near the refrigerator.”
“Any other time I’d love to help you, but I’ve got a list of honey-dos longer than my dick.”
“So only a couple of things, you’re saying?”
“It’s a massive list.”
“If lying makes you feel better about yourself, go on.”
“You’re an asshole.”
It’s said fondly. I grin at the phone. “I’m not the one who brought up dick size.”
“Fine, but I am busy.” He sounds genuinely apologetic, which means he might be backing out on me.
“I heard you got married.”
“Yeah! You need to meet her. Best woman ever. Hand to God. When are you free?”
“After my apartment gets finished.”
“Dude. Did you not just hear what I said?”
“I heard, but I’m not interested in that answer.” I heard through the grapevine that not only had Abel tripped over his dick in love with some woman, but that he’s turned into a big romantic sap. I pull out the big guns. “How am I going to get my own woman if you make me live in a hovel?”
“Oh? Tell me more.”
“Don’t stand in the way of true love, Abel. That’s all I’m saying.” I hang up before Abel can interrogate me further. An old man with a walker appears on the walk. Beside him, a young girl is excitedly hopping up and down. Her pigtails bounce in rhythm. I grab my camera and start shooting. They must live together, and he’s taking her to the convenience store to buy a treat. Maybe ice cream. Maybe candy. She holds up a hand, and he stops immediately. She falls to her knees and reaches for his feet. I zoom in and see her tying his shoes. When she’s done, she gives the toes of his shoes a pat and then pushes to her feet. The old man rubs a hand over his granddaughter’s head. You can’t see either of their faces, but you can tell the whole story from the way his liver-speckled hand is curved around her small head. There’s a lot of tenderness there. Long-time care. I snap a few more frames, but none is as good as that one.
I’ve spent months in the wild capturing images of animals and then of spaces—old ruins, long forgotten caves, endless plains. It’s good to be back among people. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed the connection until I was back. I swing around and tap a few keys on my computer to bring up the photos I took two weeks ago of a plump, gorgeous brunette. She was standing in front of a law office licking an ice cream cone. Her face was tilted upward, and the sun was kissing her nose. Her eyes were slightly closed, and her lips were slightly parted. The expression on her face was one of bliss. Twenty frames later, the cone was gone and the expression changed to weariness and then to determination. She had to go back to work. She straightened her shoulders, tucked a napkin into her purse, and marched into the building as if she was going to an execution.
She came out six hours later, her shoulders hunched and her face exhausted. I wanted to pick her up and spirit her away to some private cave where no one could find her. There I would feed her ice cream and rub her tired feet. That sort of thing is sadly frowned upon, so I did the next best thing. I followed her home. Then I rented an apartment across from hers. Soon, I’ll be marrying her and finally taking her away on that escape. Soon.FourDoveMy feet throb as I stand in the conference room waiting for two more of the practicing lawyers to get here so I can take their dinner order. I didn't know this was a part of my job.