Chapter Twelve
Perspective (n.) The sense of depth or spatial relationships between objects in a photograph, along with their dimensions with respect to the camera or the viewer; a picture drawn in perspective, especially one appearing to enlarge or extend the actual space, or give the effect of distance; true understanding of the relative importance of things; a sense of proportion.
11 April 2017
As soon as Scott hangs up with the Human Resources Department, he texts Jason.
Hey! I got the interview with the magazine!
That’s great! When is it?
The 24th. My portfolio looks good. But they may not think I’m right for it
How could they not? They’d be insane to pass you over
They said set aside two hours. To tour the offices and tech. And meet the assignment editor
That sounds promising!
I want it.
Sounds like they want you too.
There will be travel. But it would be outdoorsy and lifestyle stuff. Instead of politics and dangerous current events
Dream gig!
What if I don’t get it?
You will.
What if I don’t?
Then you’ll look for something else.
Have you ever wanted something so bad but you had no control over it
Yes.
It sucks
Yes.
Shit. :/
Patience. And hope. :)
16 April 2017
Scott lifts the frying pan off the hob and flips it lightly with his wrist, making the sliced mushrooms jump and sizzle. Jason is cooking, too, on the other end of the phone, a salad made with grains Scott can’t pronounce. After a quick comparison of recipes, he figures now is as good a time to ask as any.
“Did I see you at Broadway Market yesterday, around eleven? I thought you saw me, but then you were gone.”
“Oh, um, yeah, that was me.”
“How come you didn’t stop and say hi?”
“Eh, dunno, I saw you were with somebody, so I didn’t want to intrude.”
“Well, shit, you should have. That’s a guy Olivia’s been trying to fix me up with for ages, one of her friends’ older brothers. Hugh.” Scott makes a face when he says the name. “He deals in antiques. Asked if we could take a Saturday morning stroll through the market. I figured how bad could it be, you know? Street food, crafty stuff, more food…”
“Looks like Olivia’s got good taste.”
Scott moves the mushrooms to the side of the pan with a wooden spoon and picks an egg out of the carton. “Eh. I guess. But he’s a snob. Twenty minutes in and I swear I was looking for an excuse to go home.”
“Maybe he was nervous. First impressions can be…awkward.”
“Jason. I’d pet the dogs and he’d scrunch up his nose and look at my hands like I was dirty. We smelled the candles, you know, the ones from that place that sells the baskets and wooden bowls? He turned his nose up at all of them. I bought six just to spite him.” Scott cringes, cracking the egg into the pan. The yolk spreads in an irregular shape, broken.
“Oh my God, you didn’t.” Jason’s shocked laughter is ripply and light, and it makes Scott smile a bit.
“Hell yes, I did! And don’t even get me started on his taste in music.” Scott remembers Hugh in the record store, flipping through the vinyl LPs with his creepy, pale fingers in a way that seemed precious and fake. “I’m rolling my eyes. Aggressively, if you can’t tell.”
“I guess I should have rescued you. I will next time.”
“No. No next time.”
“Aw, don’t throw in the towel just yet. Someone special will come along when you least expect.”
“Ugh. I’m rolling my eyes again.” Of course Jason would say that. He can strike up a relationship with anyone, even in the vet’s office or his yoga class. “Hey, speaking of, how’s Dr Yoga?”
“Eh. All right, I guess. Remember what I told you about doctors and their egos? Well, yeah. But he’s interesting. He does organ work.”
“Organ work?”
“Right. Mostly transplants.”
“Oh. Wow,” Scott says. Shit. A surgeon. He’d hoped Dr Yoga would be something a bit less glamourous. Like a podiatrist.
“He’s on call a lot of the time. Makes it tough to get together. He’s not even sure he can come to the wedding.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” Scott slides the spatula under the egg, but it’s too soon, and the flip is more like a fold. He tries to straighten it so it will cook evenly, but it splits apart and ends up scrambled instead of fried.
“He’s going to call in a few favours with some of his colleagues though. He said they should be able to trade days.”
“Good, well, that will be good,” Scott says inanely and tosses the spatula into the sink. He turns off the hob, not hungry anymore.
“Yeah, we’ll see how it goes,” Jason says.
“Yeah, we’ll see how it goes.”
9 May 2017
Tuesday is surprisingly sunny and warm; when Scott rounds the corner to Pearl’s he’s surprised to see they’ve put some tables outside, and Jason is seated at one. Scott slides into the chair across from him.
“Wow, gorgeous,” Scott says, the warmth already brightening his mood.
“Have you heard anything?”
“Nope, not yet. They said they’d let me know by the sixth. I didn’t get it.”
“Something probably came up, that’s all.”
Scott shakes his head and opens the menu, though he orders the same thing every time. “They probably got someone else.”
“No, Scott, look at your resume. Look at all your experience, and your awards. I mean, damn, they’d be mad not to hire you.”
“I thought I smashed the interview, truly. I thought we clicked. He kept me there for, like, two and a half hours? And showed me the offices and everything. I really want it.”
“I know, and I’m telling you, it’s a no-brainer.”
Scott rubs his forehead and runs his fingers through his hair. “You’re biased.”
“True. Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
“Ugh, let’s change the subject. How’s Katie? The wedding’s finally here.”
“Saturday. The big day.” Jason heaves a sigh and looks away.
“Is everything ready?”
“Flowers, food, DJ, yes. But uh…I’ll be a mess.”
“Your sister’s getting married. Of course you’ll be a mess. But it’s going to be a happy day. Really.”
There is a long silence, and then Jason clears his throat. “I know. But there’ll be times when I’m going to have to hold it together, and…it’s going to be tough.”
Scott watches Jason’s face blush and his eyes blink back tears. “Wait, hold on a second.” He reaches out his hand to touch Jason’s folded arm. “Maybe you don’t have to hold it together, you know? No one should try to pretend that they don’t miss your mum.”
“And Katie wants me to dance with her.” Jason sniffs, then laughs. “I can’t dance.”
“You’ll be fine. Just hold her tight. But don’t squish her dress. Or step on her toes. Or turn her too fast, or—”
Jason swipes at his cheeks. “Anyway, don’t forget the rehearsal dinner.”
Scott pulls his hand away as a hot swoop in his chest plunges down to his stomach. Holy. Shit. “Right, The Old Brewery in Greenwich.”
“At seven.”
“Seven. I’ll be there.” A calming idea takes shape, and Scott scratches at his temple. “Hey, do you think Katie would like some pictures of the rehearsal? Or the dinner? I could bring my camera, take some shots. If she wants me to.”
“Are you joking? She would love that. But you don’t have to. It’s supposed to be for fun. She didn’t mean for you to work.”
“It will be fun. I want to. It’s a big night. She should have pictures.”
“Yes, yes, she should, shouldn’t she?” Jason smiles. “If you’re offering, I’m accepting. She’ll be over the moon when I tell her.”
A brilliant feeling wakes up in Scott; he’ll have something to do, something he does well. “Then it’s settled.”
“Seriously, thank you. This means…everything.”
Jason’s words are soft, and Scott’s voice sounds soft too.
“You’re welcome.”
12 May 2017
Jason’s family is small but boisterous, and Scott finds it impossible to fade into the background as he usually would on assignment. Aunt Jane chats him up, wanting to know about his work and his travels, and a cousin, Dale, helps Scott tell knock-knock jokes to the shy flower girl so she’ll smile. Katie is even prettier in real life than in the pictures he’s seen, and she absolutely glows when she thanks him, again, for saving her wedding. He’ll enjoy processing the images tomorrow; he knows of one shot she’ll love, of her and Cory laughing at the bawdy toast her best friend made.
Scott likes the way Jason keeps checking on him from near and far. At first, it’s a sort of life preserver, to make sure Scott doesn’t drown in the group of strangers, but later, it becomes more of a touchstone, where Scott can look for him and there Jason will be, looking back with a smile or a funny face. When a few romantic songs play after the speeches, Scott watches as Jason dances with Katie, and then with his granny. The flower girl pokes Scott on the knee and points to the dance floor too; soon, he finds himself waltzing with her, catching Jason’s eye with a grin. Jason doesn’t ever look him over critically the way he used to, studying his posture or investigating his scars for signs of healing, and Scott is glad; they’re proper friends now, and those scars might as well be invisible. Tonight, though, Jason’s expression is different, a bit wistful and starry-eyed. Scott chalks it up to Jason being slightly drunk, or slightly nervous. Maybe both.
The party winds down after the cake is served, and Jason slips into the empty seat beside Scott, just vacated by one of Katie’s bridesmaids, who’d spent the last few minutes trying to chat Scott up.
“You let her down easy, I hope. She’s been staring at you all night.” Jason picks up Scott’s fork and takes a big bite of his cake. He looks happy, and a bit flushed with a beer buzz. He doesn’t give Scott a chance to answer, gesturing to the cameras that hang around Scott’s neck. “I should have known you’d bring two cameras. Let me guess. One’s digital and one’s for film.”
“Well, you’re almost right. Two are digital,” Scott answers, pulling a third camera, his tiny backup Nikon, from his back pocket. “Want to see some of the shots?”
They lean in, and Scott swipes through the images slowly so Jason can see. In one group shot, Jason points to the way Cory and Katie are holding hands behind her back.
“That’s a good one. She’ll like that,” he says, touching the edge of the frame fondly, then wiping at his lip with Scott’s napkin. “Thank you.”
“For the cake?” Scott chuckles.
“No. Well, yes. But…”
Scott turns the small camera over in his hands, waiting for him to finish. Jason shakes his head, then shrugs and looks across the room at his sister, who’s hugging a tearful Aunt Jane. His face changes as he watches her, and Scott sees the heavy thing Jason carries sometimes.
When Jason finally speaks, Scott hangs on every careful word.
“Thank you for bringing three cameras to my sister’s party.”
Scott smiles, a bit at a loss for what to say. Jason’s praise makes his chest pound. “You’re welcome. And thank you.”
“For the cake?” Jason asks, taking another bite.
Thank you for trusting me.
“Yes. For the cake.”
13 May 2017
A notification ding stirs Scott from his light sleep. He feels for his phone on his bedside cabinet without fully turning over.
SUCCESS!
He smiles to himself and rubs one eye with a yawn.
Are you home? Is it over? Is she married?
Yes yus adn yes! I’m proper drunk
Congratulations!! On the married sister part. Not the drunk part
I only cried three times I think. A solid victory!
Scott sits up, now fully awake. It takes a long moment to think of what he should say.
Ha, good on you. Crying is just fine. Somebody told me that once
That was me Scott ME
A good way to let go of things
I don’t want to let go of her. I jist got her back. Just a bit ago. I guess I’m crying again.
You don’t have to let her go. You can be sad for a while. It’s OK (I’m not helping am I)
Yes you are. You help.
Scott smiles, folding his legs underneath him.
Good, hope so
Teribl date.
Oh?
I don’t like him. Ive decided
Suddenly, Scott needs to get up and pace.
Dr Yoga?
I want him to leave.
He’s still there?
He’s not as n ice to Katie as you are. I knew youd be lovely to her. I KNEW that.
Scott walks a path along the side of his bed and back, the glow of his phone the only light in the flat.
If you want him to leave tell him!
I’m going to. Hold please.
OK
STAYYY THERE.
OK
Long minutes pass with no update, and Scott lays back on the bed with his legs hanging over.
Jason are you still there?
The Uber took him. What a git! He didn’t eat cake ON PURPOSE !!
Scott runs a hand through his hair with a chuckle, then types:
SAD
What kind of persn doesn’t have CKE dumb
Fifteen kinds of wrong
Was white w pink roses v good. M tired
Scott can picture Jason loosening his tie, unbuttoning his collar, stripping off the formalities of the day. He feels his teeth bite into his lip.
Do you think you should go to bed now?
Yes bed. You go to bed too.
Ha, I’m already in bed.
K goodnight.
Night.
You still there?
Still here
Youre a good friend mate.
Scott rolls to his side and hugs a pillow to his chest. He turns his face to the mattress for a long second, then types.
You too.
Night.
Night.
16 May 2017
Hello, you’ve reached Dr Jason Andrews’s mobile. I’m sorry—beep
“Hey, I got it! I got the job! They called to let me know this morning, and they want me to start Monday! Shit, Jason, you can’t believe how fucking relieved I am. The HR person was on vacation and that’s why they were late calling. Can you believe this? I wanted this job so fucking bad, and I got it. I thought you should be the first to know, since you suggested it and everything. Anyway, maybe you could call me back after work. Okay. Thanks. Whew. Bye.”
You have one new message. Received May 16th at 6:12 p.m.
“Brilliant news! I knew you would get it. Excellent! You must be out celebrating. Have fun! I myself shall be going home to sit alone in my tub in a funk because we’ve been eliminated from the playoffs. It was a proper routing. Personal record for penalties and spent the last bit out with my knee stuck in the cool box. So. Yay me. Seriously, congrats. This is going to be brilliant. I’m happy for you. Later.”
Just got your voicemail! Yes we’re out. Olivia and some people. At the Black Heart in Camden. You could come
Nah mate, can’t tonight. Knee. Thanks though.
Is it OK?
It will be. Ego’s a bit bruised.
Aww Sorry!!
Have fun. And congratulations! I’m happy for you!
Thanks! Me too! See you Friday at sound?
See you then!
2 June 2017
Scott and Jason arrive early at Luke’s, so they can stake out their favourite corner spot during the increasingly crowded Friday night session. They place their mats with fifteen minutes to spare, and as they settle in, Jason mentions how much Katie adores the photos Scott took at the rehearsal dinner.
“Aww, I’m glad. Yeah, she called to tell me.”
“I don’t even think she cares if she ever gets the pictures Jess took at the wedding! She’s picked out all the ones you took that she wants to blow up and frame. She’s going to include some with her thank-you notes, I think, however that works. The one you got of her and Cory during the toast.”
“Oh yeah, that was a good one. Honestly, have you ever seen such massive heart eyes?”
“I know, it’s gross, ha,” Jason says, but the fond curve in his voice says he thinks it’s the exact opposite.
“They make a brilliant couple. Lucky.” Scott remembers their easy closeness, Katie’s hand on Cory’s back as they mingled or Cory leaning in as they talked.
“So, Wyoming, is it? When do you leave?”
“Actually, Wyoming and Montana. Yellowstone first, then the Tetons. The project is all about hiking through the national parks. I leave on Thursday.”
“Wait. Are you actually going to be hiking?” Jason looks vaguely horrified.
“Yes, as a matter of fact. You sound like that’s a bad thing.”
“No! No, not at all. Just watch for bears, I guess?”
“Ha. Yeah, I’m a bit jealous of whoever got the Hawaii leg of this gig. But actually, there’s this huge hot spring at Yellowstone. It’s one of the biggest in the country. Should be excellent.”
“Be careful, please.”
“Right…you do realise I survived a large explosion in Kabul, don’t you?”
Jason’s eyes are sharp. “Yes. I hadn’t forgotten.”
“Well, then. A big puddle of hot water and some bears can’t hurt me, all right?” Scott laughs, but the real gravity of the year’s turn of events catches up to him, as well as the realisation that Jason might actually be worried. He takes a quiet breath. “I’ll keep in touch.”
“Do. Are you going to bring your camera?”
“I am.” Scott carved out a space in his bag for it ever since he started travelling again. His old, broken camera goes with him everywhere, in case the stars ever align, or perhaps he’d be told in a dream that the time is right to let it go. Maybe this time there will be a cliff he can leave it on or a spot under a tree deep in the woods he can give it to.
“All right then. Good luck.”
Scott wants to say more, maybe thank you for worrying, it will be hard to be gone for so long, you’re my best friend. But instead, he says, “Thanks.”
13 June 2017
Guess how much it costs to send a plush toy bison from Cooke City, Montana, to London
Aw, you shouldn’t have!
Idiot, it’s for Thomas! ? No guesses?
Where have you been? I was starting to worry that you’d been eaten by a grizzly. Or a vulture.
Hiking. Photographing. No grizzlies. Plenty of wolves though
Wolves?? It’s going well, I hope?
Brilliant. Team is ace. And holy shit. More stars than you can believe
Take a picture for me!
Already did, ha. They added a few more days on. Won’t be home until the 22nd
Wow, that’s a while.
I’ll email you soon with pics. It’s $443.72 to ship the buffalo by the way
Better smuggle him home in your luggage, then!
Right. See you
See you.
26 June 2017
When Scott arrives at Jason’s office Monday afternoon, Monica is hanging up the phone. She brightens as she walks toward him, then comes in for a full hug. He puts down the large package he’s brought so he can hug her back.
“Scott, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” she says, looking him up and down. “So tan!”
“I was gone for a while, in the States.”
“Yes, our world traveller. We’re glad to have you back.”
“Thanks, it’s good to be back.” And it is, not only to be back in London, but back in Jason’s office. The music, the smell, even the rug under Scott’s feet are parts of himself he’s been missing. “Jason said he’d be between appointments at three thirty. I have something for him.”
“Sure, I’ll walk you back.”
Jason must hear them coming because when Scott reaches his door, he’s already rounding the corner of his desk and closing the space between them with his hand extended. “Hey!” he says, and Scott can only take in a glimpse of his bright eyes and a shadow of stubble on his jaw before he’s pulled in for a half hug, the package shifting under their arms.
Scott’s mind registers Monica’s retreat and Jason’s warm chest bumping against his and the smell of arnica and green leaves and clean linens; he manages a soft “hey” in return before Jason pulls away.
“Are you taller? Or something?” Jason asks.
“Maybe it’s the tan?”
“Yeah, that must be it.” Jason studies him for a moment longer and smiles. “All the way from across the pond.”
Scott can study him too, now. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair brushing the top of his collar, a bit of copper in his beard.
Jason looks down at the flat parcel wrapped in brown paper. “And what’s this?”
“It’s a present.”
“What’s the occasion?”
Scott thinks for a bit. “Dream gig.”
Jason smiles bigger, taking the package and laying it on his desk. He pulls open the string and unfolds the wrapping. He’s speechless for a minute, leaning over to see the details of the framed photograph.
“It’s Montana, in a valley outside Yellowstone. I took a whole roll, trying to get the view just right.”
“I’d say you did. It’s incredible. Scott, this is…really something. Look at the shape of the trees against the sky. Beautiful. And a proper lot of stars.”
“Astounding, isn’t it?” Scott couldn’t believe it either, when he first saw it, halfway across the world. It is his night valley, complete with the borderline of trees standing watch. This is where he found his fire, found his lives, and found himself again.
“And this is for me? Why?”
“You asked me what would happen if I took pictures that make me feel like myself. Well, this picture makes me feel like myself.” It is myself. “You helped me get there, truly. So I wanted you to have it.”
“I’m just…I… This is amazing, Scott, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’m not sure if you meant for me to hang it here in my office, but…” Jason picks up the photo with both hands and holds it at arm’s length. “I’d rather hang it at home if you don’t mind? I have an idea where it should go.”
“It’s yours, you can put it anywhere you want.” The thought is thrilling—that Jason would want to have the picture close by, to look at every day. “I’m so glad you like it.”
“I love it. It means so much to me.” He takes a last look, then turns to Scott and hugs him quickly, like before, just long enough for one squeeze and a clap on the shoulder before he breaks away.
“You’re welcome.” Scott whispers it as his fingers let go of Jason’s sleeve. When Jason is fully three steps away, Scott comes back to himself. “I’m going to go. You have another patient coming in, right?
“I do. But it’s been great to see you. I’ll send you a picture after I hang it tonight.”
“All right, and I’ll see you at sound, then?”
“Right. Friday.”
Scott turns to go, and takes the familiar short trip down the hallway past Monica’s desk. He smiles as he opens the door and steps out. Jason is going to take a piece of him home.
29 June 2017
Scott swipes a thin layer of dust from the cover of his black notebook. There are a few more pages filled in now, as well as clippings and cut-outs poking out from between the pages. He’s caught a glimpse of the fire only a handful of times since leaving Jason’s, twice while he floated, and once while he almost fell asleep at sound.
There is a page with notes about a happy, warm life that was entirely snowbound, as well as one that was fraught with danger, spent alone in a cabin on the edge of a windy plain. He flips through those now, catching glimpses of choirboys and soldiers, war-painted horses and a stone fortress near the ocean. It gives his hands, nervous with energy, something to do as he talks to Jason on the phone.
“I mean, it’s been a year and a half since Omran died. I’m not the same person I was.”
“I know you aren’t.”
“So why can’t I do this? I mean, I took it up to this lovely cliff, where there was this little altar of rocks. It was dusk, breezy and getting cool. Perfect. Beautiful. Like that was where it was supposed to be. All that, and I still couldn’t walk away.” Scott cringes as he listens to himself talk. But Jason is the only person who could possibly understand. “God. I’m sorry to bring this up again.” He snaps the book shut.
“Don’t apologise.”
“Will we ever not talk about this? Ugh.”
“We can talk about it all you want. Look, there’s something you need from that camera. There’s a reason you can’t give it up.”
“I don’t know what it is.”
“Maybe Omran is trying to tell you something. Wait, this is gonna sound weird, but…”
Scott chuckles softly, his hand resting protectively on his notebook’s cover. “We’re way past weird.”
“True. So…have you ever asked Omran to tell you what he wants?”
Scott swallows. “Ask him?”
“Yeah. Next time you see him. Ask him.”
Scott almost laughs, not because it sounds absurd, but because it absolutely doesn’t. Perhaps it can be as easy as that.
“All right,” he says, “I will.”
19 July 2017
To: drj14andrews@gmail.com
From: me
Subject: Do you want a PTSD contact in California?
Wanted to send you this photo. These are the float guys I was telling you about, in front of their place. They have the float tanks downstairs, and upstairs, they have the yoga studio and rehab centre. The bearded guy on the left is Dr Kevin Pena. He’s the one who’s doing the research on floating and PTSD. Do you want me to give him your contact information?
Turns out I’m going to San Francisco after this, to do a portrait of the Governor at his vacation home. (They contacted me specifically! What? I know?) Then home. I’m a bit nervous to do a political portrait again, but I may have an extra day there, and it’s within driving distance of some huge sequoias, so I told them I’d do it. Thomas told me the oldest tree in the world is a sequoia, 2100 years old, named General Sherman. So I have to send him a postcard.
I’ll send you one, too, to add to your tree collection.
P.S. Robbie and Jimmy are huge. How did that happen?
P.P.S. I haven’t seen Omran lately, to ask.
20 July 2017
To: me
From: drj14andrews@gmail.com
Subject: Do you want a PTSD contact in California?
Absolutely, yes, please do give him my numbers.
An interesting development: I found a company that makes singing bowls out of crystal and minerals instead of metals. Brilliant! So I’ve been talking to Ilsa, the woman who makes them (a very intense—might be in her 70s?—woman of few words), and she said I could come see her place in Stuttgart. She makes tuning forks too. Incredible. Can you imagine a lapis or aquamarine tuning fork?
Here’s where it gets interesting. Emilia has been going to sound, right? And Luke’s been going to acupuncture, and they’re both floating at Drew’s. Emilia suggested we start experimenting with combinations of it all, to see what kind of effect it has. Sound bath during acupuncture session, acupuncture while floating, singing bowl during either one, etc. So I’m going to Stuttgart (Luke might go too) and we’ll see what we find. I ordered a tourmaline bowl for the office, and it should get here next week.
I can see so many possibilities. All of this works on its own, but what happens when it’s put together? We’re even talking about testing and control groups and how it might expand on Emilia’s study. We haven’t cemented the dates yet, but it will probably be at the end of the month.
I’m not sure I’ll be playing football this year. With all the rest going on, I might not have time. Actually, that might be an excuse I tell myself because, truly, I’m not sure my knee can take it.
Good on you for California. At this rate, you’ll come home with an American accent. Are you definitely on for the river rafting story then? And that’ll be another few weeks gone, right? In August?
P.S. My guess is that Robbie and Jimmy are, in fact, leopards, which George neglected to mention when he gave them to me. Monica says Bettina, who was the smallest, is huge now too!
31 July 2017
To: drj14andrews@gmail.com
From: me
Subject: Canyon pics (again)
I hope you don’t mind me absolutely inundating your inbox with these. I guess I’m a little excited. They are wanting number two or number four for the cover shot. What do you think?
I saw some plants today that grow nowhere else in the world, only in the canyon. I might send you pics of those later. Or not. I can’t say I’ve perfected my botanical photography quite yet. I’m much better with the portraits of the rock climbers.
Obviously that last one isn’t a cover possibility—it’s me after we climbed this tiny bunny hill of a butte. I must say, I felt quite pleased with myself (except for the poison ivy). Next to me is our reporter, Tanisha. She’s fierce. I’m hoping she’ll ask me to come back to cover the bike race in September. Three hundred miles from the canyon to Route 66. (We get to follow in a camper van.)
And that’s our guide, Brandon. He’s been excellent. Kind of a goofball, but in a good way.
It smells unbelievable here. I wish I could bottle it and bring it home. It’s a sagebrushy/nutty/sunshiny smell. And it’s so, so dry. I had a massive headache the first day, but now I’m being more careful about the water. It is so fucking hot here! Brandon said 106F (41C!) today, will be the same tomorrow!
As it stands now, I’ll be home on the sixth, I think, late.
1 August 2017
To: me
From: drj14andrews@gmail.com
Subject: Canyon pics (again)
Congratulations! Top news! When does the issue come out? Do you get early ones? Never was the kind of office to have magazines in the waiting room, but I suppose I could start.
I like both two and four. But I like one very much as well. And what’s wrong with three? Nothing, that’s what. Forget it, I like them all. Biased, I guess. Truly, this is top news, and you should be so proud.
Thank you for getting me hooked up with Kevin. He told me he enjoyed talking to you when you were there. He’s got some interesting data he’s letting me see, and there’s a conference in Baltimore, Maryland (!), next spring, where he’ll give a paper. I’m thinking about going.
Say hello to the canyon for me. And Vegas. Don’t spend all your money in one place. That’s what my mum used to say.
P.S. I thought you didn’t take selfies?
P.P.S. You cut your hair!
8 August 2017
Are you around?
Working until 5.
Could I come by? I’d like to see your bowl. That sounded weird
Easily amused, ha.
Sorry
Yes, come by at 5:30 so I can finish my notes.
Will do
I’d love to show you my bowls, ha. I have three now, actually. You can try them out.
Great, see you then. Will you have time to talk too?
Everything OK?
I think so. I asked Omran. It would be good if you could tell me again that I can keep my camera a bit longer.
Come at 5.
K thx
*
The singing bowl in Jason’s office is larger than Scott had expected, a beautiful warm shade of coral, with a mallet that’s heavy in Scott’s hand. He’s nervous he’ll break the bowl if he doesn’t hit it just right.
“You can’t hurt it, seriously. Just try it,” Jason says, stepping back to give Scott room.
“Right.” But Scott hesitates again, then tries a few more practice motions that don’t make contact. He’s seen Luke do this lots of times, and Jason demonstrated a minute ago, filling the room with a rich, strong tone. But now that it’s Scott’s turn, he’s sure it won’t sing.
Jason closes his eyes and folds his arms, not with impatience, but with expectation.
Scott sighs and draws the mallet back, then strikes the bowl at its fattest part, where Jason did. The note rings out, so strong that the vibration hums in his chest and cheeks.
The story of Scott’s dream is in the room with them, floating around with the long fading note. Scott and Omran stood in the checkout line at Tesco’s, waiting to pay. When it was his turn, Scott looked down into his cart filled with dozens of other customers’ cameras. Omran pointed to Scott’s broken Canon, looking forlorn among the shiny new models, and said, “You need that one.”
“Why?” Scott asked.
Omran’s answer was “You’ll see.” But when Scott had tried to put it on the belt, it was too heavy to lift.
“Beautiful, see? You did it,” Jason says, opening his eyes. “Do it again.”
This time it’s purposeful, almost like making a wish before blowing out candles on a birthday cake. Help me understand. Tell me what you want me to do.
Scott strikes the bowl again. The sound sings out loud and pure, and he hopes Omran can hear it.
1 September 2017
To: drj14andrews@gmail.com
From: me
Subject: Route 66?
OK, remember how I told you how brilliant it would be to follow the bicycle race in a camper van?
Right. Not so much.
But the good news is the magazine liked the portraits of the climbers so much they want to do another portrait series, elite bicyclists this time. That’ll be in Colorado. These guys train in high altitude, so when they do mountain stages in the tours in France and Italy, they won’t have any trouble.
They’re a strange lot. Most of them are on the small side, like jockeys, but with massive legs and bums (!!) and arms like twigs. But they are proper fearless, speeding down a mountain headfirst on a skinny piece of titanium. The climbers had a kind of thoughtful quality to them—a calm efficiency that (I hope) people could see in the portraits. These dudes are balls-to-the-wall speed demons who despise sitting still. Will make for interesting photos, I hope.
Anyway, I’ll be gone longer than I thought. Brandon suggested I stay with him in between, which makes sense.
How are things there? What do your patients think of the bowls?
And how are you?
2 September 2017
To: me
From: drj14andrews@gmail.com
Subject: Route 66?
Congrats on the Colorado job!
And are congrats in order on Brandon as well?
Does that mean you’ll be home before the end of the month?
Bowls are good. In fact, we’re taking another trip to Stuttgart in a few weeks. Emilia’s coming with, to buy a few, and I’d like to get at least one more. I’d like to see what the largest ones are like, whether they’ll work the way I think they might. We’re going to see if we can drag Drew with us this time too.
I’m well, thanks. Busy with work, excited about the study Kevin is doing. And I found a new yoga class with no flirty doctors, which is brilliant. I miss footie.
3 September 2017
To: drj14andrews@gmail.com
From: me
Subject: Route 66?
Re: job: thank you! Things are good.
Re: Brandon: not sure, but I’ll keep you posted
Re: schedule: not sure, but I’ll keep you posted
Re: Stuttgart: should be beautiful this time of year. Does a bigger bowl mean lower sound, or does it depend on what it’s made of? I’d imagine the big ones might blow the patient right out of the room. Is Luke going?
Internet says there are seven places to float in Denver. Seven! And one has huge tanks so you can really drift? What?! I’ll let you know how it goes.
P.S. I’m sorry about footie. Seems wrong that you should have to quit it twice. Can you coach?
24 September 2017
You have one new message. Received September 24th at 5:07 p.m.
“Hi, Scott, how was Denver? Or Sun Valley, was it? I guess I was confused about your schedule. I thought you were coming back a few days ago, but I saw on Instagram you’re in Texas somewhere? And with Brandon, too, so I guess it worked out? Anyway, sorry I missed you if you were home. Right, just give me a shout when you’re around. I wanted to update you on the synergy project—that’s what we’re calling the Emilia Luke Jason Drew Kevin Ilsa partnership study—it’s getting good. All right, see you.”
5 October 2017
To: me
From: drj14andrews@gmail.com
Subject: Where are you?
Do me a favour and send me a quick reply so I know nothing terrible has happened. I don’t want to think you’re stranded with your arm pinned between two rocks in some canyon somewhere.
Last I saw on Instagram, you and Brandon were alive and kicking outside a burger shop in Boulder. But that’s been a while ago. (Do people really eat burgers that big in the States? Or was that for two?)
I’ll be gone to Stuttgart for a few days with Luke and Emilia. Will be home Sunday night.
Take care, be safe.
9 October 2017
To: drj14andrews@gmail.com
From: me
Subject: Where are you?
Hi Jason,
I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. I didn’t mean for you to worry.
We were in Tuba City, AZ, then Denver, then Boulder, then we went to Austin, Texas, for a bit, and back to Boulder for another job. We’re back in Tuba now.
It’s been good. And not so good.
Wow, I keep typing and deleting.
I had another dream about my camera. Omran and I were sitting in this art museum gallery, and it had just one framed picture on the wall, blown up huge, of my camera on my desk. We were sitting on a bench together, right in front of it. There were spotlights on it, like some masterpiece or something, and people were stopping to point at it and stare. I asked him again what he wanted me to know. He said, “Look at it. You’ll find it.” Same thing he said last time.
I don’t get it. What am I supposed to see?
I’ll call you when I get home, and we’ll talk then if that’s all right. I’ve got one more job at the end of the week, and then I leave on the fourteenth.
I really want to go to sound. I miss it.
15 October 2017
The flat is smaller than Scott remembers. Everything in London seems smaller, in fact; the streets are narrow, the cars cramped and tiny compared to Brandon’s big pickup truck, which Scott got used to riding in (and even driving) on the endless open roads of Arizona. Scott’s cosy room is comfortable and still smells like him even though he’s been gone for over a month. A few clean dishes are in the drainer next to the sink, and his desk holds his books and tools, same as always, as well as his enlargement of the night valley outside of Yellowstone.
Scott had called Jason as soon as he’d dried and dressed after his shower. He’d slipped on his softest pair of flannel bottoms and dialled him with the towel still in his other hand, dabbing at his wet hair. Right away, Jason wanted to know all about his trip, but Scott swerved, encouraging Jason to tell him all the useful German phrases he’d learned. When Jason asked again, Scott changed the subject and let Jason brag about the new yoga poses he’s close to perfecting, just to relax into Jason’s voice a bit longer. He guesses when Jason quizzes him on how much airline tickets to Baltimore cost, and laughs when Jason tells him he could send three stuffed bison from Wyoming to London for less.
“I missed this,” Scott says suddenly as he sorts his dirty laundry into piles. “I missed being here.”
“A bit homesick? Well, you were gone for what, six weeks?”
“About six, yeah,” Scott says slowly, looking for a way to elaborate. How can he explain how he missed not only his Camden flat, or the London streets, or voices of people who sound like him, but he missed his life, the person he is when he’s here?
It was like he had slipped into someone else’s skin for those weeks. He’d met Brandon on the canyon job and, at first, hadn’t given him a second thought. But Brandon had a way of looking at the landscape that made little treasures appear everywhere. There was a rare plant here, a striated rock there, a seedling, a constellation, a view. Scott was annoyed at first, then a bit charmed; he began to look for these things himself, and find them. His eyes seemed to focus differently, and his pictures took on a new style that felt loose and free.
Scott felt different too. With Brandon, he was spontaneous and unfettered. He was a person who didn’t have to study the map or memorise the directions. He could fly wherever the wind blew, and he never looked backward. Together, they only saw what was up ahead, the next bright, unknown place.
It had been so lovely. Until he’d begun to lose himself.
Scott picks up a pair of jeans that are permanently stained with truck dust. “It was a long time away,” he says. “A bit too long.”
“I was worried there, for a bit, when I didn’t hear from you. Thought I might have to send out a search party. But then I saw your Instagram posts, and you seemed happy, so.”
“Oh, I was, for a while.” Scott rubs the fabric between his fingers, remembering how Brandon had hooked his thumb through Scott’s belt loop to pull him close the first time. The kiss was a doorway that Scott walked through to a place where he could do things for fun, and because they felt good.
“For a while?” Jason asks.
“Well, as far as the job goes, it might have been the best work I’ve ever done. But the, uh, the Brandon part…” Scott sighs, remembering. “He was really young. I mean, not in an age way, but in a life way? Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
There were drunken nights spent in the bed of the pickup, lazy mornings in bed playing silly kissing games and eating dry cereal out of the box. Long drives, loud music, laughter. And of course, photographs. But Scott remembers the moment when the door began to shut. Stepping out of the shower together, Brandon’s eyes had skipped over Scott’s arm. When Scott started to explain the raised mesh of scar tissue, Brandon had handed him a towel with an oddly stiff smile, interrupting with words that repeat now in Scott’s mind. “Don’t worry. It’s not a big deal.” The subject was dismissed, and never reopened.
“Let me put it this way,” Scott says with a sigh that still holds some fondness. “He was really smart with the outdoorsy stuff. Not so much with what happens on the inside.”
“Ah, got it. That’s too bad,” Jason says. “He could have had himself a keeper.”
Scott chuckles. “Maybe. He just wasn’t…” Scott tosses his jeans into the laundry pile and lets himself trail off. He wasn’t anything like you.
“Hey, I have an idea,” Jason says.
“What?”
“Why don’t you come with us the next time we go to Stuttgart? Meet Ilsa, try out some bowls? You can be an officially unofficial member of the synergy team.”
Scott laughs again. He’s less than twelve hours back in his flat, and already he’s making plans to leave again. “Sure, I’d love to if I’m free.”
“Good. I’ll let you know when.”
“Excellent.”
“Oh, and I owe you a dream, don’t I?”
At that, Scott’s eyes water inexplicably, and he turns away from the hill of dirty laundry on the bed. “No, you don’t owe me a thing.”
“Too bad, you’re getting one anyway. Are you ready?”
Scott pulls the phone away from his face for a moment, to make sure Jason won’t hear him sniffling. “Uh, yeah, go ahead.”
“Brace yourself. Because this is good.”
Now Scott laughs. He paces to the window with a little adrenaline burst, and the lights of the street look colourful and pretty. With the lilt of Jason’s soft, sometimes scratchy voice comfortable in his ear, he’s home. “Wait, don’t tell me. You flew. And crash-landed spectacularly in a fiery ball of flames.”
“No! Better! Remember the one where I was on the lift? Where the buttons weren’t right?”
Scott dips his forehead so it touches the cool window, and smiles. It was forever ago, in the treatment room. There were three dreams that day, and this one had made Scott sad. “Oh God. You were dressed up, and kept getting lost.”
“Yes! So listen. There I am, back in the lift. Dressed to the nines, shiny shoes, even flowers in my hands. The whole bit.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes. And there are the buttons, all lit up, labelled for, like, thirty floors or something. Plus the roof, ballroom, lobby, all of it.”
Scott is nervous for him and bites his lip. “Here it comes.”
“But this time, people come in, all dressed up too. Ladies and gents, posh tuxes, elegant dresses. And we’re all going to the same place, right? I know we are, even though they don’t tell me. And they’re waiting for me to press the button.”
“Shit, no.”
“Yes! So the pressure’s on. And I know, even in my dream, that I’ve done this, like, fifty times, and it never works. I’m sweating it, big time. I press the button for the ballroom. And guess what?”
“You made it?”
“We made it! To the ballroom! On the first try! The door opens, and everybody files out, snooty as you please. The stuffy music’s playing, there’s a waiter with a silver tray, people are dancing…”
It feels like a victory for both of them, somehow, and Scott feels like giving him a fist-bump. Or a hug. He’s left tracing a shape on the window with his finger, a spiral that turns into a question mark. “That’s amazing! Good on you!”
“Thanks,” Jason says, laughing a bit. “I’m pretty proud of myself, I must say. It felt so good to finally get there, you know? Where I was supposed to be.”
“Yeah, I do.” It does feel good, wonderful, even, after so long. Scott takes a breath. “Thanks for telling me. I…missed…I missed talking to you while I was gone.”
Jason waits a beat before he answers, but then Scott hears his soft puff of breath, and it’s all right. “Me too. I’m glad you’re back.”
“I am too,” Scott says, and when he closes his eyes, he can see Jason’s smile.
23 October 2017
It didn’t sound like he had plans for Sat. But I think he has to leave Sun for Oslo
Who
Oh shit. Wrong chat!
Who are you talking about me to? Never mind, you don’t have to answer ha
No one :/ Where’s the I Fucked Up I Take It Back button? Honestly
Is this a secret? About my birthday?
No, nothing to see here—Go about your business.
Ha
Birthday. What birthday? Whose, when? I don’t know anything. I can’t hear you
OK I have dinner with Liv Sat night at 7. But nothing else all day. I do leave Sun for Oslo
OK, thanks. I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Birthdays? Whatever.
26 October 2017
Scott’s “surprise” birthday dinner on Thursday at Blues Kitchen is a festive, multi-course affair. Luke, Drew, Emilia, Jason, and Scott have occupied their cosy table for nearly two hours, sampling Scott’s favourite dishes, a few pitchers of sweet sangria, and many, many side dishes of cornbread. The group gives Scott a gift certificate for a float they’ve pitched in for, as well as a keychain with a tiny plastic camera labelled “London,” which has a photo of Big Ben inside the viewfinder.
When the little party breaks up and the others say their goodbyes, Jason stays behind.
Scott’s head is delightfully buzzy and his stomach is pleasantly full; he thinks they could stay awhile, enjoying the mellow music and chatting alone. But they both have to work tomorrow, and Scott has research to do for his trip. “It’s getting late. I’ll walk you to the tube?”
“All right, but I’ve got something to give you first.” Jason reaches into his jacket pocket and comes up with a dark-green drawstring bag that fits neatly in his palm.
“You already set up this dinner. And the float…”
Jason shrugs and holds it out to him across the table. “It’s just a little something.”
Scott’s heart pounds. A gift? He swallows and reaches out. “What is this, why did you…” He feels the weight of it, surprisingly heavy for such a small thing. He unties the ribbon drawstring and carefully shakes out a smooth gemstone, walnut sized, with striations of yellow, transparent orange, and cloudy white. It’s strikingly beautiful.
“It’s citrine. Do you like it?”
“I…I do. It’s amazing.” Scott cradles it gently, looking at the waves and starbursts on its surface up-close. It feels good in his hand.
“All the way from Stuttgart,” Jason says proudly. “Ilsa has all sorts of wonderful pieces.”
“I’m glad you picked this one.” Scott holds it up to the light, seeing the delicate structures inside.
“It’s for clear sight.”
Scott blinks quickly, feeling his nose burn.
“I mean, I know you already have clear sight. You’re a photographer, after all. And you can see other things, too, you know? Like the fire, and all your dreams? Anyway. It felt perfect.”
“It is, it really is,” Scott says. “I love it. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Happy birthday.”
Scott doesn’t want to put it away, so holds it in his hand as they leave the table. He carries it as they walk the few blocks to the tube and still holds it as they briefly hug goodbye. He folds his arms to ward off the chill of the evening as he walks back to his flat, still with the stone tucked in his hand. When he gets home, he lays the drawstring bag on his bedside cabinet and puts the citrine on top, along with the others from Jason’s treatment room, and when he closes his eyes to sleep, it is the last thing he sees.
6 November 2017
To: me
From: drj14andrews@gmail.com
Subject: Plans
As an unofficially official (officially unofficial?) member of Team Synergy, please be aware that a trip to Stuttgart is being planned for December 1–3. Do you know your schedule that far in advance? Can you request time off? I hope you can make it. Luke can’t, but Drew can.
How’s Milan? Are the skiers there as friendly as the ones in Norway?
Everything OK?
Coaching footie is just as fun as playing. No, not really, but if I tell myself that often enough, it might turn out to be true. Much easier on the knees anyway. And we’re 5–1 so far, so I can’t be complete rubbish, now can I? (I use the term “coaching” loosely—it’s more like shouting into the void from the edge of the pitch and paying for pints after.)
P.S. Had dinner with Katie and Cory Saturday. Baby on the way! (She didn’t have a drop to drink, so I guessed.)
To: drj14andrews@gmail.com
From: me
Subject: Plans
Top news about Katie! Tell her congrats for me? Being an uncle is fun. Highly recommend.
Congrats on the footie record too! Well done to you and your mates.
Milan is a) cold b) beautiful, and c) delicious. Got everything I need today, so I’m coming home early.
Don’t know about Stuttgart yet. Will know better next week. I know I’ve got Paris coming up, then Bern. I’ll let you know.
16 November 2017
Hello, you’ve reached Dr—beep
“Hi. I found something. It’s huge, and I’m coming home. Call me, yeah? It’s important. It’s about Omran, and my camera. Shit, Jason, there was an SD card in my camera. Omran was telling me to look inside it this whole time. Call me, please, as soon as you can, all right? I might be on the train when you call, but I’m coming home, I’ll be there tonight. Train leaves Bern at eleven. Talk to you soon. Thanks.”