Six-Thirty
by Joel Van Noord
They took the bridge over in the morning and found a parking spot in a
bad neighborhood along a beautiful line of ornate row houses. He
turned his wheels to the curb and yanked the E-brake. They got out and
looked east toward the bay, Oakland’s skyline was visible. He
telescoped his tripod and they walked downhill; they would wander.
They went to the park and walked through the trees and passed the
street kids selling dope from backpacks stashed in bushes. He took
pictures and they held hands but it wasn’t like the first time they
had held hands.
At Kerouac’s bar they had three rounds and looked out through second
story windows, picturing a more authentic San Francisco. They could
lament as they sat there but that was exhausting and lamenting richly
dotted their past. They held similar displeasures and that had been an
initial attraction but had simmered to exhaustion.
A beautiful blonde in a tight kimono lured him into an Italian
restaurant while his girlfriend walked on; she had to stop and retreat
to cafe. They were the first ones in there and they drank wine. Her
left hand was sprawled atop the classic red and white-checkered
Italian tablecloth. Her other hand held her chin. He scrolled through
the series of shots he had taken.
First was the park, many faces, trees, fountains, animals; then the
streets, sidewalks, buildings, city landscapes, and crowds; the ocean
was next and it was a furious day in the North Pacific. A distant
storm had finally unloaded long period swell onto the sand, only to be
torn about by south winds, serving to stall huge banks of rolling fog.
Not one picture was of her and he didn’t think about this. He wanted a
long exposure shot of the streets with a nice smoggy sunset.
When they finally paid the bill they were both swaying contently. He
hadn’t initiated any conversations during the meal and politely
answered her questions and comments. He hadn’t noticed but, during a
lull in the conversation, tears welled in her eyes and then dried, as
if there was an entire procedure of understanding and acceptance
occurring in there.
It was getting cold and she followed him. He stopped periodically to
look about, studying the landscape. She pulled her coat up. She wore
black stockings with cute black and white shoes with a pink bowtie on
them. Then she had a frilly black dress and covered up with a light
jacket and belt. He had on his skateboarding shoes, jeans, flannel and
lined corduroy jacket.
He was looking for the right scene and you really only got one chance,
one location, to set up and get the timing right. The sky was dividing
over the ocean and clearing a bit. It burned further red each passing
moment.
Then he saw it. He walked for it and he probably would have left her
if she hadn’t scurried after with arms crossed. She had been realizing
things throughout the day, throughout their day-off. They were all
things she already knew. Split second interpretations that finally
now, her brain had ample time to mull over.
She was getting her PhD in art history and he was an unchallenged
engineer with this newfound hobby. Already he’d managed to set up a
website and sell a few prints as well providing viewing pleasure in
one of the countless, art insatiable coffee shops in the bay area.
“Free Hugs.” The sign said. And some hippie with old growth blonde
dreadlocks stood by the sign with a dopey, calm marijuana-smile.
Tim Duckett did not hesitate to rush up to her and stand inches away.
Studying her with a grateful smile. They shared a long and intense
stare, he smiling as if God himself had sent her down. And she happily
returned every ounce of love that poured her way like any true hippie
would.
“Would you like a hug?” She asked.
“More than anything.” He answered, holding his mouth open in a smile.
Emily Dew stood behind them, shivering in the waning sun. She looked
at the two with the emergence of a frown. That dress looks like a
quilt my grandma would make, she thought.
Tim put his arms around her and she was warm. They did one of those
sideways, interlocking hugs where, on one side his hand was on top and
on the other, hers was. He hugged her tight and she reciprocated. He
swayed a little and she swayed a lot. He breathed in her intimate
aroma and tried to untangle the concoction. Somewhere in there was
sex, with hints of a forest and twigs.
He leaned back and she rose on her toes. He picked her up and she
wrapped her legs around his ankles for balance. He hoisted her up and
she kicked his camera bag and banged his tripod against his hip. He
bounced her a little and she swayed again.
Then he stopped and she stopped and they tilted their heads back to
look at each other. Her eyes were green and blue with a dark crimson
ring around the pupil. “You’re great.” He said to her, still holding
on. “I’m Sunshine.” Was her reply.
He set her on the ground, “Of course you are.” He smirked. “Thanks,
I’ll be up there.” He pointed through an alley, up a hill.
She smiled and waved and he walked on. Sunshine looked at Emily and
Emily crossed her arms tighter and glared away. Sunshine put her arms
out and hopped, dancing there on the spot.
Halfway up the hill Tim turned and reached for Emily’s hand. He pulled
her into his stride and then put his arm around her.
It was a beautiful spot, looking down on the busy corner and the
skyline to the distance. The sky looked as if a child had painted it
in class with a chaotic mix of red, orange, and yellow; then applied
the color with a cotton ball. Trails of paint seemed to drip from the
heavens.
She only needed a moment but he would take an hour. She was patient,
patient and thoughtful about their relationship. She gave and he took
and thought little of it. She was running out of thing to give.
Your happiness is too dependent on me. He’d said a week earlier and
she couldn’t stop thinking about it. And now, she was positive, the
relationship was over. He just didn’t want to hurt her feeling so he
was taking baby steps away until she could extract herself without
being hurt. It was sad but every time she thought about it, it was
like a layer was put in between them and it wasn’t so bad
And he had mentioned that because of sex, or their lack thereof. He
told her that, at this point in my life I’m just not that interested
in sex. I’m more mature. She thought that was a stupid thing to say.
She knew he just meant sex with her.
She was sad. Having not said an unkind word to her in a week, he was
making her feel unloved and unpretty, desperate and sluty.
He spoke to himself about the camera and what he was seeing and she
would respond when it seemed appropriate. She was now wondering
whether it was worth it to just be with him, as he was just being with
her, until something better came along. She had tried to be more
independent, more detached; she tried to view it as temporary, like he
did, but it was exhausting. She couldn’t operate that way.
The shutter opened and he’d straighten his back and ten seconds later
the shutter would collapse and he’d study the result. The focus was
the sign, “Free Hugs.” And he shot it over and over, waiting for that
magic, spontaneous gem.
“YES!” He celebrated. Having captured something he thought great. It
was all movement and motion around the sign. Another man not unlike
Tim had happened upon the hippy with the exorbitant amount of sunshine
and decided to seize some himself. They hugged motionless by the sign
for longer than the camera cared to stare.
The flowers in the background shop stood still as well as the old
houses and the skyline behind. The sky inched along. The car lights
were lasers and the people were transparent.
He took more and more and then his camera told him it was too dark. He
was in a good mood now and she was thinking about her dissertation
again. She was writing and preparing to defend and this saddened her
too. She was not looking forward to it.
On the way back to the car there was a bar. They stopped and had a
shot, they raised their glasses and touched them and he hardly noticed
her mood didn’t match his. He talked about an MBA school. He wanted
money. He’d only attend a top-five school; otherwise, the loss of time
and work didn’t exceed the studies. It was called Opportunity Cost. He
was thinking Columbia.
She didn’t fit into his plans. “Eventually Europe.” He would say, “And
you’ll be here with your Art degree.” He said it as if it were a
broken leg.
There is plenty of art in Europe, she always wanted to say.
When they finally found his car again and he sat down and the day
finally took its toll, he declared he was too drunk to drive.
“I’ll be fine in like, half an hour.” He assured her.
She rolled her eyes and they sat, staring ahead. Finally she mentioned
the hug from Sunshine.
“What?” He defended, “It was funny. She’s like a cartoon character,
you know? It wasn’t even real… It just amused me. I don’t get why
it’s a big deal. She’s like a stripper. You know? You don’t even
really treat them as viable options… of… you know, to like date or
be with.”
That didn’t help his case. He didn’t get it. He would hardly touch her
but he was willing to dry hump a dirty hippie on the street. She
wasn’t dirty. “You know how awkward and insulting that was to me?” I’m
sorry, it didn’t mean anything. “That’s the problem, nothing ever
does.”
“Will we even last another week?” She asked and he was taken aback.
“What, of course, why not? What would happen, I’m not going anywhere,
I love you.” But he didn’t and he’d never really been there, so there
had never been anywhere to go. She had been there by herself, waiting
for him. She now realized this and it had taken an offhand remark
during breakfast one morning when he wanted to sit and read and she
wanted to go to a vineyard.
“Is this cause I’m not that into sex? We can have sex right now if you
want, come on. I’ll move the seat back and you can even sit here on
the dash first, come on. I want to. Come here, babe, come on.” He
egged her and then begged her and she tried to view it like he would,
detached, only looking out for his best interests.
So she obliged. She moved over the console and the steering wheel was
in the way and he moved the seat back and reclined. It was dark and
she felt strange and he couldn’t see the tiny tears in her eyes.
Anyone could walk past and see. She locked the door as he pushed up
her skirt and pulled down her black tights. I’m pretty, she thought.
Many men want to be with me.
I hope it doesn’t smell too bad, he thought as he prepped himself. He
moved in and around and out and back in and already his tongue tired.
It was clean though, smooth and smelled… like, nothing. He looked up
at her and she seemed to be completely in her own world. He liked
this.
She could tell he was losing interest, but… forget him. It was his
idea. She pulled his head in further and moved her hips. He tried to
pull back but she held his head.
Then there was a knock on the window. She jumped back and kicked her
feet until she moved over him and landed back on her seat.
It was a police officer that looked as if he could have been THE
police officer from the Village People. Tim looked at him with a smirk
and the melody to YMCA began to stream through his head.
Emily only felt embarrassment as she pulled up her tights and studied
the opposite window, trying to make herself as small as possible.
The officer gestured to Tim and he started the battery and rolled down
the window. “Yeah?” He asked. “Lose your car?”
“Excuse me sir.” The officer said.
“What? I’m just sitting her with my girlfriend. What is it?”
“Sir, you’re going to have to can that lip, ok?”
“I didn’t fucking say anything.” Tim turned his head forward and
muttered under his breath.
“Our of the car sir.” The officer commanded.
“We were just leaving sir.”
“Mam, stay out of this.” The officer pointed a stern finger. “Sir, is
that alcohol on your breath?”
“I’m not fucking driving! Shit, it’s vagina, something I’m sure you’re
not used to.” Tim said, again turning his head, muttering. Emily was
shocked by his brazen actions. The officer was not amused. The door
was half open and he seized Tim’s shirt and pulled him up.
“Goddamn idiot.” The officer said clearly. “I noticed you in here.
Didn’t see what you were doing at first, just wanted to let you know
there’d been a series of carjacking in this area. Trying to warn you.
But no…. you gotta be wise.” The officer said as he easily
manipulated Tim’s body against his hatchback and patted him down, then
turned him. “You’ve been drinking sir. You’re keys were in the
ignition.” The officer said as Emily got out of the car.
“Sir, we came out here for a date, we had a bottle of wine during
dinner and were just waiting here, talking, before we headed home.
We’re good people, sir. I’m a student, we don’t need any more
financial trouble.”
The officer smiled at Emily and then glared at Tim.
“He’s sorry, officer, honestly. I was being snappy toward him and he
was just in a bad mood.”
“I’m sorry.” Tim replied as the officer looked at him to verify this.
With a short lecture about respect and authority the officer let them
go and walked off, his cruiser parked a few cars back.
They drove home and he didn’t thank her. He cursed the cop again and
again, filth, fuzz, pig, and so on. They went to bed that night
watching an old movie they’d both already seen. The next day she woke
up and went to the library while he busied himself about the house,
looking for things to occupy his attention. The following day she went
to school and afterward sat in a coffee shop, not wanting to go home.
A nice boy with a beret and facial hair approached her and they
talked. She let him ask her questions where she would have normally
mentioned her boyfriend in one-way or another. She agreed to give him
her number. A week later and they went back to his loft and had sex. A
week after that she approached a man at a bakery. They agreed to meet
for coffee the following week.
Meanwhile, Tim heard about a promotion he’d been waiting for and
fiddled more and more with his pictures. The one he shot that night
before the incident with the officer he called, ‘Sunshine.’ He
submitted it to magazines and quickly it was snatched up and held for
possible awards. He was content with that.