March 15, 2005
Death Valley
It was a place of brutal beauty, where jagged rocks of red cut into the crystalline blue sky, and tuffs of tumbleweed bled into dashes of color as fragile flowers rose up from dry earth. It was a desolate land, often full of stark nothingness, where serrated fissures of rock separated the lush Californian coast from the east. In a space of pure desert, hardy flowers climbed out of the barren sand, clinging to large granite rocks that rose out of the earth like giant teeth.
Josie Rutledge hoisted up her Pentax Ds 35MM with a telephoto lens, trying to frame the right shot as the air rippled over the sand. In her back pocket, she had a super slim Pentax Optio digital camera, to catch those moments where a click and point might work better than the manual focus camera. The very air seemed to shimmer with anticipation as she moved back, her fingers working the lens to bring the rippling effect into sharp focus.
As soon as she took the first shot, her fingers twisted the lens to a wider vision, catching bits of the blue sky in the frame as she triggered another shot. Satisfied that she had gotten the best possible angle, she moved on, keeping the tourist bus in sight as she positioned her body for another dramatic shot. Just as she had focused, her finger poised above the trigger of the camera to capture the beauty before her, a dark patch of material fluttered before her lens.
“Hey, do ya mind?” she snapped out, annoyed that her shot was ruined.
The figure in front of her whipped around, clearly startled.
“The others are over there,” Josie said, waving her arm behind her. “If you’re looking for better plant samples, I doubt you’ll find them over here. So, if you don’t mind.” She gestured to her camera.
The man in front of her just stood there, gaping at her, with an astonished expression on his face.
“Look,” she sighed, “I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re ruining my shot. Could you please go join the other botanical geeks over there and let me finish this?”
“I – er – I,” he stammered, still staring at her. “I didn’t realize anyone was over here.”
“Yes, well, as you can see, I am, and you are in the way, so can you move?”
“Oh – I – yes,” he spluttered, moving behind her.
Josie tried to ignore his presence as she tried to recapture the visual effect she wanted. She moved forward, crouching low to the ground as she tried different angles.
“Simply stunning, isn’t it?” he muttered, as she took aim.
Josie turned her head. “It’s beautiful.”
“What do you do with your photos once it’s all said and done?” he asked, kneeling beside her.
“It depends,” she grunted, shifting her weight.
“On what?”
She shrugged. “A lot of things.”
“You’re not a very communicative person, are you?”
She pivoted on her heels, and found herself face to face with the man. He had floppy brown hair and a crooked smile that seemed to light up his whole face.
“I can be,” she started defensively. “I’m just not in the habit of talking to strange men, even ones with interesting accents, in the middle of no-where when I’m trying to work.”
“Oh, so this is your profession?” She let out a hiss of impatient air, but he continued as if he hadn’t heard it. “Do you really think I have an interesting accent?”
She eased back, plunking down on the ground, heedless of the sand and pushed her backpack off her shoulders. She swung it around, unzipped the side pocket, and pulled out a bottle of water.
“You don’t give up, do you?” she asked, slowly unscrewing the plastic top off the water bottle.
“No, not often,” he laughed. “Neville,” he held out his hand.
“Neville Longbottom.”
“Josie,” she grunted, grabbing his hand.
“And do you have a last name? Or is it just ‘Josie’?”
“For now it’s just Josie,” she replied, pulling her hand from his.
“Cagey one, aren’t you?”
“Most of the time.” She brought the water bottle up to her lips and took a long drink.
“So, are you here to photograph the various species of wild flowers, or do you come here often?” he asked with a wide grin.
Josie sputtered. “You do realize that is the absolute worst pick up line ever.”
“Yes, well, while it is a perfectly awful line, it does lead to some pertinent answers.”
“Such as?”
“Whether or not you are from around here, and if not, then at least an idea of how long you’re going to be around here so that I might take you out for a drink, or something of that nature.”
“Are you asking me out on a date?”
“I – er – yes, I suppose I am.”
“What if I told you I wasn’t interested?”
“Oh,” he said in a dejected tone. “Does – I mean – are you not interested, then?”
“Well, it depends,” she started, retightening the lid on her water bottle. He waited, his eyes on her face as she stuffed the bottle back into her bag and resituated it. The silence stretched between them. Finally, just as he was on the verge of asking, ‘on what,’ she continued, “Where are you planning to take me?”
“I – that is.” He flushed bright red as he cast about for the right words. “Do – do you mean it?” he squeaked out.
The tourist bus let out a loud blaring sound that signaled the end of her time there.
“That’s for me,” she said, pushing up off the ground. She swung the backpack back on and started towards the bus. Neville quickly scrambled up after her.
“Wait,” he panted. “Did you mean it?”
Josie turned back to face him. He fidgeted for a moment, as though unsure of whether he should touch her or not. He looked so utterly unsure of himself, in an almost endearing way.
“Meet me tomorrow, in front of Treasure Island, just before the eight o’clock showing of the pirate ships,” she said, turning from him.
“Treasure Island?” he yelled at her.
“Yes,” she yelled back. “And wear something cooler, with comfortable shoes.”
“I’m British,” he yelled, watching her walk off in the distance. “I only own comfortable shoes.”
~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~
Chapter 8
Death Valley
It was a place of brutal beauty, where jagged rocks of red cut into the crystalline blue sky, and tuffs of tumbleweed bled into dashes of color as fragile flowers rose up from dry earth. It was a desolate land, often full of stark nothingness, where serrated fissures of rock separated the lush Californian coast from the east. In a space of pure desert, hardy flowers climbed out of the barren sand, clinging to large granite rocks that rose out of the earth like giant teeth.
Josie Rutledge hoisted up her Pentax Ds 35MM with a telephoto lens, trying to frame the right shot as the air rippled over the sand. In her back pocket, she had a super slim Pentax Optio digital camera, to catch those moments where a click and point might work better than the manual focus camera. The very air seemed to shimmer with anticipation as she moved back, her fingers working the lens to bring the rippling effect into sharp focus.
As soon as she took the first shot, her fingers twisted the lens to a wider vision, catching bits of the blue sky in the frame as she triggered another shot. Satisfied that she had gotten the best possible angle, she moved on, keeping the tourist bus in sight as she positioned her body for another dramatic shot. Just as she had focused, her finger poised above the trigger of the camera to capture the beauty before her, a dark patch of material fluttered before her lens.
“Hey, do ya mind?” she snapped out, annoyed that her shot was ruined.
The figure in front of her whipped around, clearly startled.
“The others are over there,” Josie said, waving her arm behind her. “If you’re looking for better plant samples, I doubt you’ll find them over here. So, if you don’t mind.” She gestured to her camera.
The man in front of her just stood there, gaping at her, with an astonished expression on his face.
“Look,” she sighed, “I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re ruining my shot. Could you please go join the other botanical geeks over there and let me finish this?”
“I – er – I,” he stammered, still staring at her. “I didn’t realize anyone was over here.”
“Yes, well, as you can see, I am, and you are in the way, so can you move?”
“Oh – I – yes,” he spluttered, moving behind her.
Josie tried to ignore his presence as she tried to recapture the visual effect she wanted. She moved forward, crouching low to the ground as she tried different angles.
“Simply stunning, isn’t it?” he muttered, as she took aim.
Josie turned her head. “It’s beautiful.”
“What do you do with your photos once it’s all said and done?” he asked, kneeling beside her.
“It depends,” she grunted, shifting her weight.
“On what?”
She shrugged. “A lot of things.”
“You’re not a very communicative person, are you?”
She pivoted on her heels, and found herself face to face with the man. He had floppy brown hair and a crooked smile that seemed to light up his whole face.
“I can be,” she started defensively. “I’m just not in the habit of talking to strange men, even ones with interesting accents, in the middle of no-where when I’m trying to work.”
“Oh, so this is your profession?” She let out a hiss of impatient air, but he continued as if he hadn’t heard it. “Do you really think I have an interesting accent?”
She eased back, plunking down on the ground, heedless of the sand and pushed her backpack off her shoulders. She swung it around, unzipped the side pocket, and pulled out a bottle of water.
“You don’t give up, do you?” she asked, slowly unscrewing the plastic top off the water bottle.
“No, not often,” he laughed. “Neville,” he held out his hand.
“Neville Longbottom.”
“Josie,” she grunted, grabbing his hand.
“And do you have a last name? Or is it just ‘Josie’?”
“For now it’s just Josie,” she replied, pulling her hand from his.
“Cagey one, aren’t you?”
“Most of the time.” She brought the water bottle up to her lips and took a long drink.
“So, are you here to photograph the various species of wild flowers, or do you come here often?” he asked with a wide grin.
Josie sputtered. “You do realize that is the absolute worst pick up line ever.”
“Yes, well, while it is a perfectly awful line, it does lead to some pertinent answers.”
“Such as?”
“Whether or not you are from around here, and if not, then at least an idea of how long you’re going to be around here so that I might take you out for a drink, or something of that nature.”
“Are you asking me out on a date?”
“I – er – yes, I suppose I am.”
“What if I told you I wasn’t interested?”
“Oh,” he said in a dejected tone. “Does – I mean – are you not interested, then?”
“Well, it depends,” she started, retightening the lid on her water bottle. He waited, his eyes on her face as she stuffed the bottle back into her bag and resituated it. The silence stretched between them. Finally, just as he was on the verge of asking, ‘on what,’ she continued, “Where are you planning to take me?”
“I – that is.” He flushed bright red as he cast about for the right words. “Do – do you mean it?” he squeaked out.
The tourist bus let out a loud blaring sound that signaled the end of her time there.
“That’s for me,” she said, pushing up off the ground. She swung the backpack back on and started towards the bus. Neville quickly scrambled up after her.
“Wait,” he panted. “Did you mean it?”
Josie turned back to face him. He fidgeted for a moment, as though unsure of whether he should touch her or not. He looked so utterly unsure of himself, in an almost endearing way.
“Meet me tomorrow, in front of Treasure Island, just before the eight o’clock showing of the pirate ships,” she said, turning from him.
“Treasure Island?” he yelled at her.
“Yes,” she yelled back. “And wear something cooler, with comfortable shoes.”
“I’m British,” he yelled, watching her walk off in the distance. “I only own comfortable shoes.”
Chapter 8
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