When It Costs Too Much

Ok, well here goes... I blame this posting (not the story, cause I've been kicking the idea around for awhile now) entirely upon Josh, who I made a pact with, and so now I must post to live up to my end of the bargain (but I am proud of you Josher).

And I'd also like to wish Pete, author of "Kevin and Justin" (which you should read), a Happy Birthday.

Disclaimer: This isn't real. It's not meant to imply anything about the persons depicted within. (i.e. kinda similar to Diet Dr. Pepper: sure it may taste 'more' like real Dr. Pepper. What they fail to mention that it still IS NOT Dr. Pepper, nor does it really taste like it. That's the danger of qualitative sentences. So one should NEVER confuse Diet Dr. Pepper with Dr. Pepper. Get it?) If you're too young, please don't read. If you're easily offended, get over it or don't read and go away.

And without further ado...

When It Costs Too Much

• • • • • • • • • • Prologue - - - - - - - - - -

My eyes and fingers slowly traced down around his jawline, the pads of my fingertips moving with the slight stubble.

When I reached the base of his chin, my fingers paused. My eyes gradually rose to meet his, and I finally found my voice...

"Scott, I'm sorry."

• • • • • • • • • • Chapter 1: Violator - - - - - - - - - -

I've never been one to tackle things without some kind of plan. Hell, even writing this took forethought; I had to figure out what I wanted to include, see if I could remember things, and try figuring out if the things I do remember are in the right places. But I digress.

One of the few things I don't pre-plan is my photography. Oh sure, I remember to take my camera and film places, and I definitely need to get into a certain mindset. But generally when I'm trying to take photos, of people at least, I get into my "stalking" mode, and either sit and wait for frames to form in front of me, or seek them out.

And before I go any further, I guess I should explain what I mean by "stalking." I'm not referring to the breaking and entering variety, or anything really illegal. Nope, I'm not that crazy - I hope. No, my stalking with my camera isn't meant to harm; just to try to catch people unaware. I pick my camera up, hopefully remember to take the lens cap off and turn the damn thing on - you wouldn't believe how helpful that can be - and then just try to blend into the scenery.

Why? Well, because I really like photographing people when they don't know it; the shots just turn out better. I know, it's kinda creepy and fits into the whole spying motif, but that's why I refer to it as 'stalking'. It's especially true when there's one person that I want to focus on, which has happened on occasion, for various reasons. Oh, and there is an added benefit to my stalking: I don't get any fake smiles. Red-eyes, maybe, but no fake smiles.

Now don't start fretting if you're thinking about visiting the Alamo City; I really only photograph people I know. Oh, and I should probably mention that I really do try to accurately represent who I'm shooting, even though the people don't know I'm shooting them at the time. I had this one grad class where we were supposed to basically take all these shots that lied - I didn't enjoy it. Actually I had a really hard time with that class, and I didn't feel like shooting anything for a while after it. But it did make me realize one thing: I don't think I could ever become a member of the paparazzi.

As for my stalking-style of capturing people on celluloid, it works out fine most of the time. My subjects usually know, and trust, me, so they don't worry too much about what I'm doing. Actually the fact that we know each other is generally how I'm able to get some of the shots. They just ignore me, 'cause they know I'm typically not incredibly interesting. Occasionally people will notice when I'm taking a shot or preparing for one, and I'll be 'caught'. Of course, getting caught is really a bad thing, because it ruins the shot. I either end up with some strange reaction, or I don't get anything but people looking at me like I'm crazy.

There's really only been one incident where I got caught, and really felt like I was in trouble. That was a few years ago, and I blame it entirely on the fact that I did something unplanned...

"That was Janet's 'Together Again', which she'll be performing tonight at the Dome, I'm sure. Next up is Matchbox 20's new one; it's called 'Real...' "

I switched off the radio then. It wasn't because I didn't like the song; no, radio had not overplayed it, yet. I actually shut if off 'cause I'd just pulled into the parking lot at the Dome, where the aforementioned Ms. Jackson - and no I'm not nasty - would perform tonight, and the radio was just one of the victims in the turning off of my car.

As I left the comfortable, air-conditioned confines of my car for the Texas summer heat, I made sure I had two things in my shoulder satchel: what I was supposed to be dropping off, and my Nikon camera, which I'd gotten for my 24th birthday almost a year before, and which I didn't want to just leave in the car. I calmly proceeded up the outside stairs and into the cool interior of the building. I checked in with security, got was given a little clip-on visitor tag after signing in, and then went up to the second level to make my delivery.

After delivering the goods I should've just left, but temptation called. I decided to wander for a bit; maybe find the shot that would finish off the roll in my camera. And just in case you're wondering, yes, my lens cover was off and the camera was on - I remembered while in the elevator going down to the main level.

I exited the elevator, then snuck into the stands. As the main floor area gradually came into view, I saw the stage being set up. There were people scattered around - some onstage, some up above it, and some in what I could only guess was the main control booth. Most of them looked to be setting things up. But what caught my attention was a shaft of sunlight pouring into the vast openness, from one of the entranceways on the upper deck. The cascade was lighting some nearby equipment - awaiting storage or clean-up was my guess - and a group of almost idle people. These people provided a good target for my lens. They were remaining relatively still, and were fairly close to me - important, since I'd yet to get a huge zoom lens.

I casually made my way down through the concrete permanent stands and entered the metal, less-permanent seating just above the floor. I crouched down next to the first row, where the stairwell met the floor, and pulled my camera up near my face. Then I looked back at the scene in front of me.

There were about eight people, mostly guys, although there was a woman too, a short distance away. All but two were organized into a rough circle and hacking, if you could call it that - mostly they were just lobbing the sack to each other and attempting to have their foot contact it, not really succeeding in passing it to another member of the circle. Not that I'm an expert hacky-sacker myself, but I can spot people on par with my own expertise. From my brief perusal, the woman was the best hacker, despite looking like she could be the mother of some of the other players.

The last two of this idle crew were in a secluded discussion, off closer towards me. My attention was drawn to them; not because of how they looked, per se, but because of the way the cascading light wasn't falling upon them, unlike their compadres. There was enough light for me, and my lens, to see that both young men were in their late teens or early twenties. Their heads, one covered in short, dark-brown hair, the other looking like it had been partially attacked by bleach, rested atop their lax bodies. The jovial expression upon the duo's faces mirrored those upon - what I presumed were - their hack friends.

The contrasts of light, but the similar mood, between the two groups clicked in my head. It just appealed to me. So I lifted my camera to my eyes, framed the darkened duo into the right foreground, and their enlightened friends in the background, mouthed 'cheese', and clicked.

After I'd snapped the shot, I heard my camera start rewinding. Yeah, success; I'd finished the roll. I set the camera onto the ground, and removed the strap of my satchel from my shoulder. While the film was returning to the metal confines of its protective case, I dug into my bag and fished out the zip-lock bag that should've contained my photo assignment sheet, which was there, and two rolls of green Ilford HP5 400 film, only one of which was there. As I was interested in the missing, unused roll, and not the one containing my shots from a recent trip to California still in the open zip-lock, I set the clear plastic bag down on the floor and returned to my satchel.

But before I could continue the rifling of my satchel, the camera finished rewinding. So, I opened the camera and removed the used film. I then attempted to place the roll into the plastic bag, but dropped it onto the ground instead, the metal canister clinking nicely against the metal of the stairwell before ricocheting onto the floor. This noise, unfortunately, didn't go undetected by the nearby duo. And living in my own little world, as I sometimes do, I failed to notice them approach as I went to retrieve the canister.

When I finally caught up with my run-away film, I also found myself facing two pairs of occupied Nikes. No sooner had I'd dropped the newly finished roll inside its clear temporary storage, than the bag was snatched out of my hands as I stood.

"I'll take those," the darker haired lad spat.

"But I need those," I muttered, trying to think of how I was going to get out of this without getting into too much trouble. I was caught; I knew that. I looked at my film's captors; neither appeared happy anymore. I also noticed that the circle was at a stand-still, and it wasn't because someone was chasing after the sack. Actually, one member, the woman, looked a little closer than before.

"I don't care what you think you need," he responded, to my apparently too loud comentary. "What are you doing here anyways? You aren't supposed to be here." Busted, big time.

Now I only hoped to get my film back and that my little excursion didn't get back to work - that's all I needed. Not only was I blatantly skipping out of the middle of the workday, but I was also technically trespassing. True, security knew I was in the building, but I wasn't exactly given free access to the place. Nope, I was supposed to go directly to the office; do not pass go, do not collect $200, and definitely no little stray shots on the way.

"Look, I'm sorry if my photographing y'all upsets you; I didn't mean to. But... " I sputtered, unsure of what I meant to say, but needing to stall.

"But nothing," he said, as he calmly tossed my film, my homework, my memories over to his friend. "Get out of here before I call security."

"But I need that for school, and it's got my trip... " I was stopped again, this time by his hand grabbing my upper arm, as if to turn me around. I was momentarily stunned. Both by the fact that he'd touched me, and also by the strange warmth emanating from his right palm into the skin encircling my biceps, just below the sleeve of my shirt. My focus moved back from my arm to his face, and in doing so our eyes met.

"Leave. Now." His voice still forceful, and his eyes mirrored his vocal intonations. He released my arm. "Or I'll have security make you leave."

I realized I wasn't getting my two rolls back - they were casualties. No, I was faced with basically a black and white decision: should I stay, and futilely argue, to ensure he was right, and in the process get into more trouble; or should I heed his advice and leave. I didn't feel like pushing my luck any more, and the get-out-of-jail-free card was looking more and more appealing. So I opted to follow his "suggestion", and decided to leave.

I turned around, and went to pack my things and hightail it out of there. As I was returning my camera into my remaining bag, I noticed two things. First, my film's new owners must have gone back to their friends, as I couldn't feel them nearby anymore. I also heard a barrage of questions, which I presumed were aimed at them. Second, I'd apparently not delivered everything to the second floor offices; my hand grazed a paper as I was placing my Nikon inside the satchel.

I silently cursed; my expeditious escape was thwarted. What was I gonna say, if I didn't deliver that page. "Sorry, I knew you didn't have it, but I had to flee the scene of the crime before I was busted?" That wouldn't work. So as I calmly, but quickly, exited the Dome's seating area, and returned to the main hallway, I accepted that my escape would have to be delayed a tad.

I headed back into the elevator, and up to the second floor. On the short ride up, I pulled the last page to be delivered out of the bag, and along with it came my missing roll of film. 'At least I don't have to buy new film right away,' I thought. The doors opened at that point, and I stepped out and walked towards the offices. 'Although I am going to need to re-shoot my homework.'

I dropped off the paper and went back to the elevators. As I awaited for one's arrival - I'd only been gone like a minute, I didn't know where it could've gone, there weren't that many people in this part of the building - I placed my remaining film into my camera, and noticed that it was still on. I meandered around the side of the elevator, where the second level opened into a pseudo-atrium with the first floor. Light was flooding through the outside wall windows, and as the light hit the cross-hatch frame supporting the super-cooled liquid it sent a shadow dancing across the floor. It was so tantalizing that when a group - giving scale to the tangoing shadows - crossed the floor, I snapped a shot.

Then I heard the ding of the elevator's arrival. I went back down to the main level, and checked out with security, unclipping my visitor tag and returning it. I crossed over the shadowy dance floor, and re-emerged into the heat and humidity. I reached my car, and hopped inside. As I started the car, the first, or rather second, thing on was the air conditioning; so it could re-conquer my car's atmosphere.

As I backed out of my spot, and headed out of the parking lot, I turned on the radio. And as "...Romantic Piscean seeks angel in disguise, Chinese-speaking girlfriend with big brown eyes..." came out of the speakers, my scattered-brain realized something: 'Oh Lord, I need to find another box.'

ttfn

comments/feedback/suggestions can be sent to me, lost, at txdman2000@yahoo.com or you can pester me in the #boybands chat room.