Gray slips into quiet mode. A ‘closed’ sign snaps on over the door of his mouth and when he’s like this, he’s doing one thing: thinking. I’m curious to know what he’s thinking about.
Nick takes charge of asking questions and most of them are directed at Rachel.
“What did you do this summer?” he asks her.
“I had an internship with the baseball team. I want to go into sports journalism,” she says and starts discussing baseball team statistics over the summer. She actually sounds like a sideline news reporter.
Blah, blah, sports talk. I love watching sports but talking about them is about as exciting as listening to someone list the contents of their refrigerator. My eyes wander and I notice a cup of children’s crayons in the middle of the table. I grab the cup and color on the paper tablecloth.
Without realizing it, I draw a cactus, a green saguaro like the one Gray and I used to take pictures of in Phoenix. I have an entire album dedicated to the strong personalities of saguaros.
I look up at Gray and he notices what I’ve drawn and for the first time since he’s seen me, he meets my eyes and smiles. It’s one of his signature slow smiles. It’s like a big thaw, and my entire body heats up in response. I feel my mouth drop open and my heart knock against my ribs. All the old feelings rush back. One familiar smile can do that, it’s like a zipper loosening you up, opening you, spilling out all the old feelings you neatly folded and packed away.
I tune back into the conversation when Nick touches my hand.
“Dylan?” he says, “Channel 2, please.”
From the confused stares that pass around the table, I explain that my brain is like a remote control, always surfing the channels.
“Nick is Channel 2,” I say. “When he wants my attention he switches me back.”
Rachel and her parents smile at our inside joke but when I look at Gray he’s glaring at Nick.
“What do you do, Dylan?” I look over at Rachel-the-Rebound’s mom and think about her question. What do I do? Saying I take pictures is so prosaic. It doesn’t touch on what a photograph captures, on the compelling story inside every shot. So, I explain it the best I can.
“I build bridges,” I say.
“What?” The entire table says at the same time. Except for Gray. His mouth is tight.
“You build bridges?” Rachel repeats. “You’re a construction worker?” she asks and I shake my head at her literal translation. Doesn’t she have any imagination?
“Architecture?” Rachel’s mom guesses and I love this game.
“Closer,” I say.
“She’s a photographer,” Gray says.
“It’s a lot like building a bridge,” I point out. “You know, it connects people to other places. It brings us closer. It allows us to see places we never had access to before.”
Nick smiles and rubs his fingers over my hand.
Rachel’s mom grins. “Where did you go to school?”
“UT,” I tell her and she asks if that’s the University of Texas. I shake my head.
“The University of Traveling,” I say. “It’s a wonderful academy.” Nick laughs next to me.
“She’s self taught.” Gray translates my words into normal conversation. I’m a little disappointed.
“She’s brilliant,” Nick says. “She just sold an entire stock of photos to a children’s book illustrator. They’ve already hired her for another job.”
“Dylan, that’s an unusual name for a girl,” Rachel’s mom comments.
“I was named after Bob Dylan,” I say with a shrug. “My parents were hippies.”
“What?” Gray says. “You never told me that,” he insists. His voice is mixed with admiration and disgust.
“If I was a boy they were going to name me Bob,” I say and shudder. “I much prefer Dylan. I’m not a fan of monosyllabic names ending and beginning with the letter B.”
“Are there any other than Bob?” Gray asks me.
“I hope not,” I say.
Gray
The waitress walks up to our table holding six dishes in her outstretched arms. It’s an impressive balancing act. She slides a plate in front of me, piled with hash browns, eggs, sprinkled with salt, dressed in ketchup, marinated in grease and splattered with orange droplets of cheese. And the crowning glory: six slices of bacon crisscrossed over the top. My mouth starts to water.
I glance at Dylan and she’s staring at my plate with jealousy. Our eyes meet and we have a telepathic conversation.
Thanks for the recommendation, I say with my eyes.
It’s beautiful, her wide eyes say back.