Just a quick note - this is a continuation of my one shot, originally written for the For the Love of Jasper contest. Chapter one is still the o/s, so if you read that already you haven't missed anything. :)
Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns the characters, I still own my camera.
"To me, photography is an art of observation. It's about finding something interesting in an ordinary place... I've found it has little to do with the things you see and everything to do with the way you see them." - Elliott Erwitt
My toes pick up their all too familiar rhythm once more, tap-tap-tapping rapidly below the table as I wait nervously for him to walk in.
Him. Jasper.
It has been three days since our encounter in the darkroom. Three days since I told him how much I want him. Three days since I refused to let him leave and he took me in his arms.
Three days have never dragged by quite so slowly before.
After that day under the safelights, I finally understand what people are talking about when they say, "you'll just know." I've never felt so desperate to know someone. I want him to trust me with his history, his dreams, his secrets, his quirks, his body. I want him to know all of me in return. I remember clinging to him for what seemed like hours, gradually pulling away and letting things go back to normal. Making prints and stealing glances. I'm not really sure what sort of understanding we've come to. We want each other; that much I know.
The weekend has done nothing to diminish the pull I feel toward him, and I wonder how the time apart will have affected him. He seems as desperate as I am to explore this connection between us; at the same time, I know he's hesitant and maybe a little scared, and I hope a little distance hasn't magnified his doubts. I don't know what happened to him or why he's broken, but he is. I told him that day that I wanted to be the one to fix him, to bring him back from the shadows.
I still do.
My daydream is interrupted when I hear the door slowly open. I'm looking at my notebook, doodling quietly, but I know it's him. I smile to myself when I hear the shuffling of his boots as he makes his way over. He pauses just in front of me, and I look up to meet his gaze. He smiles shyly at me, and I forget my worries immediately. He might be scared and he might be hesitant, but I feel a sudden surge of confidence; I know we can work through this together.
"Miss Bella," he greets me, grinning teasingly but ducking his head as always. It's cute, so I don't correct him this time. I smile in return before returning to my doodles, shaking my head to myself at the little reminder of our first meeting. I suppose today is a sort of a new beginning in itself, and the thought causes my breathing to speed up just a little bit as he makes his way around the corner of the table and takes his seat. He's sitting so close to me, I swear I can feel his presence on my skin. I feel a shiver begin at the tips of my fingers and trail its way up my arm and to my scalp. My heartbeat quickens as it always does around him, and I hope my physical reaction to him never weakens. I sneak a glance and catch him looking at me. We both laugh nervously. I blush, and we turn away.
After a few tense moments, I decide to break the silence. Apparently he has the same plan.
"So I-"
"How was-"
We cut each other off, and I laugh uncomfortably. How is it possible to be on edge with someone you're so comfortable with? He waves me on, chuckling as he does so. My eyes don't miss the movements of his fingers as they betray his nervousness against our table. I feel a little calmer, reminded again that I'm not alone in this. I take a deep breath and plunge forward.
"I was just wondering… how was your weekend?"
"It was good, but pretty slow. I worked most of the time and hung out with my little sister a bit. How about yours?"
"Oh, you know… really exciting stuff like laundry and homework. I worked on a couple shooting assignments, though. I think I have some ideas about the negative space assignment coming up on our schedule."
And with that small opening, his posture relaxes, my vitals thankfully return to normal, and we remember the easy connection which our shared passion has provided us with. After a few minutes, we're interrupted by Professor Berty who begins the introduction into our new assignment.
"So basically, this is an ongoing project for the rest of the semester, in addition to your regular weekly assignments. I want you to start changing the way you look at the world around you. You've spent the last three years in this program learning the more formal side of photography: technical skills, lighting concepts, posing. I want to push you to apply your ideas to what you see in your everyday life. Sometimes we find beauty and impact in the most unlikely of places. I want you to always be ready and waiting for a moment which you might have otherwise been unprepared for. Every Monday, I want you to come into this class with a contact sheet of 8-12 images from whatever happened in your life the previous week. I'm going to give you a little guidance for this first week, but after that I want you to take the lead. So set yourself an assignment, find a goal, or just see where your camera takes you. I just want to see the results. Show me something I haven't seen before out of something I've probably seen a million times."
His lecture is punctuated by a slideshow of his own portfolio which follows the same prompt. As I watch the examples appearing and disappearing on the wall in front of me, I smile to myself; this is the kind of assignment I have been waiting for. I want someone to push me creatively, test my limits. I glance surreptitiously around the room and find similar expressions of excitement on my classmates' faces. My eyes meet the ice-blue ones beside me, and I see my own spark of creative passion reflected within. Berty tells us to find something "definitely Austin" for this week, and with that we're off.
Jasper asks me if I want to head down to South Congress together to look for something that defines Austin, and I don't hesitate to agree.
We decide to park at the lake and head south, giving us time to explore and still return to our cars before sunset. It's bat season, so we want to stake a good spot by the Congress Street bridge to watch the bats take flight at dusk. During the summer and fall there are more bats than humans living in Austin, and their nightly emergence is simultaneously eerie and thrilling.
We walk side-by-side at first, quietly surveying our surroundings. The light is perfect; the long, diffuse shadows and warm glow of the late afternoon sun lend beauty and impact to almost everything I see. My leisurely pace gradually creates a small void between Jasper and me, and I use the distance to watch him and the way he photographs. He seems to judge a scene quickly, following instinct, while I take a little longer and look a little more closely. Once he finds something he likes, though, he takes his time to see it from every angle.
He pauses just before the Continental Club, my favorite live music venue, and watches an elderly man leaning against the crimson front door. His weathered fingers are strumming an equally weathered six string. One knee is bent, his foot propped against the wall to steady himself. His eyes are hidden beneath the brim of a worn ten-gallon hat, and I don't think he can see us yet. I vaguely register the steady click of Jasper's shutter as he moves slowly around the man, judging angles and light. The man lifts his head to meet Jasper's gaze, but his song doesn't falter. Jasper nods at him before continuing his quiet study. He lowers his camera when the man lowers his instrument, tipping his hat to both of us. Jasper turns and walks toward me, his eyes alive in excitement. I know that look; I can't physically see it on my own face, but I recognize the adrenaline rush and sense of accomplishment when you come across the perfect scene for the perfect shot. It's the same feeling I got that first day with my dad and my camera, and I hope it's the same every time I find something worth capturing.
"Sorry about that, Bella. I got a little caught up."
"No worries, I was enjoying watching both of you. That was amazing. I'm sure you got some really great shots."
"Yeah, I hope so. We'll see in the darkroom, huh?" He shrugs dismissively, and I know what he means. It almost feels like you're jinxing things if you get too excited before the film is processed. I guess it's another argument in favor of digital; though at the same time, the rush you feel when you unwind a reel of perfectly exposed film can't be matched by downloading files from a memory card.
"Bella?"
"Oh, sorry, I zoned out. What was that?"
"It's getting late, don't you think we should start heading back to the lake? We still need to scope out a good spot."
"Yeah, definitely. Do you mind if we get a snow cone on the way back? I haven't had one in ages, and it's so hot. It sounds so good right now."
I see a flash of something pass through his eyes, but it's gone before I can identify it. I open my mouth to retract my request, but he smiles warmly and gestures for me to continue down the street with him. He's silent as we make our way to the snow cone stand, which is housed in a classic-looking airstream trailer.
"So… are you going to get one, too?" I question, because he looks inexplicably hesitant about something so simple.
"Umm, yeah I guess so. What are you having?"
"Cherry," I answer, almost before the words are fully out of his mouth. "I always get cherry. There's this place in Dallas my dad always took me to when I was little. It's been there since the sixties or something crazy like that. Anyway, the first flavor I ever tried was cherry, and I loved how it made my lips turn bright red. My dad said I looked so grown up, like I was playing dress up with my mom's makeup or something."
I trail off then, because once again I've managed to bring up the uncomfortable subject of my half-set of parents, and by extension, his. Sure enough, I watch the tension move over his expression, settling in his shoulders.
"I don't like cherry."
I give him a weak smile before I turn to order my snow cone. Jasper jumps in before I can pull out my money, choosing lime and waving off my attempt to pay him back for my own. I give up and instead enjoy my paper cup full of ice cold sweetness, smiling as the familiar flavor dissolves on my tongue. I notice Jasper watching me carefully as we continue toward the lake. His lingering gaze on my lips thrills me, and I wonder if he can sense the effect he has on me.
"I used to bring Rosie here a lot, in the summertime. To get out of the house." His sudden words startle me, and I realize I'm staring at his lips which are now stained green with lime syrup. I smile and he continues. "She always got cherry too; it's her favorite."
"She's lucky to have such a good brother; it sounds like you do a lot for her."
"I've always tried to. It was mostly just the two of us growing up. When my dad..." He trails off quietly, his brows furrowed tightly and pain etched in every line of his face. I reach out and grab his hand, squeezing it gently. My touch seems to reassure him, his eyes find mine, and I see… embarrassment?
"It's okay, Jasper. You don't have to tell me anything you aren't ready to."
"No, it's not that." His grip on my hand tightens, and he takes a deep breath before continuing.
"When my dad died, my mom was devastated. She pretty much checked out. So when I say it was mostly me and Rosie, I mean I've pretty much been taking care of her since I was eight. My mom isn't really a part of our lives anymore."
He turns hesitantly to gauge my reaction, and I know he won't find pity here. The thought of a mother basically abandoning her children after something like that, especially after what Charlie has been to me, makes me ill with outrage.
"Hey, it's okay Bella. We're okay now."
His eyes are sincere and worried. I smile before taking another bite of my snow cone, which is beginning to melt in the heat of the early evening. His gaze moves back to my lips, lingering.
"Bella. I have to -"
But he never finishes his sentence. Instead he leans forward, and his lips are on mine, softly, gently. It only lasts a moment but it's enough to set my heart racing. He pulls away slowly, a small smile on his face. I lick my bottom lip which now tastes of limes, and grin shyly in return.
"Cherry might not be so bad," he offers. We both laugh lightly and continue down to the water, hand-in-hand.
–*–*–
September, 2000 (Jasper is 13, Rosie is 7)
I was out of my seat the moment the bell rang. I was at my locker before most people made it out of their seats. By the time I made it to the main hallway, students and teachers were everywhere. I just wanted to get out, and fast. Someone was waiting for me.
I shoved my way through the crowds, not really caring about who I was upsetting. This happened every day, and if they didn't know by now to get out of my way, that was their problem, not mine.
I finally made it to the bike racks, quickly unlocking mine and taking off down the street.
I knew I wasn't late or anything. Technically she could be there until five, but I never liked to leave her there that long, especially on Fridays. I pulled up to her elementary school and locked up my bike next to her little pink one out in front. I had convinced my mom to buy it for Rosie for her seventh birthday last April, and I had taught her how to ride it over the summer. She was getting pretty good at it now, so when it wasn't raining outside we rode our bikes to school instead of the bus.
I jogged up the front steps and through the mostly empty hallways, making my way to the library. When I walked in, I saw her immediately. She was sitting at a little table with the other after-school kids, reading a book. I made my way over quietly and sat down across from her without her noticing. She was really concentrating, and her smile told me it must be a good book.
"Hey sweetie," I whispered.
She lifted her head and her eyes opened wide when she saw me, a big smile lighting up her pretty face.
"Jasper!" she said, a little too loudly. The librarian shushed her but laughed as she did it. She definitely had a soft spot for us.
"Shhh… I've got a surprise for you today, Rosie. Let's pick out a couple books to take home for the weekend and then we can go, okay?"
She nodded her head, handing me the one she was reading and a couple others she had already stacked next to her. I laughed. She loved Fridays because we always took a few new books home.
I put them all in my bag and took her hand, leading her over to her teacher to sign out.
"Hey Mrs. Cope, Rosie and I are gonna take off now."
"Sounds good, Jasper. Rosie, don't forget we have a spelling test on Monday, make sure you study, okay?"
"I won't forget, Mrs. Cope. Jasper will help me."
Mrs. Cope smiled and said, "Of course he will, sweetheart. Jasper, the list is in her yellow folder. And don't forget to have your mom sign her progress report in the red folder. You two have a good weekend." She looked like she wanted to say something else, but she didn't. She never did.
Rosie chattered the whole way out to our bikes, and I unlocked hers for her and helped her climb on before jumping on my own. She was still talking about how she got to hold a frog in science class when we started pedaling down the street.
"And, Jasper, I was so scared because I thought he would bite me or I'd drop him or something. But Mrs. Cope showed me how to hold him the right way, and he was so slimy. Can we get a frog, Jasper?"
"I don't know, sweetie, maybe. I'll talk to Mom about it."
I knew she'd probably say no, but I'd ask her anyway. I always did.
"Jasper, you didn't tell me what my surprise is yet. Is it a good one?"
"I think so. It's so hot today, I thought we'd ride our bikes down to get a snow cone before we went home, sound good?"
"Yes! I want a cherry one. Cherry's my favorite."
"I know, it's mine too."
She was always so excited to share her day with me, and I wanted her to have someone who was excited to hear about it. I kinda doubted that Mom would be in the mood to hear about how her team won at dodge ball, or how her buddy Tanya punched a boy for trying to kiss her under the slide at recess. So I listened to her talk rapidly about the rest of her school day while I concentrated on the road. There weren't sidewalks in our neighborhood, so we had to ride in the street. I made Rosie stay next to the curb and I rode next to her, on the outside, just in case there was a car or something.
We parked our bikes next to the old airstream trailer on South Congress. My dad used to bring me here and it was nice to remember what things used to be like sometimes. He always tried to get me to try something other than cherry, but it was always my favorite. I knew Rosie couldn't remember stuff like that, so I tried to tell her the kinds of things he did with us.
I paid for two cherry snow cones and handed one to Rosie. You would have thought I was handing her a million dollars from the look on her face. I really liked it when she looked at something like that; it made me feel like I was doing something right.
We walked around, looking at all the people who were out and about, and slowly ate our snow cones. It was so hot, and they were so sweet and cold. It was the perfect way to start our weekend. I almost forgot what we'd be going home to, until I looked at Rosie. Her lips were stained blood red, a little trickle of syrup dribbling down from the corner of her mouth. I had a sudden flash of my own bloody lip in the mirror, and the back of the hand that put it there. My mother's hand.
I stopped walking, and Rosie turned around to see what I was doing. I was sure the panic was written all over my face, because she looked worried. I felt nauseous and angry that my mom could ruin something as simple and happy as snow cones. She had replaced one of my happiest memories of my dad with something I was scared and ashamed of. I grabbed Rosie's snow cone and threw it and mine in the nearest trash can. When I turned back to face her, she looked really scared. I hated it when she looked scared.
"Jasper, what happened? I wasn't finished yet."
"I know, sorry sweetie. There was a bee, and I was worried he'd come after us with all that sugar. Here, let me wipe your face off."
She still looked scared, but she came closer so I could clean the syrup off her mouth with the edge of my shirt. I relaxed a little when the mess was gone, and I smiled to make her feel better.
"There, all better. No bees for Rosie."
She smiled up at me, and I thought she believed me. She looked relieved, at least.
"Thanks, Jasper. I really hate bees. Can we go home now? I want to show Mommy my math test. I got a 92!"
"Sure thing. She might be sleeping though, so let's be quiet when we go in just in case."
Her little face scrunched up in worry, and I felt bad for putting it there. I had pretty much ruined the fun afternoon we'd been having.
"Oh, yeah. Well I don't want to wake her up. I'll be quiet, I promise."
"And you know what? Even if she is asleep, I bet Garrett would love to see your test," I said, and I knew it was true. Rosie had adored him since the day he moved in next door, four years ago. He wasn't really a parent, but he was as close as it got most days. She perked up a little at the suggestion, and I knew that he wouldn't let her down.
"That's my girl. Come on, why don't we walk our bikes home? I'm tired of pedaling."
We were quiet for a few minutes, and Rosie still looked a little worried. I hoped Mom would be up and having a good day when we got there so Rosie could show her the math test. She should be able to share stuff like that with a mom who'd be proud of her; she shouldn't have to worry about whether her mom would be sleeping it off at 4:30 in the afternoon.
"Jasper?" Her voice brought me out of my angry thoughts, and I tried to plaster on a happy face when I turned to answer her.
"What's up?"
"Why does Mommy sleep so much?"
Oh man.
"Well, Mommy's tired, sweetie. She gets sad sometimes and being sad makes her tired."
"She's sad because she still misses Daddy. Is that why she's mad, too? Because we made Daddy go away?"
"She's not mad at you, and don't ever say that. You did not make Daddy go away. It's not your fault."
"Then why does she yell at us so much?"
"I think sometimes Mommy gets so sad that she doesn't know what else to do but yell. She yells at us because we love her, and she knows we'll still love her even if she yells at us. Sometimes you can only show how sad or angry you are to the people who really love you."
I looked at her out of the corner of my eye, and her face was still tied up in knots. I didn't know what else to say, or how to make this better. The counselors at school had tried to talk to me right after my dad died, but Rosie was too little at the time. I wanted her to understand that it wasn't her fault. How do you explain alcohol to your baby sister?
"I don't like it when she yells at you, Jasper," she whispered.
I turned to look at her, and she was scared again. I knew she meant more than 'yell,' and that broke my heart. No matter how hard I tried to keep her out of the way, it would never be enough. I could put a thousand locks on her closet door to help her hide, but she could still hear what was going on. She could still see the marks on my face and my body. I knew she was figuring out exactly how they got there.
"I know. I don't like it either."
"I love you, Jasper. I'm glad you're my brother."
I smiled at her. This time I didn't even have to try to make it look like a real one, because hearing her say that made all of the bad days worth it.
"I love you too, sweetie. Let's go home."
Thank you for reading!
A HUGE thank you plus hugs and kisses to my two lovely betas: jackbauer aka staceygirl and justaskalice. They both keep me in line, make me look smarter, don't laugh at me for being so insecure, and are incredibly supportive. I love them both *equally* and if you know them, you know why that's important. Hehe.
Also love and puffy hearts to Ahelm for pre-reading and giving me a vote of confidence. Oh, and for pushing me to post this week. That's all her. :)
I'll be updating once a week… There are a couple links on my profile page if you're interested.
