-Before you read on you might want to start at the beginning of the Road Trip series at "Washougal" so that it all ties together. Or you can just read my life in reverse.
Rather than bolting directly back to Portland in all my frustration and anxiety, I decided to detour back to Santa Cruz. I had to try one more time. This would be my third attempt... three strikes and I'm out. The previous weekend I had returned to Santa Cruz for my Uncle Mike's annual family party. I was in Santa Cruz, but she wasn't once again. This was my last chance to see her before I returned to life as I know it in Portland. This particular weekend I was in Santa Cruz and so was she.
Mountains of resentment came crumbling down that day as the perception of our past was transformed by the simple happiness of being in each others presence. It was as though life gave us one more opportunity to appreciate simply being around each other. And I mean life gave us the opportunity because the situation was all too perfect. The weather was perfect, we shared the same ideas, the places we went to played music from a time when we were together, years ago. We even discovered that we are both reading the same novel, "100 Years of Solitude." A book that my Uncle Mike had let me borrow coincidentally the first visit to Santa Cruz. We shared our likes, our dislikes. We talked about us, we talked about others we have been with. I bought her coffee, she fed me peaches at the farmers market. I wanted to watch the sunset with her, she picked the spot.
The photographer in me wanted to take her picture time after time to capture her beauty, but my soul didn't want to do anything that would take me out of the moment. In an instant of momentary lapse, I took out my instax film camera to take her photo. Shit... it came out blurry. I changed the settings to the only other setting it has. Fuck, blurry once again. Life acted on me once again. Enjoy this moment! During the sunset I took another photo, this time with my iPhone. I exposed for the sunset, leaving only her silhouette. I don't have a clear photo of her from that day. It is almost as if it was a dream exposed into photos.
I hit the road back to Portland. Back to what I am to make of myself as a photographer. The memory of that day still remains in my imagination as though it were a dream. The photos of that day resemble a lot of how I remember it, all too dreamlike, blurry, not properly exposed, only leaving in the rest for what memory has to fill in. That day is how I will remember her, that day is how I want to remember her... forever still