I shuffled in beige, exhausted from another useless night on Indeed. I sat beneath the tree, adjusting the lens of my geriatric Canon, and then assumed the position of a bored thirtysomething taking in nature’s splendor because he didn’t get laid the night before. Cars rumbled behind me to find empty spots to smoke up. Behind us all, Amtrak blew its way the hell out of Berkeley. My warm-up was shooting the parade of Aquatic Park:
— One unicycle teen with handlebar mustache.
— One forty-year-old white woman in black with full makeup who pushed a five-hundred-dollar covered stroller holding a Chihuahua who eyed all with the indifference of Molotov.
— One black man and a Latina in red exercise gear, weights tied to their ankles, lapping the old man in the gray tracksuit who was almost as overweight as me.
— Gaggle of stoner chicks in black and too much purple eye shadow and band T-shirts, shambling and laughing and speaking like texts.
— A gray homeless fortysomething in long sleeves who smelled like sun-bleached urine, pulling a trolley of corporate beer cans with craft labels and Coke bottles.
Ten burning minutes later, the bouncing blonde emerged from behind the red cabin that rents three-wheeled bikes to the disabled. Sonja: fit but chubby, unable or unwilling to kill her freshman fifteen. A white-and-blue Stanford shirt and pink trunks. No sunglasses (5Chan would be ecstatic).
I focused. Then I shot her face a hundred times, tracking her, then switched from photo to video.
“You.”
I released the trigger.
Bernie stood above me. Again. Baggy striped sweater. Elbows angular. Brown trousers and terra-cotta clogs. I kept his preferred pronoun in mind.
“Morning.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Relaxing. You?”
“I always walk the park. I never see you.”
I nodded. “Guess I’m like a ghost outside the school.”
Bernie stinkfaced. “You do photography?”
“Sometimes.”
Bernie had three emotions: rage, indifference, and excitement if we were talking about the manga and anime that he liked. Bernie’s eyes tracked Sonja and mooned, countenance starved.
The next move would dictate my future. So I said nothing.
Bernie blinked. “5Chan?”
I exhaled and smiled.
Bernie did not. “No way.”
I shrugged. Sonja had already run the exposed patch and into the thicket of shadows made by Aquatic Park’s winding corridor of trees.
“You can’t tell.”
I put my camera down. Still recording.
“You can’t say anything. I’ll tell them you sent them to me.”
Bernie was smart but scared and talking dumb. No one made him spend two grand of his parents’ cash for pictures of teachers he wanted to fuck.
I had him. Better than a black eye he refused to give me. I stood. Bernie backed up. Leaves cut shallows of light across his sweating face. “I’m sorry you won’t be in my class anymore, Bernie. I was looking forward to your paper on the Pink Triangles as victims of the Holocaust.”
“Huh?”
“We made good progress.” I took a step back. “Hope you can find a teacher who understands you and your interests, Bernie.”
Tiny fists shook so hard I expected them to leak red and white.
“I think that’s what I do best. Understand students. Help them get what they want and I get paid for it.”
I tapped the camera, next to the red light.
Bernie recoiled, then stopped. “I don’t get it.”
I hit pause. “I’d love to be a photographer full-time. I’m really good. Especially faces.” I sighed. “But not enough money in it, so I have to keep teaching. Wish I had more clients. Until then I may have to keep teaching. Including you.”
Bernie’s face scrunched.
“Take care, Bernie. Enjoy what you see in the park.”
Hey Russel! I’m sorry but I haven’t found any new students yet, but trust me I am trying! As soon as we have some. And thanks for taking over Camera Club! We’ve had some new hires and we need photo ID and pictures for the teacher wall. Can you be here at 8:00, Dr. Walker? And thanks for the specs on making it more glamorous! I can’t wait. My old one has me looking like a hag! LOL!
“Dude, I told you. I fucking told you.” Ashby BART was a concrete bunker that could have probably taken a non-nuke ICBM hit. 5Chan and I walked the perimeter, him in the lead, puffing vape in my face. “We’re blowing up. I got so many orders I may need to hire more shooters.”
I shrugged. “Might increase the risk.”
“Shit. You’re right. Dude, we are going to clear close to fifty K this quarter if you can do what you do.”
I smiled.
“My work is sick and getting sicker. This last one was like sticking your weird lesbian aunt into a slasher flick and vine. I almost kept a copy. Almost.”
I nodded.
“Damn, bro. Say something! You’re making enough to have one of your own. Hell, I’m feeling magnanimous. I’ll do a freebie. Just name it.”
Never saw any of the finished work. What 5Chan did with the carousel of other people’s fantasies. Bank teller. Bus driver. Clerks in designer women’s dress shops. Lots of waitresses, bartenders, and other service personnel. Nurse. Hygenist. Teachers. So many teachers. Weekends in Walnut Creek, Concord, and San Leandro at gyms, outside yoga classes, and in downtown Berkeley near the theaters. And that awful parking lot at Trader Joe’s.
“Really?”
5Chan held in his vape stream, then let it out his nose. “Name it.”
“The one you made for the client who wanted Sonja Tempest.”
He ssssss’d. “Can’t do it, bro. That’s the 5Chan guarantee: one-of-a-kind work for one-of-a-kind clients.”
“You said name it.” I shrugged.
He huffed a laugh. “Okay, okay. Just this once. Because we are on the cusp of a renaissance. But don’t judge, okay? We’re all entitled to our fucked-up shit.”
I pushed the USB inside the port. The screen went black before Microsoft Silverlight read the file and readied it. No credits, just a fade.
There was Sonja. Sorta.
Alone on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, arms braced on the black mattress. Dirty-blond now. The outfit was official. Pencil skirt and caramel stockings. Black heels and purple blouse. But fuck if that wasn’t Sonja’s face.
“Hey there,” she said in a voice twenty years and packs of Luckys older. “I know that right now, things are hard.” She unbuttoned her blouse. “And it seems like there’s no escape. And you’re so alone.” My gut sank. “You’re different. So different there’s no one you can talk to.” Sonja caressed the space between DD breasts held back by a frayed black bra. “But there is someone who likes you. Who thinks about you all the time.” Sonja bit her lip. “So I want you to watch this when you feel like no one notices you. No one cares. No one sees.” Sonja pulled her legs open. Her cock was red and throbbing. “But I do. You make me want to touch myself. You make me want you. You make me do this... I know this is what you want, and I can’t help it. You make me do it! I don’t... have... a choice!”
Hey, Russel. I totally get it. We all need to find ways to make it and I’m sorry your time at BP is now over. I’d just gotten off the phone with Bernie’s parents who had reconsidered their decision. So much uncertainty! Thanks so much for helping so many of our students. You’ll be missed.