“I’ve never seen anything by Visconti or Fellini. Kind of embarrassing, huh? I’m a connoisseur of the brain-dead action film and anything made after 1985,” Kylie adds.
“David Fincher is a master.”
“I know. I worship Fight Club.”
“I’ve seen it three times.”
“Six!” Kylie says proudly.
“’Kay, that’s a little weird.”
“You ever seen Pan’s Labyrinth?”
“Guillermo del Toro. Genius.”
“I know, right? That’s what I keep telling Will. He won’t go see it. He says it’s responsible for the decline of Western civilization.”
“It’s pretty cool visually.”
“Totally groundbreaking.”
“You’ve got to see The Leopard. It’ll blow you away. It’s three and a half hours, but totally worth it.”
“I was kind of waiting for NYU. Figured I’d have to see all those old films in class. You ever seen Blow-up?” Kylie asks me.
“Sick. Just totally sick. And loved the sex scenes.”
“You would.”
It’s wild to talk old movies with someone. I don’t know anyone else who’s interested. Definitely not Lily. She had a shit fit and walked out of The 400 Blows. She said I was trying way too hard. The thing was, I wasn’t trying at all. I just thought she’d like it. That was the last time I ever took Lily to the Ken.
“Maybe we could go see something at the Ken this summer, you know, if we’re both around?”
“Yeah, sure, maybe,” Kylie says, hesitating. She doesn’t sound like she means it at all. I guess she’s thinking that after tonight, this is it. I get it, it makes sense. We run in completely different circles, no overlap at all. It kinda bums me out, though.
“Okay, over on the lawn.” Kylie points to a beach ball on the grass. “How would you photograph that?”
“For starters. I wouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because it doesn’t have any life to it. I don’t know. It’s dull, meaningless. When I take pictures, I’m looking for something I connect with, a feeling, a mood, a vibe. It’s like I’m having a conversation with what I’m photographing, or something like that.”
I stop, uncomfortable. Why am I talking like this? I sound like some kind of pompous idiot, going on about photography like I’m Cartier-Bresson or something.
“I’m sure that sounds totally pretentious,” I say, wanting to take it all back.
“It doesn’t at all. It’s very cool to hear you talk about it. How long have you been doing it?”
“I don’t know. A while. I got a digital camera for my tenth birthday. And then I started playing around on the Mac, developing pictures with a million different programs. It’s really the only thing I do, other than squash.”
As we approach the harbor, I can hear music and the sounds of people partying. Lights are strung up everywhere. It looks like Christmas. Man, they know how to live it up in Mexico. I need to come south more often. The streets are covered with ribbons and giant paper banners. Colored lights have been strung up across the storefronts, and confetti floats in the air. A crowd of little girls in hot pink dresses comes toward us. They all have their hair pulled back, and flowers tucked behind their ears.
“Oh my God, look.” Kylie points to a tiny Chihuahua wearing a sombrero on his back as he flies past our feet. A few seconds later a donkey carrying a huge wooden cross ambles across the street. People lead the donkey toward the church, but he stops and refuses to budge. A man whacks him on the butt, and he reluctantly moves on.
I’m taking pictures like crazy. This place is bursting with life.
“You should be a photographer, Max. Seriously. You have a real eye. I mean, you know more about film than I do.”
“Whatever. Plenty of people can take great photos. It’s not that big a deal.…”
“Yes, it is. It would be a shame if you didn’t pursue it.”
“Okay,” is all I say. Because I don’t want to get into it with her.
“You’re really good. You must know that.” Kylie looks up at me with her big eyes. She is so damn sincere. And earnest. And open. And beautiful…
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I mean, I can write. I know it, and no one can take that away from me. You can take great photos. Better than most people. You should do something with it. See what happens.”
“Look, I don’t know. I just…I don’t have your confidence.…”
Kylie looks at me, her head cocked to the left, like a dog that’s just heard a grating, high-pitched noise. Like she doesn’t understand what I’ve said.
“My confidence?” Kylie laughs like that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever said.
“What?”
“An hour ago I was saying the same thing to you. You’re ninety-five percent confidence. I’m like, twenty-five percent, thirty on a good day. I just know I can write and I know you can take photos. It’s not confidence, it’s fact.”
“I told you, it’s complicated.”
“Yeah, everything is.”
The crowds are getting thicker, the music louder, as we hit the center of things. It feels like New Year’s Eve. I wonder how we’ll ever find Will and Juan in this scene. Kylie and I slow down and try to stay on the outskirts.
“Look, I tried,” I say. It comes out before I can take it back.
“What do you mean, you tried?”
“It’s just not going to happen, okay?”
“Tell me.” Kylie is not backing down. I’ve put it out there and she’s going after it. I look at Kylie and exhale. Why did I even say anything?
“Really, it’s no big deal.”
“What do you have to lose by telling me? We’ll probably never see each other again after today.”
I hope that’s not true.
“We’ll see each other at graduation,” I say. But I’d like to see her after that as well. I’m just not sure I should say it. We both know I’ve got a girlfriend. Suddenly, Lily is feeling like one more thing I wish I didn’t have to deal with.
“Okay,” she says, “we’ll have an intimate moment with about a hundred and twenty other seniors tomorrow. The point is, we don’t really hang out. I’m safe territory. You can tell me. And no one else ever has to know.”
“I applied to RISD…the Rhode Island School of Design…and got in.”
“Oh my God. That’s amazing.”
“Yep.”
“But you’re not going.”
Kylie looks at me like I’m a total idiot. And that is exactly why I didn’t want to say anything.
“Nope.”
“You’re doing prelaw at UCLA instead.”
“Yep.”
“It’s not too late to change your mind. You can always—”
“It’s done. I didn’t even tell my parents I applied. And when I got in, it was right after my dad got really sick. I ripped up the acceptance letter. My dad wants me to be a lawyer. And he’s sick. So I’m gonna be a lawyer. I’d have to be a real jerk not to.”
“I think you’re a jerk if you become a lawyer to make your dad happy.”
“Don’t hold back. Tell me what you really think.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just, that is so stupid. It’s your life, Max. If you don’t want to be a lawyer, how can you resign yourself to doing it for the rest of your life? That is so bleak.”
“Everything is not about passion and following your dream. Get real, Kylie. Grow up. People do tons of crap they don’t want to do. I mean, does someone wake up one day and say, Man, I want to pick up people’s garbage more than anything in the world?”
I’m getting a little too intense. I look away.
“Okay. I get it,” Kylie says. “Not everyone gets to do exactly what they want to do. But don’t most parents want the best for their kids? Wouldn’t your dad want you to pursue your passion?”
“Pretty sure he wants me to be a lawyer. He thinks the arts are, ‘No way to make a living.’ I’m quoting here. You should talk. Doesn’t sound like your parents are so into you studying film. And, no offense, but it’s a total long shot. I mean, I hope you have a plan B.” That comes out a little harsher than I intended.