It felt like . . . like someone was watching me.
Maybe I was just being paranoid, but I scanned the parking lot. There were people, lots of them, and no one was paying any attention to me, but the feeling didn’t go away. Even when I got into my car and turned it on, the sensation lingered like summer’s heat.As I was walking the path along the still waters of Centennial Lake, I lifted my camera and stepped back. Composition of a photo pretty much came down to the rule of the thirds. Of course, it didn’t work for all photos and I didn’t follow the rule for outdoors ones. I always liked photos where the object was slightly off-centered.
I snapped a picture of one of the largest trees, loving the contrast of its leaves against the deep blue of the sky. Then I zoomed in on the burnt gold and red leaves.
I didn’t like to look at my pictures until I got home and was able to load them onto my computer. If I got caught up in checking them out, I’d end up just focusing on one image and miss everything else around me.
Keeping to the edge of the pathway, I was careful not to bother the joggers and people walking their dogs. There were a lot of people out, and as the day progressed, the park would be packed. I could already hear childlike shouts and giggles coming from the playground.
I came to Centennial Lake often, at least once a week for the last year or so. I loved being outside, taking pictures even though I knew I probably wasn’t that good at it. Mom said my film was great and that I had talent. So did Zoe and Heidi. James wasn’t interested unless the photos were of hot chicks in bikinis. Usually April laughed at my pictures. That was if she was paying attention when I shared them.
I doubted Mom or Zoe would tell me I was terrible. Sucking didn’t matter, though. It wasn’t why I took pictures. I did it because of how it made me feel.
Or how it didn’t make me feel.
My brain just sort of emptied out while I had a camera in my hand. I didn’t think about anything—about how scary the invasion had been. I didn’t think about the surreal quality of the last four years or what had happened the night at the club. I sure as hell didn’t think about the kiss that didn’t even count as a real kiss. Or everything my mom had told me.
The camera put a wall up between the world and me, and it was an escape, one I looked forward to. I cut off the pathway and trekked up a small mound that overlooked the playground, then sat down. Laughter and squeals drew my attention and I lifted the camera, catching a small girl darting from the slides to the swings, her pigtails bouncing. Another kid, a little boy, nearly belly-flopped off the swing, letting the seat spin back. I caught the empty seat swinging, snapping a picture of it floating, the seat cockeyed in flight.
I sucked in a shallow breath, feeling a sudden burn in the back of my throat.
I slowly lowered the camera and watched kids race back and forth from one playground set to another. Everything about them was carefree and happy. Innocent. They were lucky. None of them remembered that utterly all-consuming fear. None of them remembered what it was like to go to bed wondering what kind of world we were going to wake up in come morning, if there would even be a world. They had the freedom the rest of us had had the minute and second before our lives had imploded.
The invasion had been so traumatic that I had a hard time remembering anything before it. I mean, I could remember things, but those memories were fuzzy and faint compared to that night the Luxen came and the days afterward. I’d looked it up once, to see if that was common, and it was. These kids, though, they’d never have—
Stop.
Closing my eyes, I forced a long, deep breath out. When I held the camera, I didn’t think. When I took a picture, I didn’t feel.
Today was not going to change that and ruin it.
Pressing my lips together, I shook it out—shook my shoulders and arms, wiggled all the way down to my butt planted in the grass. It probably looked weird, but I pictured all the fears and worries being rattled right off me, and it worked. I opened my eyes again, and the unwanted knot of emotion was gone.
Once I got myself in check, I lifted the camera again, moving away from the playground and over the walkway. I started to get a long shot of the lake, but my attention was snagged. My finger slipped over the zoom button before I even knew what I was doing.