The Script, It Called For Rain, But It Was Clear That Day...So We Faked It

Hello, everyone! It’s been almost three months since my last post on this blog, which makes me sigh at first, until I realize that the reason I haven’t posted anything is because of how busy I have been these past few months. I’ve been writing and working and watching movies and traveling and meeting people, but most importantly, I’ve been making movies.

Okay, “making movies” sounds like I’ve been pumping out feature-length films these past three months, but in actuality, I’ve been involved with the creation of two short films. The first one, Break-Up Practice, was written by yours truly and directed by my good friend James Swarts-Kinsey. We’re working on the final edit right now and should have it finished and uploaded by mid-April. I’m really really excited about it.

The second one is why I’m writing this blog post. My good friend Matthew Miller, the mind behind the Shadow|Shine production company, called me one day and told me he was going to direct a short film, and that he thought I would be a solid choice to play the lead role. Having worked with him before (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JH7aeMdEKwc), I eagerly scheduled a Skype audition and eventually was given the part. What I thought would be a fun way to work with a good friend on a little project again ended up being a reawakening of my passion for acting, a life-changing experience, and a far larger undertaking than I expected.

It turned out this “little project” was actually the final senior project of Cornerstone University’s film students. The cast varied in age and experience, and the crew reached numbers of over 30 people. Everyone had a specific job, and mine was to be the lead role, acting seriously for the first time in four years (two if you count that music video), and I was terrified. Matt was the only person I knew, and if I messed up, 30 people I did not know would see said mess up. But, as things do, everything worked out far better than I could have ever expected. I learned so much about filmmaking over those six days of shooting, and made some great new friends in the process. I’m going to recap those days below and give not only some behind-the-scenes from my own experiences, but explore just how this experience changed and influenced me as a person. (I’m not going to include much of the plot or description of the set as to not give anything away before it’s finished. Besides, it’s long enough as it is.)

Day 0 – Rehearsal: The cast met at Rosie’s Diner, a cute but condemned building just north of Grand Rapids. There was no heat, electricity, or plumbing, and since the building was entirely made of metal, it was essentially an icebox. Matt assured us that it would be heated for the shoot (if you were there, you’re probably laughing at that), and I met the other actors. They are all such sweet people, each having different experiences with acting in the past, and we clicked as well as any cast meeting for the first time. I had no idea just how much I would grow to love these people in such a short time.

Day 1 – Rosie’s Diner: I woke up before the sun, ate a small breakfast, and drove to set with Matt, Michael (Matt’s brother and an amazing 2^nd AD), and Nate (director of photography and all-around brilliant fellow). I remember Matt saying, “Put on something upbeat,” and Michael turned on the song “Sunday, Bloody Sunday.” For some reason, that was hilarious to me. Anyway, this was my first time meeting the crew, another group of people I would grow to love very much. I was so nervous. And if you know me, you know that I get very quiet when I’m nervous. And then my nervousness got more intense when I realized that by not talking, I was probably coming off as some high-on-himself actor who felt he was above the peasant crew, which was not the case. Watching them unload everything and set it up was fascinating to me. I had never seen most of this technology before, so I stood off to the side and observed (not that I could have done anything, as they were working for a grade and I didn’t know what half the stuff was). The thing that caught me off guard the most, however, was being referred to as “The Talent.” All of the actors were called The Talent on set, which made me kind of uncomfortable at first. I was being continually checked up on (“Are you warm enough? Would you like water?” etc.). I was treated as this commodity that needed close maintenance, when in reality all I wanted to do was help contribute to making a great short film. Eventually I got comfortable enough to joke around about being called The Talent, but not for the first couple days. Here were all these people making sure I was comfortable while they were working hard in the freezing cold, and all I had to do was wait for shooting to begin. It seemed off to me, and it resulted in my losing respect for actors who complain about petty things like coffee flavor or room temperature. The crew works much harder than actors do (the majority of the time), and to complain about red M&M’s in your bowl when people are lifting heavy lights to try to make you look half decent is just childish.

Wow, these descriptions are long. I’ll try to hit some of the big details, but I’m omitting a large portion of the experience. If you want to hear more, I’m more than willing to talk about it in person.

Anyway, Day 1 was cold. So, so cold. It never got above 28 degrees in that little diner, and we had to work hard so our breath wouldn’t show up on camera. But despite the freezing temperatures, I was feeling a warmth and passion I hadn’t felt in a long time: acting.

Day 2 – Rosie’s Diner (again): This was the day I really got into my character. The cast and crew came back to the diner, ready to face the brutal chill (we even sent people over early to get the generators going and set up space heaters to make it a little more bearable when everyone else arrived), and it was my “big day.” This was the day that the majority of the focus was on my character and therefore on me. I had a lengthy shot that was around a minute of only me talking, arguing with the narrator (who will eventually be added in as a voiceover). That was one of the things I was most proud of, personally, because it was the first time I really felt in tune with the character I was playing, and the first time I got a big chunk of solo spotlight. After the second 12-hour day in a row, I still wanted to keep shooting. Everything was turning on for me: the acting, the energy, and I was even getting to know the cast and crew better. I couldn’t wait until the next day.

Day 3 – The Warehouse: Thank God for heat. Also, I got to wear a leather jacket and carry a (fake) gun. Getting to play a revenge-thirsty Chicago cop was one of the manliest things I think I have ever done, and it felt good. Granted, the short film is a comedy and seeing me try to act tough is, well, comedic. Having a “love your neighbor,” “turn the other cheek,” anarcho-pacifist play a city cop bent on murderous revenge could not have been a stranger match, but I guess that’s why they call it acting. And once I found that character (and could put my personal beliefs aside to play said character), I had such an amazing time. Not to mention, I like to think I pulled off “rugged revenge cop” rather well.

This was also the day I got much closer to the cast and crew. We all sat around (comfortably…again, thank God for heat) and talked about life and movies and music and Tolkien. I really bonded with quite a few people. It was amazing. This marked the halfway point in the shoot and I was already sad that it would end. I wanted to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and discuss The Hobbit and debate film and make jokes every day for the rest of my life.

Day 4 – The Office Building: More heat! Huzzah! This day was more of doing what I love with people I was growing to love more and more. I could gush for hours, but I’ll save you the saccharine. The biggest personal realization that came from this day happened when I was alone in the office room, looking out the window over the city of Grand Rapids. It was quiet, I wasn’t yet in costume, and the city was sprawled in front of me. It was in this moment that I felt very much at peace, and a strange sort of fiery, bass-y “voice” echoed in my gut/chest/head that said something I’d been longing to hear for a while: this is the next step. You see, I’ve been kind of quiet about it, but the prospect of where I would be when my lease is up has been weighing on my mind. I knew I didn’t want to stay in Kalamazoo, there was a possibility of moving to California with Jamey, but overall I had no real lead on what to do. Then, when this moment happened, I realized that I would be living in Grand Rapids next year. It’s a bigger city, full of fresh faces and new experiences, an untapped treasure chest of learning. It’s close enough to home that a Christmas visit wouldn’t drain my bank account, but far enough away to really start (or rather, continue) my post-college life. I would speculate as to whether or not I would come to this realization had I not done this short film, but this post is already long enough as it is. Let’s continue.

Day 5 – Funeral Scene: The title of this post is a lyric from the song “Clark Gable” by The Postal Service, but it is also a reference to this day. We made it rain. Okay, I just really wanted to say that, but we did use a hose to simulate rain and it was sososososo cold. I mean, not Rosie’s Diner cold, but still hand-numbing. Again, despite the cold, it was still a great time. The spaghetti was delicious.

Day 6 – Car Stuff: This was probably the most stressful day since it was a lot of little shots taking place in three different locations. (Cam’s famous homemade pizza eased the stress so very much. Yum and a half.) But by the end of the day, I was just crushed that the principal photography had wrapped. Sure, I’m glad we got it all done on time, but I wanted to keep everything going for weeks and weeks. Like the cliché goes, though, everything comes to an end.

Day 7 – Pick-Up Day: This day was unexpected. We had to reshoot some stuff in the studio, and it was just Matt, Nate, Crystal, and myself. The four of us were tired, and kinda loopy, but we got everything finished. All that’s left is some voiceover recording that I will be doing this week, hopefully.

Gosh, it sucks to re-read that and realize that I barely dented the surface of all of the amazing things that happened over the past two weeks. If you were involved in the production, you probably feel like I left out a lot (which I did), but don’t think that because I omitted so much, I don’t remember everything. This has been such a life-changing experience for me. Thank you so much to everyone who was a part of it; thank you to Matt, Nate, and Cam for letting me live with you for a few days; and thank you to the One who gave me the passions and talents of writing and acting when I was being made. I can’t wait to see how this short film turns out.

Here’s to storytelling, cinema, and a community of creative and wonderful artists (I love you all)!

lovelovelove,

Adam

Let The Past Go

As is the norm when a year comes to a close, I have lately been reflecting on the events of the past twelve months. This retrospect has been met with a reaction combining nostalgia, relief, and hope, more so this year than others in the past, and it is because of this that I feel compelled to write this collection of thoughts.

2012 was a massive year for me. No matter which area of life I focus upon, I am met with the realization that much has happened to me this year, things both positive and negative. Friendships were broken and made, romantic relationships were made and broken, school was completed and “real life” was begun…oh, and my car exploded.

For the purpose of this post, I’ll break down each month individually as I remember it. I’ll probably leave some things out and move stuff around, not intentionally of course, but I’ll do my best to recall the things that were prominent in that specific month. Then I’ll probably write some big summary of what I think it all means, reference some themes and whatnot, and then tell you all that love is what matters most (that tends to be how these things go). Okay, here it is: 2012 in Retrospect.

(This is the part where you can skip through the months if you don’t feel like reading the whole thing. The end is better anyway.)

January:

The year began with the start of my final semester of college. I went into it with an “I can do this” attitude (judging by my Tumblr posts at the time…yes, I am using them as a guide to write these summaries), and things were looking up. I spent a lot of time with my friends, going to Taco Bell and debating the “necessity” of war. SOPA was a thing (remember that?) and my adoration of writer/director/actor Mark Duplass was budding. Say Anything’s album “Anarchy, My Dear” was on the verge of release, and my friend Hannah from Colorado came to visit. I had completed my first full-length screenplay. I had already decided which classes I hated and which ones I would give a real effort. Let’s see…oh, I made a mix CD for my now-roommate that ended up being one of my favorite Winter mix CDs of all time (in addition to the one she gave me as well), I had recently become obsessed with How I Met Your Mother, I saw The Artist and thought the lead actress looked like a girl I was crushing on (who ended up becoming my girlfriend a few months later…), and most importantly, something big was about to happen to me.

February:

The second month of the year was a messy one, to say the least. But being able to look back on it, I see that it was not the end of a slew of friendships but the beginning of much bigger things. A few of the most important people in my life at the time decided (and for a pretty good reason) that they wanted nothing more to do with me, and this caused me to take a step back and re-evaluate how I was living my life, specifically in the romance department. Well, speaking of the romance department, around the same time I began getting to know a girl who would eventually become the second serious relationship I would have in my entire college career (I’m really picky). I went on a trip to Wisconsin with some very good friends and had an incredible time, especially seeing The Promise Ring play a reunion show. Oh, and I got really angry about Midnight In Paris winning Best Original Screenplay at the Oscars.

March:

This was the month I announced that I was planning to record an EP of electropop music (which ended up being released November 1^st). This was the month I saw Harley Poe and mewithoutYou within two days of each other. This was the month I got really sick over Spring Break. This was the month I was single for the last time until the Summer. This was the month KONY was a thing. This was the month I saw The Puffy Chair, and my adoration for Mark Duplass was solidified. This was the month I knew just how serious I was about dating the girl who had my attention.

April:

April began with making my relationship “official” and having a girlfriend for the first time in three years. Life was good. I was in the home stretch of a crazy college career, and most of my activities included my girlfriend and a movie. I was happier in April than I’d been in a long time. My life was full of friends, couple-stuff, music, film…and a strange lack of writing output. But that didn’t bother me at the time because I was on my way to completing college. Life was good again. That is, life was good until my car exploded with only two weeks of school left, my stress was at a crazy high, and I was sick again. The metaphor from that night was enough to inspire the entire climax of the screenplay I’m currently writing. But I was still out of a car.

May/June/July/August:

I graduated! I was a free man! No more school, a bunch of friends, a wonderful girlfriend, and a “real life” that could finally begin. Or so I thought. I’m combining these three months into one collective bit because this Summer was divided into events for me, instead of actual months. For instance, I went to a co-worker’s wedding, which ended up changing my life. I wasn’t single yet, but part of me realized when I saw the two of them dancing their first dance together that I didn’t feel that way about my girlfriend. Naturally, I ignored this. I visited my girlfriend and had an amazing time, but there was a distance there that we hadn’t felt before, part of which was due to the actual distance and part of which was due to a difference in some vital aspects of our lives that I really don’t want to bring up in this post. The 4^th of July party in Chicago was a great time, as well. I also saw Nada Surf live, which was amazing, but that’s when things started getting rocky with my girlfriend and I. Then, on July 26^th, we broke up. She said the reason was the distance, but we only had a month left of Summer. It was bound to happen anyway, though, and in the end, I’m glad it happened when it did. People were there for me, and for that, I’ll always be thankful. I couch-surfed all Summer, and I can’t thank Rhiannon enough for her couch (remember when my stuff got locked in my room?) or Dustin for his futon (Loki is lucky to still have his life). I hung out with Tara a lot, which is always a wonderful time. And I got closer to my friend Brittany, who is now my roommate. This Summer was rough…but there were moments of bright light to get me through it.

September:

I gave myself a fresh start and moved to Kalamazoo. I wrote almost every single day, went on long walks, and felt at peace. Thus began one of the best Autumns of my entire life.

October:

I turned 23 on the 15^th of this month. Other than that, I wrote, worked, and watched movies. Oh, and I got paid to be a zombie for Zombiefest, and I watched every single A Nightmare on Elm Street film in a span of four days.

November:

I wrote, worked, and watched movies. I also released my Up n Adam EP “Cartoon Heart” on the 1^st, which is something I’d wanted to do for a long time. At the end of this month, I saw Harley Poe again with Tara and a new friend, Natasha.

December:

I wrote, worked, and watched movies. I also released an Up n Adam holiday EP, saw The Chariot live, and watched Braid perform “Frame and Canvas” in its entirety live. I ended the year with a two-day shoot of a short film I wrote called Break-Up Practice, which was one of the most fun (and exhausting) experiences of my entire year. It was the best way to bring 2012 to a close.

(Okay, if you were skipping the months, start again here.)

Looking at how sparse those last few months are, one might think I just got boring or something. However, I realized partway through writing all of this that a summary of the past year really doesn’t matter. What really matters in all of this is that I lived every month, week, day to the fullest, which is an overwhelming cliché.  See, I could never actually capture what really has mattered to me over the past year in a summary. The friendship and love I’ve been shown and shared with everyone could never be contained in a blog post. On the same note, all of the pain and stress could never be contained in here either.

When it’s all said and done, I know I’ve grown as a person over the past year. I know I’ve become a slightly clearer version of the man I need to be, and I know more of the things I need to work on to grow even further. A year cannot be contained or summarized, unless one’s life is boring or stable. But I am 23 years old, and I would by no means describe my life as boring or stable. This past year has been noisy. It has been static-filled, as well as blindingly clear. It has been heartbreaking and heartwarming. If nothing else, I can say this: I lived in 2012. I hope to say the same about 2013, and every year to come until the day I die a wrinkly, weak, old man overflowing with memories or a young man in mid-metaphorical-scream at the world.

But before I close this long-winded post, I would like to say something more, concerning the title. (The name of this post comes from the song “Let the Past Go” by Joy Electric from the album Dwarf Mountain Alphabet, if you were wondering.) Over the past couple weeks, I have realized something very important about this New Year: it will be the first year of my coherent life that I will not be in some sort of educational establishment. Not only that, but I am starting the year single and living away from my family. Pardon the tiredness of this statement, but my “real life” is starting with 2013 (I suppose I could draw some metaphor from the whole “apocalypse” thing that happened a week or so ago, but I won’t). This New Year shall be a fresh start unlike any I’ve had before. I can let the past, the pain, the negativity, and the bad things from my entire time in school and that time of my life, all of that go. I can be whoever I want to be. And I will. I am going to start this year with hope and a first step toward what will eventually become a new past. It’s a busier road with more lanes, more cars, and countless exits, but I’m ready for it.

It’s time to let the past go. Here’s to 2013.

lovelovelove,

Adam

What's My Age Again?

"Nobody likes you when you're 23."
- Blink-182, 'What's My Age Again?'

Two hours ago, my 23rd birthday came to a close. I can hardly believe I am 23 years old, but here I am, sitting on my bed at 2am writing a blog post, 23 years old.

My birthday did not start the way I wanted it to; in fact, I'd venture to say that I felt awful when I woke up this morning and was immediately irked that I felt as such on my birthday. I suppose I was expecting to wake up well-rested (which was ludicrous, considering I went to bed around 4am the previous night) and hop out of bed and sing songs to some cartoon birds and eat a delicious breakfast fed to me by Emma Stone, Emily Browning, Emily Blunt, or any actress named Emily, and have a shining day full of "...because it's my birthday" moments set to a happy soundtrack. My morning had exactly zero of these traits. Thank God.

How very lucky for me that I am not in control of every event in my life. In fact, I am in control of very little indeed. But again, lucky for me, I have people in my life who are always there for me when I need to get over myself and shut up.

And that person on this particular birthday was my roommate, and one of my best friends, Brittany.

I woke up to an empty apartment, had my little hissy fit to myself about how it's my birthday and I shouldn't be tired and the internet shouldn't be slow. Brittany came home with some bags from Target, a story about how she splurged on some new clothes, and open ears to my whining. After I mentioned that I'd been born twenty minutes from that moment, Brittany had an idea that changed the course of my day.

"What if you take a shower and get out when you were born?"
"Like a rebirth?"
"Yeah, that way you could start your day over."
"...I'm gonna go strip down to my placenta. See you when I get out of the shower womb."

And it worked.

I trimmed my beard and put on clean clothes and ate some Cheerios and got over myself. I realized that I was so consumed with the arrogance of trying to plan my day to make everything perfect that I was heading down a path that would make it not even close to enjoyable. Thank God for humbling friends.

My birthday adventure was simple, but wonderful. Brittany and I spent the day shopping, splurging, talking ourselves out of buyer's guilt, and eating Chipotle. I got new movies, CDs, books, and clothes. I got a full stomach. But most importantly, I got to spend hours with someone who has become one of my closest friends over the past year. (Not to mention, when I got out of the BirthShower this morning, she had the first season of Adventure Time, a mix CD, some candy, and some glowsticks waiting for me in an adorably colored bag.)

After we got back to the apartment, I finally completed Final Fantasy VII (a game I'd spent hours playing over the years, but never had actually beaten) and watched the first two Paranormal Activity movies with Brittany and Rhiannon, another close friend of mine.

And here we are. 23, sitting on a bed at 2am, writing a blog post. After I post this, I'm going to upload a song from my almost-finished EP. I'm going to change into my pajamas. I'm going to go to bed. And I'm going to continue thinking about how I need to love more and stop being so full of myself. I guess some things never change, but thank God for never giving up on trying to teach me the universal lesson: love.

So here's to another year. May it be full of love and living for all of us. Thank you for being in my life so far, in one way or another.

Love,
Adam

"It's 17, 18, 19, routine, and here at 23, it's the same old me."
- Relient K, 'Maintain Consciousness'

No Ideas

Don't be confused by the title of this post; I am certainly not out of ideas. Honestly, quite the opposite has been happening lately, and I couldn't be happier. But more on that later.

I've been looking forward to posting this piece since I wrote it, simply because I love it. It's not my best work or anything, but there's something about it that I'm really proud of, and I can't wait to share it with you.

It's another one of these prose poems that I hacked up and arranged into a "real" poem (no, I don't want to get into the prose poetry debate right now), because for some reason this is the style that has come out when I sit down to write lately. When I hack it up like this, I can focus on the collections of words that I really like and want to accent without having to dig through text blocks.
I wrote this poem less than a month ago, if I remember correctly. It means a lot to me, and there are moments in it that I really enjoy, and I hope you do too!

--

No Ideas

I thought her skin on mine would save me, but it was

her mind on a paintbrush that woke me. Her heart was on

the page of a used book and I think

she might be the most beautiful girl in the world.

She is the most beautiful girl in the world.

And she has no idea.

Fresh air, crisp night, her art.

A brush hangs from between her teeth, resting on soft lips,

and she has no idea.

(She came over to me again and rested her head on my shoulder. She was smirking. I swear she could hear the cardiovibration in my chest; I like to think she did, at least. And before I could catch my breath, she was back on the floor conjuring colours to her will once more, and yes I used that spelling on purpose.)

She makes me want to draw creatures that do not exist and

name them after her movements and sounds—

her sighs and her shrugs, her screams and

her smiles. Her smiles

alone would be a race all its own.

These monsters aren’t really monsters at all. But we have no idea.

I would draw her if I could,

or take a photograph,

but I have no concept of lighting. I have no idea. Then again

the world has seemed dimmer since I first saw her smile.

She sits on the floor in her pajamas,

glowing. My emotion should be tangible.

The heat from my bloodflow should have ignited me.

But I am unnoticed,

my clothes dirty, and two fans

are blowing into bloodshot eyes.

And she has no idea.

--

One last thing before I post this: I won't be posting any new writing next week, but will instead be writing a regular blog post about some updates and such. There are exciting things happening in my life and I look forward to sharing them with you.

love.

Adam

Hinges

I wasn't sure I wanted to post this poem so late at night, as most people who read this will read this in the morning anyway, but I was itching to post it all day so I'm doing it.

This poem differs from the last two posts in the sense that this one is less universal in meaning and intent, and more specific to a time in my life. That's all I'll say about that.

I hope you enjoy it.

love.

PS. I'm really looking forward to next week's post.

--

Hinges

That twin-sized bed never was big enough for both of us.

The doorway was a picture frame,

and you bit your lip and this was how I would remember you.

My shirt draped over your limbs,

a sheet on a sapling,

filling me with longing but knowing

it was too big. That was the point. I needed to brush my teeth;

bristles on enamel, spit, rinse.

-

I returned and you were face down, sheets pulled back just enough to whet my eyes. The two of us in bed was like a pair of sticks whose cores never touched, but were twisted enough within one another’s branches to merit the title of tangled.

Every four breaths, our bodies would, together, rise and fall.

My shirt was too big and my bed was too small.

Fissures of Men

Hello again, everyone!

I realize I'm a couple days behind this whole "post a new piece once a week" thing, but I just moved to Kalamazoo and didn't have time to attend to this. However, I got the wifi in my apartment to work, so now I can continue.

This next piece is a poem I wrote this past Summer. It was originally formatted in simple paragraphs, and not in the way it is now, but I got home from work today and realized this is a poem, and not a prose poem like I thought (the specifics of which are not important).

So without further ado, here is Fissures of Men. As always, comments and helpful criticisms are appreciated!

love.

--

Fissures of Men

You told me you don’t believe in anything

beyond what we can see.

It was the middle of the night;

dawn was hours away. We were wrapped in blankets,

twisting around us like vines,

and you were naked, but I wasn’t—

or was it the other way around?

When those words left your lips, our bed cracked in half

and an oceanic chasm threatened to pull us to its depths

by our ankles. I reached across and I smiled

feeling you reaching too

and our fingertips touched.

-

I can see the way you look down at me, your eyes trying to suck mine dry. I can see your lips and tongue, tracing and licking my bones clean. I can see the way your hips move on mine, waves crashing. I can see the way your dark hair cracks across the pillow, the impact of your brilliance on bland fabric. I can see your body, bare and pink, and precious.

I tell you that what we can see proves something beyond what we can see.

You roll over and go back to sleep.

Our faults are our faults.

The Chase

Hello, everyone! Back so soon?

Like I mentioned in my last post, I wrote a few short pieces this Summer, and I would like to post them here. However, I am only going to post one per week in September (and if I continue writing short things in addition to the big projects, this will continue past September).

I would like to start with a flash fiction story called "The Chase" that I wrote one day in June, if I remember correctly. I just remember an image of a young woman walking out of a shop with a sunflower appearing in my head, and when I started writing it, this story came out with it.

As always, feedback is appreciated. Enjoy!

lovelovelove

Adam

--

The Chase

He saw her for the first time as she was coming out of a flower shop holding a single sunflower. Her sundress, a navy blue, floated ethereal under the light lift of the breeze, and her hair, the same shade as the center of the flower, followed the lead of the cloth. He could not see her face; there was a smudge on the window.

The desire to follow her, to introduce himself and perhaps spark some sort of something, was gravitational. They were on the outskirts of the city, straddling the blurred line between the industrial fields of buildings and the natural metropolis of cornstalks, but she was looking toward the skyscrapers. He dropped the last two bites of his sandwich and left a tip, feeling the force of the summer heat before hearing the diner door slam shut behind him. By this time, she was already heading toward downtown, a ray of light darting for dark.

He walked quickly, wondering how she could have gotten so far ahead of him in so little time. As he weaved between businessmen, the air became heavier; it was as though the heart of the city toward which he was headed was a heat source in itself. Each step summoned more sweat. However, the woman flowed through the crowd with ease, dripping down the sidewalk that scorched him so.

When she reached the apartment steps, he felt shade-like relief, knowing the chase had finally ceased. He placed his foot on the first step. Her back was to him.

“Hey, I—“

He touched her shoulder, the navy cloth hot on his fingers. She turned; his heart blazed bright in scalding anticipation.

But her eyes were cool pools of blue. Her skin washed smoothly over her face. Her smile was a splash of seaspray. She was raindrop frail and yet storm strong.

His entire being was extinguished.

“Oh, sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

She smiled, nodded, and continued up the complex steps, giving him a small wave and saying nothing.

He hailed a taxi and climbed into the filthy yellow machine. The sludge-spotted sunray sped toward the fields, out of the city. A smudge on the window kept the sun out of his eyes as it set over the corn stalks.