The dry air was especially hot today, and humid, too. The highway cut a clean slice through the desert. They both wore sunglasses. Bill let Chris borrow a second pair of his. Chris kept at least a small smile on his face while they drove.

The churning rumble of the engine gave Chris a slight massage. For a few brief seconds he comprehended how fast 75 miles an hour really was. He got the sensation of being shot across the landscape, deeper and deeper into the desert. The car flew past countless rock formations. The earth unfolded before him. The car drove deeper and deeper, endlessly approaching what all this redundant landscape was hiding. At any moment the world might stop unfolding and present the end of the tunnel, yet the desert created an endless cycle of rocks and mountains.

“Hey, Chris,” Bill picked up a folded map and gave it to Chris. “Can you take a look at the map and tell me what freeway we are going to merge onto eventually?”

“Oh, yeah… sure.” Chris took a look at the map. They currently drove on the interstate 40, approaching the Arizona to California border. “It’s the 15 south. Then, after that, merge to the 10.”

“Ok, thanks.”

Chris took a look at their destination – Los Angeles. All the orange lines representing the interstate highways lead to L.A., forming a grid of freeways on top of the city. Everything connected to L.A. It was the center of the universe for the western United States. The freeways looked like strings of spider web, with L.A. at the center. Everything gravitated there. Not even the glorious San Francisco escaped Los Angeles’s magnetic pull.

Chris folded up the map and placed it on the dashboard. He leaned back to resume looking out the cockpit window of Bill’s car. Now Chris knew what he was being shot toward, what the end of the tunnel was, what the world unfolded to present to him.

The 40 crossed the Colorado River. Chris announced that he desired to go swimming. Bill eventually found a good place to park and dive into the river.

Chris stripped down to his boxers before Bill was even out of the car. Bill followed a trail of clothes to a waterhole off the bank of the river. Bill casually took off his clothes. He cautiously got into the water. Chris sat with his arms stretched out on the ground. Their legs lay on the floor of the pool, the water almost reached the top of their chests.

Chris’s fingers glided across the surface of the water, creating ripples that spread across the waterhole.

“Where are you travelling from?” He asked Bill.

“I live in – I mean, I used to live in New Orleans.”

“Oh, yeah? Did you like it there?”

“Yeah, it was great.”

“That’s a pretty long drive, why didn’t you fly?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just prefer to drive. I feel like when you fly you miss all the scenery, you know?”

“I agree. When you fly you aren’t moving through places, you are moving around them. When I travel I want the journey to be an experience.”

“Yeah…”

“But for really long trips, especially overseas, I think taking a plane is good.”

“Uh-huh, definitely.”

“Also, I like the idea of leaving home, leaving everything behind, to go out into the world alone to follow your dreams. Even if you have nothing, just heading to some big city to follow your passion.”

“Seems like that’s what we are doing.”

Chris smiled and nodded toward the sky.

“Although,” continued Bill, “I don’t really like the idea of leaving everything behind, leaving your friends and family behind.”

Chris looked down at the water and nodded sadly. For some time, Chris stared silently into the water with a melancholy expression on his face.

“Hey, Bill,” Chris finally broke the silence, his voice heavy-laden with sadness. “Have you ever met someone that just has some strange, special quality that makes you want to be with them all the time?”

Bill looked puzzled.

“Maybe… what exactly do you mean?”

Chris changed his sitting position.

“I mean, like… have you ever met someone, that – even if you have only known them for a little while – you just immediately care about for some reason? Someone you find really interesting and fun, and want to talk to all day?”

“No, I can’t say that I have.”

“I knew a girl like that when I was a teenager.”

“Oh, was she your girlfriend?”

“No, it wasn’t like that. We were just friends. But we hardly ever saw each other.” Chris paused for a few moments. “I had intense and confused feelings toward her…. Anyway, by the time we grew up and went off to college, we had drifted away from each other. It was always so difficult for us to see each other. I never had the ability to take her out so we could spend the day together. I had no car, no money. I wanted to be some successful person that could take her out for a day to do whatever she wanted. To have a perfect day together, just the two of us. But I never could. I never got the chance.” Chris paused here. “I thought about asking her to come with me to L.A.… But it didn’t work out… I never got around to calling.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok. Actually, I’d really like to giver her a call. Yes. That’s what I’ll do, I’ll call her in L.A.”

“I’ve got a cell phone, you can call her right now if you want.”

“Really!” Chris got excited, but soon faded into depression. “Oh, I can’t, I don’t know her phone number….”

“Oh….”

After some more time, they both decided to get out of the water and continue their journey. They spread themselves over some rocks to help the sun dry them. Chris appeared to have forgotten his high school friend, for he became quite excited to complete their trip. They climbed back into the car and roared off toward the ocean.

The cool night air flowed through Chris’s hair and up the sleeves of his t-shirt, cooling off his armpits that had gotten a little sweaty during the drive. The fluffy clouds looked dark and ominous looming in the evening sky. He wiggled his toes in the sand, gazing beyond the horizon, taking in the massive scope of the world. He felt thirsty, and swallowed dryly. Chris also noted how hungry he was. He listened to the calming sound of the waves rolling onto the beach and sliding back into the ocean.

“Hey, Chris,” Bill’s voice sucked Chris out of his dreamy calmness, sending him back to reality. Chris turned to look at Bill, who stood on the Venice boardwalk, leaning on his car. “Do you want to give your friend a call now?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

Chris trudged through the sand up to Bill. Chris opened his wallet. He pulled out a piece of paper with an address and phone number written on it. Bill handed Chris his cellphone. Chris dialed the number.

“Hello, Arthur Chesterfield? ... It’s Chris… Yes, I just got into town; I’m over at Venice beach… That would be great… Can I bring a friend?” Chris laughed at some joke, Bill heard the man on the phone say, “sure, mind if I bring my wife” and then something else. “Yeah, I’ve got your address… Great, we’ll be there soon… Ok, good-bye.” Chris hung up the phone. He handed it back to Bill.

“So what’s going on?” Bill asked.

“We are going to have dinner with my friend, if you want to, that is.”

“I’d love to.”

“Great. He said to drive over there and he’ll take us to the restaurant.”

“Ok, so where’s he live?”

“Here’s his address.” Chris handed Bill the slip of paper from his wallet.

They got a map of L.A. and quickly found the house. Arthur Chesterfield lived in a Beverly Hills mansion. They both stared open mouthed at the elegant palace.

“Have you been here before?” asked Bill.

“Nope.”

They strolled through the large and well-cut lawn up to the front door slightly nervous. Bill rang the doorbell and straightened out his clothes. Chris ran his hands through his hair and realized how greasy it had become.

A tall, middle-aged man, wearing a welcoming smile, looking just as elegant as his house, opened one of the double doors. He wore a gray three-piece suit. He had a handsome face that was just beginning to wrinkle. His gray hair was combed back. His lean, friendly face had sharp features. He immediately smiled and extended his hand out to Chris. Chris took his hand and shook it.

“Great to see you, Chris.”

“Great to see you too, Mr. Chesterfield.”

“Oh, please, call me Arthur. Is this the friend you mentioned on the phone?”

“Yes, this is my friend, Bill Rogers.”

“Pleasure to meet you sir,” said Bill as he shook Arthur’s hand.

“Great to meet you too. Come on in, my wife should be almost ready by now.”

Arthur led his guests into the living room. The house looked as if it were made entirely of marble. The house had the perfect amount of furniture, not an empty space in the house yet the rooms remained spacious, allowing a person to appreciate the impressive size of the house. Arthur considered offering them a drink, but remembered they were about to leave. They heard the sound of someone in heels walking down the stairs. Arthur’s wife walked gracefully into the living room. She wore a green dress that went well with her brown hair. Arthur put his arm around his wife.

“Linda, this is Chris and Bill. Gentleman, this is my wonderful wife, Linda.”

Bill shook her hand, “Pleasure to meet you, I’m Bill Rogers.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

Chris burst into an elaborate and comedic – but still charming – bow, he took her hand and kissed it.

“You must be Chris,” she laughed, “My husband mentions you quite a lot. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Chris threw up a hand of disapproval and put his chin up. “No, the pleasure is entirely mine.” His seriousness faded away. A smile grew onto his face.

“Well,” Arthur began with a big smile, “Whatta ya say we go get dinner.”

And with that, Arthur led his wife and guests to his Mercedes. Arthur flicked the light switch and the garage exploded into light. The Mercedes impressed Bill. He and Arthur had a casual conversation about the car. Chris lingered with his hands in his jacket pockets. Linda got into the car first, the men soon followed.

Arthur pulled out into the night. Chris leaned back in his seat. He was so comfortable he almost fell asleep. He felt tired. He wanted to relax, to enjoy the calming music dripping out of the radio. Chris had always loved jazz. “So What”, by Miles Davis. God, that was just the best. Chris loved how powerful the song was, and yet so calm. The feel of the song contained Chris’s feel on life. Starting out slow, picking up speed. Just like Chris’s life. The noire feel of the whole thing, God, did Chris love it. It was class. It was East and West Egg. It was the Rat Pack, “The Sting”, and Sinatra, and Fitzgerald. It was Gatsby.

It, was life!

But Arthur and Bill talked too much. Chris couldn’t hear the music very well over their voices. That annoyed Chris. Why couldn’t they just wait to talk in the restaurant? Hey! There’s some great music on the radio – let’s start a conversation! Chris slumped in his seat. They were still talking about cars. Chris hated it when people talked about cars. Linda was awfully quiet. He wondered if she felt the same as him about Bill and Arthur’s conversation.

The restaurant Arthur took them to was quite luxurious. The lights were dimmed; the whole restaurant had a soothing atmosphere. The employees all dressed nicely. Arthur and Linda strutted in front. Bill rushed behind as if struggling to keep up with them. Chris wandered behind. The restaurant was only moderately filled, so the waiter seated them immediately. Arthur made some empty comment about how lucky they were to be seated right away. The waiter took them to a booth. He informed them that someone would be there to take their order soon and left. They all automatically reached for the menus and absently looked over the options. Except Chris, he just continued to sleepily examine the restaurant. He fantasized about going to sleep in a comfy bed.

“This is one of Arthur and I’s favorite restaurants.” Linda said with a good deal of excitement, as if trying to convince Chris and Bill how good it was.

Arthur agreed with Linda. Bill made some comment in reply.

A different waiter arrived to deliver the bread and take the drink order.

“Wine for all of us please,” Arthur proudly declared.

“Great, but what kind of wine will you have?” asked the waiter.

“Umm…” Arthur snatched the wine menu and pursed his lips in contemplation as he read the menu. He told the waiter his decision.

“Can I get a glass of water also?” Chris interjected.

“Certainly.” The waiter flashed a smile. He walked off to place their order.

“So, Chris,” Arthur began jauntily, “How was the trip here?”

“Oh, well…” Chris recounted his trip to L.A. to Arthur and Linda, who were enthralled by his story, despite the indifference in Chris’s attitude.

“That’s very interesting,” said Arthur with a hint of contemplation. “So what brought you to Los Angeles, Bill?”

“Well I’m a journalist. And I got a job at the Los Angeles Times. I start in a couple days.” Bill tried to be modest, but he couldn’t help beaming with joy.

“Well that’s fantastic,” Arthur reached across the table to give him a slap on the shoulder. “Congratulations.”

Bill smiled, slightly embarrassed.

“You must be so proud of yourself,” Linda said with questionable sincerity.

“Yeah, that’s really impressive,” offered Chris absently but truthfully.

“Thank you,” replied Bill to all of their compliments.

Their waiter returned as if out of nowhere.

“Are you ready to order or do you need a few more minutes?”

“No…” Arthur’s eyes moved across the table questioningly. “I think we are ready.” He gave the rest of them a look that asked “right?”.

They all nodded in agreement. The waiter took their orders.

When the waiter delivered their food, a certain question popped into Bill’s head, a question that, surprisingly, had never occurred to him before. Bill could hardly wait for the waiter to leave, but, eventually, he did.

“Chris…” wondered Bill immediately, “I’ve never asked you why you were going to L.A.” Bill saw that his question had surprised Arthur and Linda, as if it was embarrassing for Bill not to know.

“Oh,” Chris replied casually, “I’m a musician, a piano player. I have a concert here in a few days.” Chris stuck a bite of steak in his mouth. He gave Bill an expression that said, “Who’d a thunk people would want to go see me.”

“Oh.” Bill was deeply surprised. “So, are you, like – in a band… or something?”

“Nope.” Chris swallowed a piece of steak and waved his fork in the air a little. “It’s just me, in some fancy suit, playing a big piano for two hours.”

Bill gazed at Chris in astonishment. He would of never guessed.

“Chris is,” – Linda closed her eyes and held out her hand, she put her thumb and index finger together with the other fingers standing up – “ex-tremely,” – she opened her eyes and drew a line in the air – “talented,” said Linda with conviction.

Arthur nodded in serious, absolute agreement. Bill looked at Chris with new appreciation. Chris just smiled shyly.

“But,” added Arthur, “It might not be a bad idea to join some rock band. A young handsome lad such as yourself could do very well in that market. Piano recitals aren’t the most popular thing, you know.”

At this comment Chris picked at his mashed potatoes in sour disagreement. “So what,” he finally quipped with a sly smile, “I’ll do whatever makes me happy.”

Arthur, realizing he may have made an inappropriate comment, shrunk back into the booth. Bill garnered respect for Chris.

As the evening went on Chris became so tired that he actually struggled to stay awake during the drive back to Arthur’s house. Arthur insisted that Bill and Chris stay at his house. Bill objected only out of politeness. Chris murmured a “thank you”.

Upon returning to Arthur’s mansion, Chris retired to bed. The other three sat relaxed around the kitchen counter eating leftover cake from the fridge, listening to Arthur tell stories from his youth. Linda behaved vehemently with the appropriate emotions the stories called for. Having obviously heard these stories countless times obviously did not detract from how funny, shocking, and exciting Arthur’s life was. Bill listened with interest and enjoyment.

Chris sunk into his luxurious bed, letting the sheets and pillows wrap around him, as if forcibly pulling him into the bed. Chris drifted out of reality and into a deep and wondrous dream.

The sunlight’s slow invasion of Chris’s room started as a calm, mysterious blue hue, and ended as the magnificent golden glow of summer. The colors of the world were piercingly vibrant.

Chris slept great. He awoke with the determination to accomplish something, to live to the fullest, to not waste a second.

Chris soon showered, dressed, and headed down stairs. He found Bill in the kitchen, eating cereal and watching the news.

“Good morning, Chris,” said Bill cheerfully.

“Top of the morning to ya.” Chris helped himself to a blueberry muffin. “Where’s Arthur and Linda?”

“Arthur went to work. And Linda went out to brunch with her friends or something.”

“Hmm.” Chris looked at the clock and saw that it was 10:37. He also noticed the remains of a waffle or pancake breakfast in the sink. Once he finished his muffin, Chris wandered off into another room. Bill didn’t pay much attention to him.

Bill found the news very relaxing. He only barely noticed the soft music drifting through the air, as it only added to his relaxation. At first he thought it was from another house. But soon he realized the music was indeed coming from somewhere inside. He also identified it as a piano. Bill assumed Chris had just put on some record. But somehow he felt it wasn’t a recording. Something about it just felt so… alive. Bill rose from his chair to investigate. He searched the house slowly, cautiously. Letting the music guide him to its origin. He rounded a corner and found the source, even though he really new it all along.

Chris sat hunched over an antique piano. Eyes closed, fingers dancing over the keys. Chris bobbed his head gracefully along with the music. After several minutes Chris drew the song to a close.

“That… that was great,” said Bill in awe.

“Thanks.” Chris took a sip from the glass of water atop the piano. “Hey, I’m gonna go to the beach. You can come if you want to.”

“Sounds fun but I’ve got a meeting with the newspaper editor. Thanks though.”

“Ok, I’ll see you later then.”

Chris grabbed his last twenty dollars and left. He walked all the way from Beverly Hills to Venice beach, enjoying all the sights along the way. On the Sunset Strip he appreciated the picture of Jim Morrison with his lyrics floating around him. On Hollywood Boulevard he saw lots of strange people and read every single Hollywood Star of Fame. At the beach he bought a towel, sunscreen, and a pair of swim trunks. Chris changed in a bathroom.

Chris strolled lazily onto the beach. He looked at all the people… lounging, swimming, surfing, talking, playing volleyball. Umbrellas sprouted out of the sand, towels and chairs scattered around them. There was a cute girl over by the volleyball nets. He looked at her as he walked past; she looked at him. He gave her a smile and continued on his way. Chris found a good spot to lay down his towel. He put sunscreen on, pulling his arms out of socket to get his back. Chris ran to the water and dove in. the chilling waves felt refreshing on his desert-dried skin. He swam past where the water broke so he could float on his back. The calming waves rolled smoothly under him. But eventually the wind chill became too much for Chris so he swam back to shore. Chris walked to a food stand to buy something to eat and drink.

Near the volleyball nets, two girls watched Chris get in line.

“Is that the guy you were staring at?” The redhead asked teasingly.

“I wasn’t staring,” the blond protested, then gave in, “but, yes, it is.”

“Well? Go talk to him.”

“No. What am I supposed to say? ‘Hi, we looked at each other and you smiled at me. Wanna go on a date?’”

“Ask him to play with us. We do need another player.”

“Well… alright.”

The blond walked reluctantly over to Chris.

“Excuse me,” she said as if she were bothering him. “Hi. I’m playing volleyball with my friends here and we need another player. Would you like to play with us?”

“Yeah…” Chris’s tone started as confused, then changed to a calm confidence. His green eyes shot right through her. “I would, sounds like fun.”

“Great, thank you. I’m Jordan, by the way.”

“I’m Chris.”

They smiled at each other.

“We’re just right over here.”

Jordan led Chris over to where she was playing. She introduced Chris to her friends. They played volleyball for an hour. Chris performed averagely. The other team played better. Jordan’s friends planned a barbeque for dinner. She invited Chris to join them. He accepted the invitation and fitted in with everyone else nicely. They cooked sausages and hotdogs. Chris and Jordan flirted with each other occasionally throughout the meal. Chris suddenly remembered he had left his towel, sunscreen, and pants on the beach. Jordan offered to go with Chris to retrieve his belongings. As they strode happily down to the beach Chris voiced his desire to go swimming again. Jordan warned him that the water was surely freezing. In response Chris challenged her to dive in with him. She agreed. They stripped to their bathing suits and took off for the water. They dove in and immediately leaped out, running back to the beach to escape the cold.

They flopped onto Chris’s towel. Jordan lay on her back, Chris propped himself on an elbow. They lay there shivering, looking into each other’s eyes. She had a friendly face, dirty-blond hair at shoulder length, and a slender figure. Chris’s gaze wandered around. The night hung like a blanket upon the beach. Everything looked so beautiful tonight… the clouds, the buildings, the palm trees… the ocean. One of those rare evenings when the world truly felt real. His eyes wandered back to Jordan.

“So…” she said, “Tell me about yourself. I’ve only just met you today.”

“Well… I’m twenty-three. I just came to L.A. for the first time last night. I play the piano… there’s not much else. Now tell me about you.”

“I’m roommates with my best friend. I’m an active person. And I’m in college.”

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.” She smiled as if it was a silly question but cute that he asked.

Nineteen. What a magnificent age, young enough to have the whole world ahead of you and old enough to go after it.

“Where are you staying?” she asked.

“With a friend of mine. He has a house in… umm… Beverly Hills.”

“He’s rich?”

Chris nodded.

“What’s he like?”

“He’s very… loquacious.”

“Hmm, and you don’t like that?”

“No.” Chris shook his head. “I like people to be interesting, different, more authentic, and… sincere.”

She nodded slowly, with her lips parted, and looking deep into his eyes.

“What kind of people do you like?” he asked.

“Same. I like fun and interesting people. I think most people are boring.”

“Me too.”

They smiled slightly at each other.

“What did you come to L.A. for?”

“I’m playing a concert here in a couple days.”

“I’ll have to go to that,” she spoke softly as if in a daze, then raised her voice a little as her attention focused. “You in a band?”

“No. Just me on piano.”

“Really! You must be very talented.”

“I guess so….”

Chris sat up since his elbow was beginning to ache. Jordan looked disappointed to have so much space between them. Chris closed his eyes and rocked back and forth… back and forth with the wind. He smiled softly. As the wind died down, Chris opened his eyes to look at the stars and the moon, and then at Jordan. Again, they stared into each other’s eyes intently. His eyes wandered down to her belly. Gently, gracefully, his fingers circled her belly button, creating a sensual tickling sensation on her soft skin. Jordan smiled with the joy of a small child. And again their eyes locked. Their seemed to be some incessant force, pulling her eyes, as blue and mysterious as the ocean, to his, green as emeralds. He lay down beside her once more.

They kissed, and fell asleep together on the beach.

Slowly, they awoke to early morning surfers running to the waves. She gave him her phone number and he promised to call her. They gathered their things and, after kissing goodbye, went their separate ways. The wall of clouds made the sky gray and indifferent. They both carried with them the pleasant assurance that they would meet again very soon.

When Chris returned to the house a distraught Arthur greeted him at the front door.

“Ah, there you are.” Arthur let out a great sigh as he opened the door. “Come in, come in.” he ushered Chris in with a hurried motion, as if Chris wasn’t safe until he came inside.

“Sorry I never called,” Chris apologized as he stepped inside. Arthur shut the doors behind him.

“You can’t just disappear like that. You had Linda and I worried sick.” Arthur led Chris through the hallway to the kitchen.

“I know, but I am an adult. I can look after myself.”

“I know.” Arthur stopped walking to pat Chris on the shoulder fatherly. He calmed down and became more understanding. “It’s just that we got worried.”

“Oh, Chris,” exclaimed Linda as she rose from the kitchen table. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”

“Thanks.” Chris didn’t know what to say and felt a little uncomfortable.

“So where were you last night?” she asked.

“Linda,” objected Arthur, “he doesn’t need to tell us everything he does.” He acted as if he was never worried about Chris.

“I’m just curious.”

“I don’t mind telling her,” Chris said. “I met this girl at the beach and we laid on the beach until we fell asleep.”

“Ooo, how romantic.”

Chris smiled shyly.

“So, Chris,” she began excitedly, completely forgetting Chris’s disappearance. “Since your recital is tomorrow I’m picking you up at noon today to get you a nice suit for the concert. And maybe a haircut.” – Chris initially felt unsure about this, but quickly decided that he could use a haircut. – “You have to dress for success.” She smiled cleverly, as if she had thought of the phrase herself.

“Ok,” agreed Chris.

“Great. I’m going to a meeting now so I’ll see you later.” Linda gave Arthur a kiss goodbye and went into the garage.

“Well, I’ve got to take off for work too,” Arthur announced. “Make yourself at home and make whatever you want for breakfast.” Arthur grabbed his briefcase.

“See ya,” said Chris faintly as Arthur followed his wife into the garage.

Chris sat at the counter eating scrambled eggs with ketchup when the doorbell rang. To Chris’s surprise it was Bill standing at the door. Chris had figured that Bill was still in bed.

“Hello Chris.”

“Hey Bill.”

They both wandered back to the kitchen. In Arthur’s house the kitchen and living room were connected, one of the living rooms, that is. Bill flopped onto the couch. Chris spoke to him from the kitchen counter.

“So, where were you last night?”

“I spent the night at a lovely lady’s house.”

“Did you bang her?” Chris asked, as if it were the most casual thing in the world, before popping a bite of scrambled egg into his mouth.

“I prefer the term ‘make love’.”

“Eh, ‘make love’ is too overused. I think it sounds corny.”

Bill considered this, “I guess so,” he agreed.

“So you did do her then?”

“Yes,” Bill sighed with exhaustion.

“Whoa, sounds like your night of great tenderness was quiet the workout.” Chris raised his eyebrows teasingly.

“Well… you could say that.” Bill laughed and flickered through the T.V. channels.

“Are you doing anything today?”

“Nope, why?”

“Well, Linda wants to take me clothes shopping, and” – Chris made his voice tough and raspy – “I could use a man’s touch in picking out my designer wear.”

Bill laughed shortly through his nose. “Sure, I’ll come along.”

“Thanks pal.” Chris plopped onto the couch next to Bill.

Chris had been nestled up in his room reading a collection of Fitzgerald short stories when Linda came to retrieve him. Chris sat the bottom of the stairs tying his shoes while Bill brushed his teeth. Once they were ready Linda met them at the car. Chris was rather relieved that Linda was taking him to get some new clothes. Wearing the same clothes for four days had started to get a little gross. At least he had the sense to use Arthur’s deodorant… hopefully Arthur wouldn’t notice.

“So, I was thinking,” began Linda as she shifted her Mercedes into reverse and twisted her neck to look out of the rear window. “After your haircut at 12:30 we’d go get lunch. Then go find some nice clothes for tomorrow. How does that sound?” she backed off the driveway and started down the street.

“That’s fine,” Chris and Bill answered rather indifferently.

Linda took them to a hair salon that people went to when they wanted their hair styled a certain way. Much more than the average “make it shorter” place. By the look of the place Chris was skeptical men actually went here. Linda seemed to know the lady at the front desk, so Chris assumed Linda got her hair cut or nails done here. The haircutter lady took Chris over to a comfy leather chair in front of three mirrors, so that the person receiving the haircut could see themself from three different angles. The lady, who had introduced herself as Rachael, gestured for Chris to take a seat. Linda came over to the chair with Chris as if she were his mom.

“So what are we doing for you today?” asked Rachael as she plucked at Chris’s hair.

“How ‘bout we cut your hair nice and short,” suggested Linda.

Or he could just inhale some carbon monoxide.

“No,” Chris asserted, “I like it on the longish side. Just cut about an inch off.”

Rachael agreed. Linda, finally, turned to sit with Bill in the waiting chairs when Rachael took Chris to get his hair washed, something that he needed quite badly. Chris leaned back in the chair to rest his neck on the sink. He closed his eyes to increase the relaxing effect Rachael created by massaging his scalp with shampoo.

“Your hair is nice and thick.”

“Mmm-hm,” mumbled Chris in reply.

Rachael led Chris, his hair dripping wet, back to the chair. She proceeded to cut his hair. The falling strands of hair tickled his face badly. When it became to much to bear, Chris went through the ordeal of taking his hand out from under the big bib over his body, brushing the stray hair away, scratching his face to soothe the tickled skin, and then hiding his hand back under the sheet. He also closed his eyes to defend them from any pair of scissors that came too close.

Eventually Rachael finished the haircut. She removed the sheet from his body, freeing him to rejoin Bill and Linda. Chris looked at himself in a mirror by the front desk.

“Oh, Chris, you look so handsome with your new haircut,” complimented Linda.

“Thanks,” said Chris automatically. He didn’t really see how a haircut made him look any better, it’s not like his face changed.

Bill put his newspaper back so he could give Chris some obligated compliment.

“Where shall we go for lunch?” Linda asked rhetorically. As they walked out to the car Linda waited for them to have no suggestions so she could pick the restaurant.

Bill had no idea. The three of them stood at the car door waiting for someone to name a place so they could get in and be on their way.

“How about a burger?” offered Chris.

“Is that what you guys want to do?” asked Linda. Her flashy sunglasses couldn’t hide her disappointment. Chris knew she wanted to go to some fancy sandwich shop, get turkey with cheese, wrapped in French toast, or something like that. But Chris was in the mood for a cheeseburger. He just had that good old all American craving to eat straight off a cow’s ass.

Bill nodded in agreement to Chris’s suggestion.

“Alright,” she agreed reluctantly.

They quickly found a little burger shop to eat. Chris suggested they sit outside since the day cleared up nicely. Linda only bothered with half her burger. Through the tinted vision of her sunglasses Linda nibbled on her fries while scavenging through the text messages and e-mails on her phone. Bill enjoyed his meal the most out of the three. Chris misjudged his hunger; he ended up walking away with an aching stomach. After a luncheon of rather disappointing conversation, they all clambered back into Linda’s car.

She drove them to some ritzy clothes store. An employee, with his designer glasses and neatly styled blond hair, greeted them mechanically as they entered. He smiled approvingly at Linda with her supreme sense of fashion. But looked down his nose at Bill and Chris who followed carelessly behind Linda. They showed a complete lack of respect for the finer things in life. Especially the foul man who had the audacity to not even comb his long hair, let alone cut it to a decent length.

Chris and Bill absently followed Linda upstairs to the suits. Linda started to browse through some of the outfits. Bill sat down in a cushy chair. Chris sauntered on over to a nearby part of the room. Linda tediously browsed through the suits.

“Hey, Chris,” Linda called, “come look at these. I think you’ll like them.”

For a few seconds the air froze quietly, expectantly waiting for his reply. Only the distant sounds of other customers were heard, as if it were nothing more but background noise to prove they were not alone. Throwing their world back into motion, Chris called back:

“I want this one.”

Linda swung her head around like an owl. Chris stood holding a black, three-piece suit. Linda marched over to him in fear her suggestion would be ignored. Chris showed her the suit not as a suggestion, but as a decision.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” she asked without encouragement as she inspected the blue tie with black diagonal stripes as if trying to decide if she liked it.

“Yep,” he answered, completely apathetic and ignorant to her opinions. With sudden hope, Chris plunged his hand inside the jacket in search of something. “It even has pockets on the inside!” Clearly, this was very important.

Chris dashed inside the changing room. Linda and Bill watched under the blue velvet curtain as Chris littered the floor with his t-shirt and pants. Chris emerged in his suit. He admired himself in the mirror. He had never owned his own suit before. He had never needed to dress up for a recital before. This was success. This was the goal, hundreds of people coming to see him play piano, to see him create music. Chris grinned involuntarily. They had found his concert suit.

Arthur’s eyes watered up as he lifted up the hood of the large grill to inspect the steaks. The smoke burned his pupils and made him cough a couple times. Once he recovered, Arthur poked the meat with some big fork. Satisfied with how the steaks were cooking, Arthur pulled down the grill’s hood. He took a sip of his drink, holding it lightly in his left hand, and then set it back down.

The grill encompassed a sort of outdoor bar. On top of the granite surface sat various alcoholic beverages. Some of Arthur’s friends, including Bill, either stood or sat on stools around the grill. They made casual conversation.

The ostentatious veranda housed the tables and chairs. At the moment most of the guests occupied the luxurious backyard. Surely though, the chairs and tables of the veranda would fill once everyone started eating.

The majority of the guests surrounded the immaculate pool and Jacuzzi. Whether they be sitting on lawn chairs or standing in circles, the guests conversed in a convivial manner. Linda stood with some friends by the Jacuzzi, conversation flowing out of her as smoothly as the water flowed over the waterfall, past the Jacuzzi and into the pool. She showed off the tropical waterfall that ran over fake rocks and plunged into the pool. Linda led her friends to some bushes along the back fence. She told them of her and Arthur’s incessant plans to improve their backyard. The bushes were unwanted. Linda walked so naturally, so smoothly, and stood so tall and poise in her heels that it was almost as if she were gliding, rather than walking, across the cement walkway connecting the pool to the unkempt bushes on death row. With the bushes gone, Linda and Arthur could replace them with something more extravagant, and complete another of the infinite steps toward turning their home into paradise.

Arthur and Bill had been gathering plates and utensils from the kitchen when the doorbell rang.

“Oh, Bill, would you get that?” asked Arthur.

“Yeah, sure.”

Bill set down the stack of plates. He walked down the hall to the front door, flip-flops slapping the wood floor the whole time. He gripped the handle, twisted it sideways. He swung open the heavy door.

On the welcome mat stood a young woman. Her kind face smiled with both her mouth and blue eyes. Her hair fell just past her small shoulders. She had a tan, slender figure, long legs. She wore a green top and jean shorts over a bikini. Her hands cradled the strap of a small brown purse that swung timidly but casually in front of her legs.

“Hello, I’m Bill.”

They shook hands.

“Hi, I’m Jordan.” Then, feeling she needed to state her purpose, added, “Chris invited me.”

“Oh,” he said with a tinge of disappointment. “He’s in the backyard.”

Jordan followed Bill through the house out into the backyard.

Chris spotted her immediately from across the pool. He excused himself from the conversation he had been in to hurry over to her. He wore his plain white t-shirt that had – thank God – been washed that morning. Due to his lack of clothes, for pants he wore the swim trunks he had bought a couple days ago.

Chris and Jordan embraced each other. He complimented her shirt. She mistook his sincerity for politeness.

Arthur announced to the party that the food was ready. Slowly, the guests wandered over to the tables. On the veranda was one large rectangular table with some circular tables surrounding it. The rectangular table sat ten people, three on each of the long sides, and two on each of the short sides. Each circular table sat six. Naturally, the svelte couple of Arthur and Linda took the two seats on one of the short sides of the rectangular table. Arthur sat with Linda on his left, Chris to his right. On Chris’s right, sat Jordan. To Linda’s left sat a gentleman of Arthur's age Chris was, as of yet, not familiar with. He was a short, reserved man, wearing glasses lined with black rims; his already gray hair appeared to be thinning slightly. He had a soft face, but hard eyes of integrity. He cut his steak delicately.

Bill, one of the last people in the buffet line, lost his chance to sit by Chris. The rectangular table full, Bill stood awkwardly alone before the guests sitting and eating. He looked over the empty seats at the circular tables, his face nervous from his difficulty in deciding where to sit. Chris looked at him with apologetic eyes that understood Bill’s dilemma. Bill caught the eyes of a guest about his age. The man waved Bill over, his smile making Bill feel welcomed. Chris smiled with relief when Bill took his seat with confidence.

Chris returned his attention to his own table. Chris glanced at the small man sitting opposite him. The man’s hand floated in the air, swaying along with the Frank Sinatra song playing, silently conducting the music. Chris searched his memory for the name of the song. “Young at Heat”? Yeah, that’s it. Chris took a bite of potato salad. He hadn’t eaten potato salad in years. He still loved it.

“When did you say your concert was?” Jordan asked Chris. The small man’s eyes flickered up at Chris.

“It’s tomorrow.”

“Where?”

He told her.

“And what time is it?”

“Nine.”

“Do you think I’ll still be able to get tickets?”

“Probably. I don’t know how good your seat will be though.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Linda chimed in. Jordan looked at her, Jordan's face full of innocent curiosity. “You can come with Arthur and I. We’ll watch him from backstage.”

“Oh, thank you Mrs. …”

“Oh,” Chris interjected, “Jordan this is Linda and Arthur Chesterfield. This is Jordan.”

“It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Yes, it’s always a pleasure to meet Chris’s friends,” said Arthur.

“It’s nice to meet you two as well. And you’re sure you won’t mind having me backstage with you?”

“Oh – of course not.” Linda dismissed Jordan's question with a wave of the hand. Then, remembering, she added, “Is this the girl from the beach last night?”

Jordan gave a little laugh. Chris looked down at his plate with an embarrassed smile.

“Yes, this is her.”

Linda just smiled at Jordan.

“Chris,” said Arthur quite formally. He held a fork jabbed into a piece of steak in mid-air. “I’d like to introduce you to a good friend of mine,” he motioned toward the small man, “Alexander Crawford.” Arthur turned to present Chris, “Alex, this is our guest of honor tonight, Chris … um…” Arthur couldn’t remember Chris’s last name. No one seemed to notice.

Chris shook Alexander’s hand. They both monotonously told each other “it’s nice to meet you.”

“So, Chris,” Arthur continued, “Alex here writes reviews for concerts.” Chris cast suspicious eyes on this Mr. Crawford. “He is quite well respected. This man will make or break you.” Arthur smiled jokingly at both the artist and the critic. He patted Chris on the shoulder reassuringly. Chris hardly felt his hand.

Crawford smiled at Chris.

What was in that smile? It looked almost sinister, almost. Was he daring Chris? Oh! Why did Arthur have to say that? “This man will make or break you.” Would he really? Yes. One look into his eyes confirmed that. Chris swallowed dryly. He asked Jordan to pass him the water pitcher. A person cannot judge his or her own art. Chris liked his piano playing. He liked the songs he wrote. But that didn’t necessarily mean that they were good. Compliments from friends and family don’t count. Only Crawford’s opinion counted. Could this man really ruin his career as a pianist? Maybe.

“Do you want the rest of my potato salad?”

“Huh? Oh, sure.”

Jordan scraped the rest of her potato salad onto Chris’s plate.

Chris paused at the edge of the Jacuzzi. He looked at yonder palm trees, beautifully silhouetted by the sunset’s orange glow. He looked at the clouds outlined by a fiery haze. He remembered, as a small child, asking his dad if the clouds were on fire when he saw the sunset light up a cloudy sky for the first time. He stepped into the Jacuzzi, slowly sitting down. The hot water relaxed his body.

“Ah! It’s hot.” Jordan thought out loud when the water hit her belly. She snuggled up next to Chris.

As night fell, the guests spread out across the pool. Relaxing on the lawn chairs or at the edge of the pool, talking, joking, finishing off the alcohol. The Hawaiian torches placed around the backyard cast warm shadows on the guests.

“Thanks for inviting me to this barbecue.” She spoke softly and sincerely.

“Thanks for coming. It’s a bigger party than I expected.”

“Well… ‘I like large parties. They’re so intimate. At small parties there isn’t any privacy.’ ” She looked up at him, smiling adorably.

“I like that book.” He smiled back at her.

“Me too.”

She returned her head to its previous position of resting on his shoulder. He looked down from the Jacuzzi at all the other guests. He massaged her hand.

Jordan opened the door to her apartment, stepping aside so Chris could walk past her then closed the door. She showed him to her room. Chris looked around her bedroom restlessly.

“My roommate won’t be here tonight.”

Chris struggled to make a smile.

She kissed him. He was distant and unresponsive. She looked at him with a concerned expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just – ugh – it’s just what Arthur said – about that critic. How he would ‘make or break’ my career.” The phrase “make or break” was already overused and bad enough. But now Chris hated the sound of it.

“Oh, honey, don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ll do great.” Jordan smiled sympathetically. She sat on the bed.

Her words meant nothing to Chris. He paced the room frantically.

“Playing the piano is all I want to do with my life. What if he writes a bad review and I’ll never get to play another concert!”

“I don’t think one review is that powerful.” She rubbed the bed, inviting him to sit beside her. He didn’t see the motion, or maybe he ignored it.

“This guy won’t be nice or feel bad if I play bad. He’ll say exactly what he feels. It’ll be harsh.”

“You’re being pessimistic.”

Was he? No, of course not. He was being perfectly realistic. It was perfectly realistic to worry that much over what a critic might say. He had been called unique before. That didn’t make him feel any better. All previous compliments towards his piano playing vanished. His whole career rested on Crawford’s opinion. If he wrote a bad review, Chris would never be able to play large concerts again. How could he live if he had no talent at his passion? All his dreams would be put to a stop prematurely. He’d have to get some loathsome day job. Oh God! His mind raced, his legs shook. What if Crawford didn’t like him! That would ruin everything! Everything! He’d have come all this way here for nothing. Just to be told he sucked! If Crawford didn’t like his playing, he’d never get to play another concert again. If he never played another concert, he’d never make any money. If he didn’t make any money, he’d never be able to go back home. If he never went home, he’d never see her again. He was never going to see her again! Oh God!

Chris fell into a chair. He sat bent over, head held in his hands, almost crying.

“Oh, Chris.” Jordan got up to comfort him. She held him tightly. She kneeled so her face met his. “It’s ok… it’s ok. Don’t worry.” She kissed him a few times.

He started to relax a little.

“Come here,” she said. She helped him up from the chair. He seemed to have calmed down. She took him over to the bed. They lay down on top of the sheets together.

She sat sleepily on the bench. The bench hung from the ceiling by two chains connected to each armrest. She rocked gently back and forth as the bench calmed down from the motion caused by her sitting on it. She looked down her porch impatiently at the empty sidewalk.

He rounded the corner of the sidewalk. He walked with an excited nervousness. They saw each other and waved. Her smile was excited, his was much more shy. He took the porch steps quickly. She stood up to hug him. After they both said “hi” she invited him to join her on the bench. The bench rocked backward as they sat down, as if it had tried to move out from under them, but was always too slow.

“I made you this,” he said, offering an unlabeled CD in a case. “The piano instrumental is me.”

“Oh, thank you!” She took the CD and nestled it in her lap. “I can’t wait to listen to it.”

He tried to think of something to say but she beat him to it.

“I missed you,” she murmured sadly, showing that this visit was not going to become a regular occurrence.

“I missed you too.” He looked over her brown hair, but the glare from her hairpin stung his eye, so he moved his gaze to her dark, enigmatic eyes.

She scooted closer to lay her head on his shoulder. They told each other about their summers. He made her laugh a few times. They made false promises to see each other before school started. She held his hand loosely. He looked at the sun and saw that it had aged from a bright yellow lemon lollipop to an orange blur. He would have to go soon. He knew his visit would end like this, in sadness.

Her father came out from the house to invite him to stay for dinner.

“Thank you, but I have to go out to dinner with my family.” He informed her father regretfully.

Her father told him he was welcome anytime before returning inside.

“Well… I have to go home now. Thanks for having me.”

“Thank you for coming.” She sat up and gave a hopeless smile.

“See you in six months,” he joked cynically.

“Oh…” she whined sadly. She hugged him as best she could on the bench.

He stood reluctantly. She rose as well to give him a proper hug. They looked each other over.

“You should grow your hair out,” she said gently and cutely. “I bet you’d look cute.”

“Hmm… maybe.”

They said goodbye and he sulked down the porch steps. He took the steps slowly, cautiously, fearfully, regretfully…. She watched him retrace his steps across the sidewalk until he disappeared around the corner.

The sun crept behind the earth, hiding. Or, maybe… it was going somewhere else, somewhere better. Maybe this town wasn’t good enough for the sun, too boring, too sad. Maybe the sun was off to better places. As he considered running back to her, he saw the sun set in the west. The sun was always going west. And that was where he must go.

But, for now, he walked home. And as the final flash of light left the town, so did the final hope that he would see her again this year.

Chris, finally wide-awake, stood on the sidewalk in front of Jordan's apartment building. He kept his eyes pointed at the ground to avoid the sun. His pupils had not yet adjusted. He scratched his head through his long hair. Chris found a bus to Beverly Hills. He troubled the driver for the time.

“11:05”

“Thanks.”

Chris smiled during the bus ride. Somehow, he forced the panic over Mr. Crawford’s review into the back of his mind. The bus reached his stop. He walked the rest of the way.

Chris found Linda in the living room of her house.

“Hello Chris.”

“Hi Linda. When are we going to my concert?”

“Five o’clock.”

“Ok.”

Chris retreated to his room. He lay down on his bed. The comfort of the bed still amazed him. He closed his eyes, already ready for another nap.

A memory burst into his mind. A memory of something he wanted to do three days ago. It surprised him that he had forgotten. Chris dashed downstairs in search of a phonebook and telephone.

The concert hall was vast and beautiful, as if one giant chandelier. The seats were a regal red, lined with striking gold. The balconies of seats looked like a section of ripples in a pool, rippling out from the center; the grand piano standing on the stage like a magnificent statue. The building’s architect crafted the interior with intricate, artistic designs. An awed silence smothered the atmosphere of the auditorium. Clearly, the auditorium was for exquisite art.

Backstage, Arthur poured the party champagne. He handed a glass to Linda, Bill, Jordan, and to Chris, dressed in his black three-piece. Arthur poured himself a glass last.

“To Chris,” toasted Arthur. His enthusiasm fell apart as he stumbled through “May he play great.” Arthur had searched unsuccessfully for something more profound to say.

“Cheers!” Linda said excitedly.

Chris wore a distasteful expression as he chinked glasses with the others. Chris hated when people said cheers and knocked glasses, it was so corny. At least they actually have champagne to drink. People that did it without alcohol looked like such idiots.

He had to pee again, but Chris had just gone. He always got like this when nervous. He dreaded having to play. He hated knowing that he would be judged. He took a big sip from his glass.

The backstage was dark. Stagehands walked briskly to handle the last minute preparations. Golden light entered the backstage from a slit between two curtains. They could hear people taking their seats.

“Come on, lets go look,” suggested Jordan with excited curiosity. She grabbed Chris’s arm and pulled him over to the space between the curtains. Jordan poked her head out. Her eyes gazed in childlike wonderment when she saw the crowd.

“Don’t you want to see?” She looked up at Chris.

“I guess…”

Chris gave in. He inched his head out to see the crowd. He immediately focused on one person. Alexander Crawford sat in the second row, just to the right of the center. Pen in hand, a notebook resting on his lap. His glasses hooked onto his ears, behind them, his scientific eyes.

Some of the audience saw Chris and Jordan. Their opposing expressions must have been amusing; one face beaming with joy, the other intensely worried. Chris’s legs began to shake.

The lights on the walls began to dim. Stage lights brought the audience’s attention to the piano. All seated, they shuffled into a silence.

Chris stood paralyzed backstage, staring at the piano. Elegant and black, with the strings and inner workings exposed. Gold wire tied together to make music inside a black box. He looked at the seat. He’d soon have to sit on that cushion, lean over the keys, and play for two hours.

Nervously, he stepped out from the nicely air conditioned backstage into the blinding and scorching light bathing the golden brown stage, piano, and red curtain. The crowd applauded as he made his way over to the piano. He felt awkward. He was taking too long to get to the piano. He walked faster. Finally, he turned the corner from behind the piano to the seat. Good. He took a bow to silence the audience. He sat down. Already sweating, he took a sip from the glass of water sitting next to the sheet music. The ice was almost gone. He rubbed his hands vigorously against his pants to dry the sweat. He stood up the sheet music and flipped it open. He had planned his set list out in advance.



Sunrise


All Men Are Created Equal – Ray Manzarek


Once A Year


Storm


Winter


Lazy Afternoon


Day at the Pool


Sleeping City


Summer Nights


Glowing Sun


Yes!


Content


Sunset


Soaring


Chris turned to the first song. His eyes blinked a guilty glance at Crawford. Crawford just sat there, looking at Chris so indifferently. As if he was already bored.

With an effort, Chris shook Crawford off his mind. He focused on the piano keys in front of him. All right, well… here it goes….

He messed up. His sweaty finger slipped, hitting a key on accident. It’s fine, not that far in the song, just start over. Again, another mistake made. Played too fast, didn’t sound good.

“Just calm down,” Chris told himself. “Just relax… ok that’s good. See, just like – ugh!”

What a disaster! He was playing horribly. Did Crawford just make a note? No! Damn it! That’s it – it’s over! Might as well just leave right now. Wasn’t going to get any better. He couldn’t even play a song. They all must think he is an idiot.

Chris looked up from the piano. He could see Jordan watching him from backstage. Looking at him with those sad, encouraging eyes. She looked gorgeous in that black dress. She smiled at him, urging him on. He gave a defeated smile.

Chris looked back down at the piano. All this for nothing! He ruined his only chance! He was so worried he couldn’t even get up the nerve to play one song. All because he cared so much about what some guy though of him. And what was the point of that? Well… – he didn’t care what Crawford thought of him anymore. He didn’t care what anybody thought anymore. He loved playing the piano. His songs meant something to him. All of those songs were special. So what if some critic didn’t like them? So what! So what so what so what! The artist creates for their self. This critic’s opinion did not take anything away from his talent. He was talented, special. He knew that now. He had always felt that, but now he knew it. He didn’t need to make anyone happy but himself.

Chris looked down at the piano keys commandingly. He kept his eyes and imagination open. He was alone. He began “Sunrise”. His music rang out beautifully through the concert hall.

Another flattering applause thundered when Chris finished the penultimate “Sunset”. He picked up and drank from the glass of water with his left hand while waving a “thank you” with his right. Chris gave Jordan a smile of enormous joy. He turned the page to the sheet music for “Soaring”. Chris stretched in his seat, getting all the stiffness out. He took a breath. Then he began the finale.

A slow, gradual, delicate start, the music fluttered softly like the wings of a bird. The piano chord’s distinct notes sounding like wind chimes in the breeze. The music danced in the air. The song began to build up power. In perfect suspense it withdrew to its peaceful but increasingly intricate origins. His fingers calmly rolled over the piano keys. The music circled in the air, hinting at something more. Again, the music picked up some dramatic power. “Higher, higher!” cried the piano encouragingly. The music glided over a mountain, up to the clear blue sky and fluffy clouds then dove down into a valley. The whole theatre absorbed into the drama of the piece. The music took flight. Soaring, swooping, diving, spinning through the sky. The music became thicker, stronger, and more dramatic as Chris approached the climax. The song shot upward; faster and faster it went. The intensity increased, until; finally, it exploded gloriously like a firework. The beautiful music hung in the air and gently floated back down to earth and with one, last note, the song landed in silence.

Chris stood and bowed to a roaring applause.

“A beautiful preview to budding genius.”

Bill walked briskly through the well air-conditioned LAX airport. The airport was busy today. Bill looked frantically at the people in line to check-in. He wasn’t there. Bill ran up the escalator. More long lines of travellers at the security check. If he was already at the gate Bill might never find him. Wait – there he was! Bill found Chris in line for the security check. Chris stood grinning with a single bag of luggage.

“Chris!” Bill got Chris’s attention. Bill approached wearing a questioning expression. “Linda said you went to the airport. Where are you going?”

Chris gave a great smile.

“I’m going to New York City.”

Bill didn’t understand.

“Why? I thought you liked L.A.?”

“I do. But she’s in New York.”

“Jor–” Bill’s mind flashed back to their conversation at the Colorado River.

Chris saw that Bill understood. Chris gave one last, blissful smile. He moved up in the line.

Bill watched with a small smile as Chris took his shoes off and slid his luggage through the x-ray machine. He watched as Chris kept walking, out to the gates, until Chris faded away into the crowd of travellers.