Dear Darling

07

Dylan

The shutter on my camera clicks as I snap pictures of Times Square. There are people everywhere, milling about, continuing their lives as the rest of the world spins on around them. I smiled as I saw a group of kids looking around them in awe at the signs and lights and movement of the city; I assumed they were on a field trip, and judging from the flock of adults that were also with them, I probably assumed correctly.

Photography has always been a passion of mine; the ability to save moments forever, it was an amazing ability and I felt lucky that I could spend my time doing it. It also helped that I could make money off of it.

McAlester Photography Co. has been my main source of income since I got out of high school. While I made my way through a two year photography program at NYU, Brandon McAlester gave me a job at his business and became a friend. He was a couple years older than me, and effectively took me under his wing.

I took up photography in high school as an elective and it quickly became a great passion. I liked capturing people's favorite moments, the ones they wanted to remember forever. Now, I was mostly a wedding photographer, but I still took pictures of the city in my down time.

My phone began ringing as I let my camera hang from my neck on its strap. Brandon's name flashed on the screen when I pulled it out of my pocket; I swiped answer and lifted it to my ear.

"Hey," I answered.

"Hey Dyl," He said. "Got a job for you."

"Awesome, when and where?"

"Robinson wedding," He informed me. "Next week on the Staten Island ferry. 4 o'clock."

I scoffed slightly, most of these people were cheesy as hell. I had nothing against weddings, but the theatricalities of some people drove me a little nuts.

"Alright, I'll be there."

I hung up the phone and started walking down the street, making my way to Muffin Madness down the block. It was a small bakery that served the best pastries I had ever tasted. Sure, the name was super cheesy and the owners were a little crazy, but they were nice people and they knew how to bake.

I walked in, the door bell ringing behind me, and saw Abigail behind the counter. She was the owner's daughter, and she had a little bit of a crush on me. We went to the same schools our whole lives and our moms were friends, so we grew up together. I was a year older than her, and ever since we were thirteen she had stuck herself to my side, like a magnet. It was a little annoying most of the time, but she was one of my best friends growing up - she didn't know that I knew she liked me until one night at a party we got super drunk with some friends and played Confessions.

She knew that I liked her only as a friend, and I was glad that she accepted that and from what I gathered, she had moved on for the most part.

"Hey Abs," I greeted, smiling at her. "Got anything new today?"

"Dylan," Abby smiled back at me. "Yeah, I just made something new, I'm calling them snicker-rolls."

She pointed to a tray of cinnamon rolls that were glued with frosting to snicker doodle cookies. They looked like a major sugar high that ended with a food coma.

"Wow," I laughed. "Looks...diabetic."

"I know, I know, but I really wanted one and then I just made a bunch." Her voice was light and I nodded along with her words. "Anyway, what can I get for you?"

"A couple apple tarts, please,"

"Coming up," She smiled and grabbed a pair of tongs, putting the tarts in a bag.

When she's done, she hands the bag over to me and begins ringing them up at the register.

"$8.50," She says.

I hand the money to her and say goodbye after she hands me the receipt; I walk out of the shop and head back to my place, the apple tarts swinging down by my side as I walked.

+

Green Day pounded through my speakers as I sat on my couch, going through the photos I took earlier today. I had taken shots of the Square and several parks when I went out; the vibrant colors of the city shone through the pictures, showing a picturesque view of New York City. Tomorrow, I planned to go out and visit some of the less popular parts of the city...the slums, the parts that tourists generally stay out of. I was working on putting together a portfolio of those places to go along with the photos I had taken today.

I wanted to create a piece that showed all sides of New York - its beauty and its pain. The idea was inspired partly by Josephine; her words had resonated with me and it made me think more about those who have lost. I mean, we've all lost something, but I want to bring to the attention of the public the day to day suffering of the men and women that are forced to survive on the streets.

As the days passed, I've found myself becoming more and more excited about receiving letters from Josephine. I don't know what exactly it is, but something about her is authentic. She's not like the other girls I've spoken to before. She's new - exciting - like a breath of fresh air.

I wished I could meet her in person, to see that she was tangible and real, not some figment of my imagination. I wanted to talk to her about everything and anything, just to know what she thought.

Breaking me out of my thoughts, my phone started ringing. I picked it up, seeing Lucas' name flash across the screen.

"Hey," I answered.

"Dylan!" Lucas' voice was at a megaphone volume in my ear. I could immediately tell he was drunk, and judging from the pulsing background noise, he was at a club or party.

"Lucas," I said slowly. "Why are you drunk calling me? Again?"

"Dylan!" He yelled my name again. "You gotta come out, man! It's crazy out here!"

I laughed at his drunken slurring, but I contemplated the offer. It had been a while since I had gone out anywhere, and Lucas was always fun to hang around.

"Where?" I asked.

+

Strobe lights flashed around me, the beat of the music heavy in my bones. I pushed my way through the crowd of the club, looking for my best friend. Bodies surrounded me as I carved a path out of the waves of people.

I saw a shock of bright blonde hair and called out.

"Lucas!"

I had to call him a few more times before he heard me, but as soon as he did, he whipped around and smiled brightly. His eyes were hazy and his gait wobbled when he walked over to me. He threw an arm around me, pulling me closer to him and attempting to give me a sloppy bro-hug handshake.

"You made it man!" He yelled in my face. I could barely hear him above the thumping of the base in the music.

"Thought I'd come see what all this fun is you're having," I hollered back.

"Well," He said. "Let's get drunk!"

He lingered on the word drunk as he turned his head and waved a cocktail waitress over. Lucas leered toward her, asking for shots of whiskey. She nodded, a flirty smile crossing her features, and walked away.

When she came back, she had a tray covered in glasses full of alcohol. Lucas passed her some money and took two shots off he tray; handing one to me, he quickly downed it and I did the same.

It burned on the way down my throat, and I grimaced slightly. I grabbed another shot, this was going to be a bitch of a hangover tomorrow.