Second Chance (67 page)

I notice a
young woman and her son
in
another corner of the park
.
She’s
picking
some of the wild daises that gro
w in the grass
.
She
carries
a handful and wraps
on
e
in her hair
.
She wears a long p
easant dress over baggy jeans and her hair is tied back in a loose braid
.
I t
ake
her picture
.
Her little boy is running
through the tall grass in no
thing but hi
s diaper, which
is sagging halfway down his butt
.
He laughs as the breeze tickles his skin
.
I smile and when he
turns to run back to his mother.
I catch his leaping
prance
on film.

As I circle the park, the last thing I notice is
an empty
wooden
park bench
.
A colorful mural i
s painted over it, a sky with clouds and
a meadow of flowers
.
T
here are words painted on the bench in
black
letters
that
say,
“
Reserved for Dreamers.
”
I stare down at the words
and take
a picture
.

I finish up my roll
of black and white film at this perfect park, with the perfect name
.
In that short amount of time, something is liberated
.
Something shifts
.
I’m me again, reintroduced
, s
eeing people
,
f
orgetting myself
, l
oving the moment
,
and
l
iving the moment
, carefree
.

I walk to
the Desert Gallery, but it’s closed so
I le
ave
my
letter
in a plastic bag and ha
ng the b
ag on the doorknob
.
I also leave
the
black and white roll of film
I took today
, scribbling a note telling them to
do whatever
they want
with the pictures
.
I
write the name of
this
particular
collection
:
At Our Best.

I hail a cab, but before I get in,
I take one last lo
ok
at the gallery, where a few of my prints still hang in the window display
.
I think about the day Gray brought me here, helped to show me my potential
.
I think about our kiss
.
I look at my roll of film, hanging in the plastic bag
.
I almost let
this city
trap me
.
I was settling to feel safe
, t
o avoid taking a risk
.
This is dangerous because fear
stunts your soul
.
And I’d much rather grow
.

While
the taxi creeps away from
Albuquerque,
I pull out a piece of paper Mary gave me, with the travel photographer’s number. I starting dialing the digits and with each number I press,
I feel
lighter
.
I fe
el
excited again
—thrilled t
o be moving
.

Maybe
, I think, just maybe
this is
me, at my best
.

Maybe Gray did me the biggest f
avor of al
l.

May
be it’s not the doors that open
in our lives, b
ut the doors that close that define us
.
That guide us
.
Bec
ause they force us to move on
.
Instead of thinking about what we lose, look at what we can gain
.
I know Gray closed this door to force me to open up all the other ones inside of me
.
Outside of me
.
Around me
.
And now I’m stepping through
.

GRAY

I throw a black suitcase in my trunk and
slam the door closed
.
Lenny’s smoking on the porch steps, watching me
.
Miles
,
Bubba and Todd
have
already left
town
for summer
league
teams
all over the country
.
I’m playing in
Nebraska
.

I’m looking forward to a change
of scenery
.
To
the
hot summer nights
.
To a field where I can control my actions
everyday
, w
here I can mentally escape
.
And
to
days where all that’s expected of me is sleeping in and lifting weights
.
I know
some
guys on the team
—I played against them this year—
a
nd a few of us are renting a house for the summer, downtown, close to the University
.
I know the
re will
be parties and late nights and girls and memories to make
.
But I don’t care about all that
.
I’m just ready for a long
distraction
.

Lenny jumps down from the steps when she sees I’m ready to go
.
She’s wearing my
Spinal Tap
shirt, just to annoy me
.

“When do you start classes?
”
I ask her
.
Her face light
en
s up and she tells me
one week
.
I
tell her she’s the on
ly person I’ve ever met who’s
excited
about
summer school
.
She just found out she’s a finalist for
a
full scholarship and as long as her references
follow through
, she’s in
.

“You’ll be busy,” I say
.
She nods and
even though we’re not sentimental,
I scoop her up
in my arms and give her a hug
.
I pick her up off the ground because she’s a good foot shorter than me
.
When I set her down there’s something
serious
in her eyes
.

“Don’t lecture me on staying clean this summer,” I say
.
“What happens in
Nebraska
stays in
Nebraska
.”

“
I’m the last person to lecture you
,
” she says
.
“Besides, I still
argue smoking pot makes you live longer
.” 
She takes something out of her back pocket
.
At first I think she’s actually giving me weed
, but it’s
an envelope, folded in half
.
She opens it and I see my name
spelled out
in
unmistakable
hand
writing
.
I wrinkle my foreh
ead and Lenny extends it to me.

“
I wasn’t sure if
you were ready,
that’s
why I waited to give it to you
.
”

I stare down at it
,
but I don’t take it
.
Lenny and I haven’t talked about Dylan since the day I
told her we broke up
.

“
When
did
she give it to you
?
”
I ask
.
Lenny t
ells
me Dylan stopped in the day she left
.
She t
ells
me she wrote a few letters and asked Lenny to hand them out to people, since she was leaving town too fast to say goodbye
.