Mark Taylor: Genesis (Prequel in the Mark Taylor Series) (11 page)

 His nights out with his friends dwindled to once a month. No matter how hard he tried, he just didn’t have enough hours in the day. He wanted to have time with friends and he especially missed dating, not that he had been a Casanova, but he had dated his share of women. He missed their company.

His last date had been the failed fiasco with Jessica Bishop almost a year before. He was starting to feel like a monk.

The excitement of the camera overrode almost all the other desires, but the truth was that it wasn’t just his obsession with the camera. It was a matter of timing. Many of his friends were settling down and just weren’t available to hang out with him anyway. Others had drifted away, which was the case with Mo. Although he had finally chosen photos for the book and had sent it to some editor, it had been months since he had called Mark with an update. Whenever Mark would call him, he only got voicemail. He figured Mo was avoiding him due to the book. Maybe it hadn’t turned out the way Mo had envisioned, but Mark didn’t dwell on it. He had too many other things to worry about.

He almost spilled the beans to his parents the first Christmas, but when his dad had introduced him to one of his colleagues from the hospital, the other doctor had politely asked Mark what he did for a living. As he replied, Mark had happened to glance at his father and stopped short at the expression his father wore.  He might as well have had a blinking neon thought bubble over his head that said, “My son is an embarrassment.”

Flushing from anger, Mark had mumbled something about photography and left the party.  He passed a drug store that promised one-hour photo developing.  In spite of his usual rule against it, he dropped off that day’s film, intending to show his father what he really did, but when the photos came back, the camera had chosen to give him only actual photos that day. Not that it mattered, as his father was called into the hospital for an emergency the next day and Mark wouldn’t have been able to have his dad watch him make a save anyway. He took it as a sign that he was meant to keep it a secret.

Just one more roll of film and he could call it a day. Mark took a deep breath and reined in his impatience. It would be foolish to rush the photo shoot, especially since it was for one of the biggest clients he’d ever landed. It wasn’t every day that he had an opportunity to shoot a major print ad that would appear in over a dozen magazines and a few billboards. This one job would pay the rent for the month and then some. It was just that his other camera beckoned—the special one.

He smiled at the kids sitting on the couch, hoping to mask his eagerness to be done. Mark was sure they were just as eager to be done, but they had been real troupers. The stylist had fussed over their clothes and made each child change outfits three times. Through it all, the child models had remained good-natured. He quickly snapped the cover closed and advanced the film to the first frame.

“Okay, guys, this time, I want ‘Mom’ on the sofa with your daughter cuddled at your side.  Jake, you can kneel at the coffee table and eat popcorn,” Mark said to the young boy playing the son in this ad. Glancing over his shoulder to the other model, Mark circled his hand around the small fake living room he’d set up in the studio. “And ‘Dad’ you sit on the other end of the sofa, with your feet up on the table.”

The man, in his early thirties, probably close to Mark’s own age, eased onto the couch and leaned forward, plucking the remote control off the table beside the bowl of popcorn. He held it up, his eyebrows raised. “May I hold the clicker?”

Mark grinned. “Of course.”

The mother made a face and then laughed. “I feel completely at home now.”

“What about me? Can I eat the popcorn?”

Laughing, Mark grabbed a handful himself. “Absolutely. This is supposed to look like a real family watching television together. Just don’t get any grease on the couch. It has to go back to the store when we’re done here.”  He tossed the popcorn in his mouth, crunching on the salty kernels as he did a few test shots with his Polaroid. Satisfied, he strode over to the stereo and turned the music back on. An upbeat tune started blasting, and the kids lit up and it was just that energy Mark was hoping to capture. The ‘parents’ settled in, looking for all the world as though they were watching a great movie on the television. The perfect family shot. Mark moved around, snapping from different angles, catching the mother toying with the little girl’s hair while the dad nudged the son with his toe, both grinning. The client was going to love this. The furniture, the highlight of the shot, was shown as comfortable, sleek and kid friendly all at the same time.

In a few minutes, he was done and he shut off the music, much to the boy’s disappointment.

“We’re done. You guys were all fantastic. Go on and get changed and I’ll let the client rep know we’re finished and you can all get your slips signed.”

Mark unloaded the roll from the camera and put it with the other two he had taken of the shoot, and slipped all three into a bag with the date and the client’s name on it. He set it on his desk to send in with the rolls from his morning shoot for a different client.  These shoots paid well, but he was glad that tomorrow he didn’t have any shoots scheduled. Things had been going so well lately, he found he needed at least one day a week to organize sending proofs back to customers and clients, booking shoots, and arranging for delivery of whatever props he needed.

“Bye, Mark!”  Jake waved as his real mom tried to hustle him out of the studio. Likely, she was trying to beat the evening rush hour.

“Great job, Jake!” Mark gave him a thumbs-up. He’d have to remember to tell the kid’s agent how easy he was to work with.

Over the next few minutes, the rest of the models left and Mark locked up the studio, taking his special camera with him. The second his hand closed over it, the familiar tingle of energy thrummed through his body. He couldn’t quite explain it. It wasn’t like a shock, exactly, but more of an adrenaline rush or a surge of concentrated energy. He just hoped the camera would produce a future photo today. The two previous days had been a bust. Empty days had occurred a few times before, but thankfully, the magic had always returned. Each time, he had feared whatever mystery triggered the future photos and dreams had dissipated.

Mark strode down the street, basking in the warmth of an early July afternoon. The heat wave of the past week had eased and an occasional refreshing breeze off the lake made it a perfect day. The hot smell of asphalt, exhaust, and the faint scent of chocolate from the Blommer Chocolate factory, wafted through the air.

He stopped on a corner as he waited for the pedestrian crossing light to change and tried to decide what to photograph. So far, it hadn’t seemed to make a difference what his subject matter was; if a future photo was going to appear, it would supplant the original subject. Since most of the photos on a roll of film didn’t become future photos, just a select few, he had taken to making sure to not waste any shot just to be in a hurry to get the precognitive pictures. He had even been able to sell a few at a small art gallery. He found that using the camera had sharpened his photography skills. Because any picture could turn out to be a future photo, he paid closer attention to the details of what he was photographing so if that picture did end up changing to a future one, he could try to puzzle out if there had been something in the original subject matter that tied it to the future photo. So far, it was still a complete puzzle to him.

The light changed and he crossed as part of a crowd of office workers just sprung from the high-rise buildings that created a canyon in the heart of the city.  He was tempted to try to capture the light and shadows, but changed his mind. The buildings were beautiful, with gorgeous architecture, but he had plenty of similar photos. Cabrini-Green housing projects were only a few blocks away. Mark contemplated heading in that direction. About half the buildings had been demolished in the last few years, and mixed income housing had taken their place. He wanted some shots of the projects before they were entirely gone. It was a bit risky but after being in Afghanistan and seeing poverty beyond anything he had ever encountered before, Cabrini-Green didn’t seem quite so poor and dangerous. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he shook it off. It was like comparing oranges to coconuts. He was less likely to be shot in a remote Afghani village compared to the likelihood of getting gunned down in the Chicago projects, but stepping on a land mine while crossing a dusty village road carried about the same odds.

By the time he came to Division Street, he had made up his mind. He could take a few pictures, and if it seemed too dangerous, he could always leave. Probably.

He scouted the site for the best angle, and decided that a shot of the sun glinting off the fence that gave the building the appearance of a high rise dog kennel would capture the mood of the place. Like a dog locked in a kennel, the people of Cabrini were locked into a life with little hope of leaving. It wasn’t so different from the women of Afghanistan.

He raised the camera to his eye and framed a shot. Would it produce a future photo this time?  What if today was the day the camera just stopped working altogether? If it stopped working, he wasn’t certain he could go back to his boring and mundane old life. Life had never seemed boring at the time, but looking back, there were only so many parties and bars a guy could go to before they all started blurring together. He snapped off a couple of shots and moved around to the other side of the building. The John Hancock Building made an ironic backdrop. Located at one end of the Magnificent Mile, it looked so close, yet to the residents of this building, it must have seemed about as close as the moon.

What had he accomplished in his life prior to having the camera? Not much. He had a nice photography business, but that was about it. Now he had a purpose and it felt good. It felt right. Saving total strangers wasn’t something he ever thought he could do and to think he finally had something in common with his father just blew his mind. He doubted, however, that his dad would see the similarity. His father would see only that Mark hadn’t finished college, never mind going on to med school. In his mind, saving people took a medical degree, and that was that.

At times, the responsibility of saving a person terrified Mark. What would happen if he didn’t change a picture? Would hell open up and swallow him? The prospect worried him, but then he would change a picture and someone who didn’t even know that they would have died, would carry on with their life, completely unaware of how close they had come to death, and Mark would get a heady rush of satisfaction. How could he give that up?

He snapped away, getting a few more shots of the mesh on this side, but moved in closer and laid on the ground to get a picture of a large blackbird picking at a piece of garbage. The building was just a blur in the background.

“Yo, man. What you doin’?”

Startled, Mark rolled from his belly to his side and squinted up at the boy standing beside him. With a grunt, he rose to his feet and put out his hand. “Hi. I’m Mark. I’m a photographer and just thought I’d get a few pictures of this place before they tear down all the buildings.” The kid looked about thirteen. He wasn’t quite as tall as Mark, probably about five-eleven, but judging by the size of the hands gripping the basketball he held in front of him, he still had some growing to do.

The kid gave Mark’s hand a suspicious glance and ignored it, but he wasn’t completely rude as he then warned, “This probably ain’t the best place to take pictures.”

Mark nodded. “I know. I just wanted a few shots. I figured it would be safe enough during the day.”

“This place ain’t never safe.” The kid cast a wary look around. “This corner belongs to the Gangster Disciples. They know me and know I just wanna go play ball and don’t want no trouble. Most of the time they let me by, but if I was you, I’d get out of here as fast as I could. You don’t belong here.”

Feeling suddenly exposed, Mark noted the group of young men coming towards them. “Thanks for the advice. I think I’ll take you up on it.”

The kid lifted his chin in acknowledgement. “No problem, man.” He jerked his head towards the approaching group. “Tell them you was lost and asked me for directions. I don’t want no trouble.” With that, the boy hurried the opposite way from the group heading towards Mark.

His mouth dry as the dusty grass, Mark decided not to wait for the group to reach him, and instead turned and crossed the street mid-block. Raucous laughter chased him, mocking his actions. He didn’t care. One guy against a gang would have been stupid. Fortunately for him, the thugs didn’t cross the street and give chase.

Feeling he had reached a safe distance away, Mark turned and watched as the group loitered in the area he had just vacated. Not wanting to be spotted, he ducked into the shadows beside a liquor store. Bright red graffiti decorated the side of the building. He wished he had his telephoto lens with him. He watched a series of cars pull up, one of the gangbangers would lean in the window and few minutes later, the car would speed off. Friends? Or drug deals? Mark bet it was the latter and was again thankful to the boy for warning him.