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The crisp night breeze sweeps over my bare hands carrying my photography equipment as Foster and I tread across the stone square plaza toward the illuminated large fountain at its center. Hues of yellow, purple, pink, and gold light up the individual streams of water dancing around the sculpture, creating a lucid rainbow of curves in the air.
“I’ll set up over there,” I say, pointing to a well-lit space about twenty feet from the rim of the fountain.
The temperature lowers as we edge closer toward the moving water.
“I should be able to get a few shots here, and then I’ll likely have to change position.”
“Sounds good,” Foster says near my side, tucking his hands into his taupe canvas jacket. “What should I do?”
“Just be a good guard dog.”
“Do I need to bark?”
“Only if you want to.”
I set up the tripod, lengthening the legs to the appropriate height, extract the camera from my bag, and clip it onto the head of the stand, firmly securing it. Peeking through the lens, I frame the shot and adjust the angle of the camera to achieve a desirable composition.
Fingers crossed this goes well.
Sometimes, the process of getting the right shot is more trial and error along with a little bit of luck.
I shoot, capturing eight images in a row, and then readjust the angle of the lens upward. I take five more shots as the sound of water plunging into the small pool at the bottom of the fountain fills the quiet evening.
“What’s this all about?” Foster questions.
I change the aperture. “Are you asking a philosophical question about life?” I grin, teasing him. “The age-old question, what does it all mean?”
“No.” He chuckles. “I think Gandhi and a bunch of ancient Greek guys covered most of the what-does-it-all-mean stuff. It’s highly unlikely your views on that could possibly trump those.”
“How do you know?” I peek at him. “I could make a very strong argument. Don’t you think it’s kind of premature of you to disregard my views so quickly?”
“Depends. Do you think the meaning of life can be found through a camera lens?”
I shrug. “It’s possible. Don’t knock it until you try it.”
“Sounds like peer pressure to me. I’m not falling for that.”
I smile and look through the camera once again. “I’m totally lost, and I have no idea what you are even talking about. Your big brain went on some kind of tangent.”
Foster steps closer to my side, and his arm nudges my hip. “The meaning of life.”
“Deep, Fozzie. Cosmically existential.”
“Sure, Evelyn,” he says, drawling out my name.
After taking a few more shots, I change the camera lens to one more suited for close-ups, pick up the camera and stand, and walk closer to the fountain.
“By the way, I wasn’t trying to have a philosophical conversation about life with you,” Foster says.
I lock the tripod legs into place. “I’m aware. I was just teasing you.”
“You do that a lot,” he deadpans.
I’m fully aware of my constant sarcastic tone, but never has anyone called me out on it so blatantly.
Foster is doing me a huge favor by coming to this part of town in the middle of the night, and I should be a little more appreciative of his generosity and try not to be so flippant. As my mother would say, I was raised with manners, so there’s no reason not to use them. Even though I hate to admit it, there are occasions when she’s right, and this is one of them.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I didn’t mean to blow you off.”
