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The lyrics are haunting and romantic, tragic, and so full of pain that I feel like I know him already. I can see him with my mother; picture her running away to L.A. with him.
“Hi,” I say, tilting my head, getting a better look at him. “My name is Sasha.” I pause as he looks back at me with questioning brown eyes. “Sasha Leone.”
41
GALLERY
FOUR MONTHS LATER
Sasha
Burnin’ For You by Blue Oyster Cult
Iwipe my sweaty hands on the front of my jeans and then pace the gallery again, making sure the photos are in the right order, and straightening each one - again. I’ve had classroom critiques which were grueling, but never in a gallery where real people are going to be looking at my art. I’ve chosen three different styles, the graffiti art I did with Gabriel, some of my favorite photos of the horses, and a required self-portrait.
My classmates each have their own section of the gallery, showcasing their best work from the semester. All of the photos are available for purchase at the student’s discretion, but it has no bearing on our final grade. This is an opportunity for each of us to show off our work, peer-review, and get feedback from fellow photographers in the industry. What is most exciting is that there are opportunities to get offers for freelance work or as staff photographers from some well-known magazines.
Patrons start entering the gallery one by one, and the room fills with chatter. The space is no longer quiet and sterile. Waiters with drinks and small appetizers circulate, and I stand awkwardly near one of my photographs. A couple nearby discuss the vibrant colors, contrasting the tears streaming down the woman’s face of Gabriel’s graffiti art. Easily one of my favorites, the woman represents every mother who lost a child. The building is long gone where the art was once displayed, but it lives on in my photographs, and it’s thrilling that people get to experience it - just as I had.
Through the crowd, a dark figure makes his way towards me, a shy smile on his face as he looks around at all of the people, champagne glasses in hand, wearing dresses and suits. Gabriel’s chain clanks against his hip, and people stare as he walks by in black jeans and boots with a helmet tucked under his arm.
“Hey,cariño,” he greets while admiring the photos nearby that I took of his art. “This is some fancy art and shit,” he says as he looks around.
“I’m glad you came.” I know this is not his scene. “People love your work,” I reassure him.
He scans the pictures on the wall and watches as people move along, admiring them. I follow him over to the photo of the woman crying, and his fingers extend out to touch it. This one meant the most to him as well. “You brought it to life,” he says, with a hint of awe in his tone.
“I left them mostly raw, just brought out the colors,” I tell him.
We move along the wall and he admires the rest of the photographs, but stops on the one I took of Grandpa John with our horses. “Your grandpa,” he pauses, “he’s a real-life horse whisperer,” he says absently. “Is he coming tonight?”
I blow out a breath. “He works too much, and Grandma Jo doesn’t like to drive anymore.”
Gabriel stands with his arms crossed over his chest in front of my self-portrait. He raises the eyebrow with the scar and points to the photo. “Does Cash know about this one?”
“He’s supposed to be here by now.” I scan the room. “Why?”
“He’s not going to like that.” The corner of Gabriel’s lip curves into a devilish grin and I already know he enjoys seeing Cash’s discomfort.
“Why do you say that?” I ask.
“He didn’t like it when I called you ‘sweetheart’, you think he’s going to be happy about everyone in this room looking at your tits?”
“Only one tit is showing,” I point out.
Gabriel chuckles. “Somehow I don’t think that’s gonna matter to him.”
When Gabriel shifts his weight, Cash comes into view as he enters the gallery.
Pieces of Cash’s blonde hair fall over his forehead, and his brows are knitted together as he makes his way through the growing crowd. When Cash looks up and sees me, he gives me a heart stopping smile… that is until he notices the picture behind me. He stops in front of me with his mouth open in shock.
“What the fuck is that, Sasha?” Cash demands, pointing to the photo. “Peter’s on his way!”
My eyes go wide, but what am I supposed to do about it now?
“I thought Peter couldn’t make it!?” I say, panic starting to set in.
“He wanted to surprise you.”
