Road to Nowhere

Chapter One

June, 1997.

9 Rue Littré, Paris, France.

"Writer. Photographer. Artist. Humanitarian. These are, perhaps, the first things that come to mind when the name 'Eva Haney' is mentioned. However, in the next hours, we will find that there is much more to Eva Haney than simply four titles."

The cameras swiveled to look at me and a soft light was cast upon me. I was seated in a comfortable leather chair in the lobby of the Hotel Littré, surrounded by a few cameras and the people that operated them. In the chair facing me sat Wes Stewart, the director of the documentary. He had a stack of notecards in his hand, each neatly numbered. Wes cleared his throat.

"Alright, that was a good opening," Wes said to the one cameraman. Then, turning to me, "We've already taken care of the opening titles and stuff that'll lay the groundwork. We'll just start with the documenting- I'll ask you questions, you answer, maybe elaborate- the whole shebang. Alright?"

"Fine by me."

"Ok. Jim- rolling?"

"Rolling!" With a slight beep and a flashing red light, the cameras were on. Wes spoke, glancing at the first notecard.

"Tell us about your life growing up," Wes asked.

"Well, I was born in Pittsburgh in 1944. My father was Irish, my mom was Polish. My brother and I- we're twins- were very close. Other than that, my life was fairly normal. Nothing out of the ordinary." I paused. "The extraordinary stuff didn't happen until later."

"So how did you get involved in photos and writing? What got you interested?"

"My dad loved taking pictures, always wanted to get better at it. I really started to get into it when I was around twelve, but I took some amateur classes around fourteen or fifteen. Then it became something that I was always doing, always looking for the next great shot."

"And writing?"

"My mom loved to read; I guess you could say she got my brother and I hooked on reading. Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Gone With the Wind, that's what made me want to write."

"Hmm. So you said before that the interesting stuff didn't happen until later. What do you mean?"

I laughed a little and shrugged.

"Well, I guess you could say it all started with Danny."

(Flashback to Pittsburgh, PA; October 28, 1960)

"Hey, come on, Eva, we're going to be late!" Marian called. 

"I'm coming, just give me a minute!" I replied.

Marian stood out on the doorstep of my house on Ward Street in Oakland. Marian is my closest friend. She's very kind and polite, but can be a bit dependent at times. Despite that, though, Marian is very pretty. A lot of boys like her. She's got nice blue eyes and strawberry-blonde hair that's all wavy. I've known her since we were about four, due to the fact that we're neighbors. 

Presently, we were on our way to buy some orange and black ribbons to wear on Halloween with some other girls from the neighborhood.

Of course, we were late.

Well, I was late. Marian had been on time until she came to get me. I'd been fooling around with my camera, thinking about new photos to take when my mother announced that Marian had arrived. 

"Coming!" I yelled. I decided to just put the camera in its case and go, since Marian and I were apparently so late. I ran down the stairs of my tiny black house and met Marian at the door. "Mom, Dad, I'll be back for dinner!"