The Lost Dream of the Sugar Sand

34 - being a Yank

      As the last of the passengers disembarked in Atlantic City, Jesse disappeared into the cabin. He grabbed his journal, then returned to the warm sunshine.  Heading forward, he crossed paths with Eric.

     "You need anything in town?" Eric asked as he ducked into the wheelhouse.

     Jesse considered the offer.  "Hmmm ... no, not really.  You going shopping?"

     Eric reappeared.  "I wasn't planning on it, unless you needed something.  As long as you don't, I guess I'll grab my camera and go shoot some photos."

     Jesse chuckled.  "As often as you take that camera into town, I'm surprised there's anything left to shoot!"

     Eric grinned as he hopped over to the dock.  "There's always something to shoot, Jess.  Even with the same subject, there's different lighting, angles, composition, depth of field, and so on. You want to go?  I'd be happy to show you."

     Jesse furrowed his brow.  "Um ... no thanks, maybe some other time.  Beside, that's your gig; I'd rather stay here and write."

     "Really?" Eric teased.  "I never could have guessed!"

     Jesse laughed as Eric headed to the bus stop.  Glancing back at the boy hunched over his journal, Eric breathed a sigh of relief.  For the first time in years, everything seemed to be coming together.  He still didn't know the boy very well, but he realized he needed to be patient.

     Two hours later, Eric went into a drugstore to drop off the negatives.  At the checkout lane, he paused to look over the color film, then grabbed a couple of rolls and handed them to the cashier.  "Might as well give it a try."

     "Is that it?" the girl asked dryly.

     Eric nodded.  As she began to ring up the sale, he looked idly around the store, then noticed the sporting goods aisle.  He glanced at the cashier.  "Excuse me, but could you hold up a minute?  I forgot something."

     With an irritated sigh, she set the film down and shook her head as Eric wandered off.

     Thirty minutes later, Eric stepped off the bus carrying a plastic shopping bag alongside his camera.  As he hopped aboard, Jesse looked up and stretched.

     "So, how did it go?" he called, shielding his eyes.

     "Just fine," Eric replied.  "How's the writing?"

     Jesse glanced down and clutched the flipping pages of his journal.  "Oh, about the same," he said.  "Nothing to write home about — so to speak."

     As Jesse returned to his writing, Eric walked up, looked around the marina, then down over Jesse's shoulder.  "So what have you been writing all this time, anyway?"

     Jesse closed the journal and looked up.  "Um, just a journal.  You know, like a diary," he explained.

     "I see," Eric said.  "So have you ever written anything else, like stories and such?"

     Jesse gazed at a sailboat gliding by as it dropped its fluttering mainsail on its way into the marina.  He relaxed and sighed.  "Yeah, I've tried every now and then."  Glancing at Eric, he chuckled, "They kind of suck, though."  His smile faded as he looked away.  "But I'd really like to write a book someday."

     "So why don't you?"

     "Mostly 'cause I haven't thought of anything to write about."