“It’s a storm on the East Coast. But sometimes—like it’s supposed to do now—it collides with another weather system and it feels like an out-of-season hurricane.”
As he explained, I was still trying to process my discomfort at the thought of not seeing him. Since we’d met, the longest time we’d spent apart was two days, which, I now realized, was also kind of strange. Aside from family, I hadn’t spent that much time with anyone. If Madison and Jodie and I spent a weekend together, we were usually getting on each other’s nerves by the end. But wanting to keep Bryce on the porch for just a little longer, I forced a smile. “What do you have to do with your dad?”
“Secure my granddad’s boat, board up the windows at our house and my grandparents’。 Others, too, around town, including your aunt’s and Gwen’s. It’ll take a day to get everything set up and then the day after, we’ll have to take everything back down.”
Behind him were blue skies, and I was pretty sure that he and his father were overreacting.
But they weren’t.
*
The next day, I woke to an empty house after sleeping in later than usual, and my first thought was No Bryce.
To be honest, it left me feeling a bit out of sorts. I kept my pajamas on, ate toast in the kitchen, stood on the porch, wandered the house, listened to music, then ended up in bed again. But I couldn’t sleep—I was more bored than tired—and after tossing and turning for a while, I finally summoned the energy to get dressed, only to think, Now what?
I suppose I could have studied for finals or continued working on the next semester’s assignments, but I wasn’t in the mood for that, so I grabbed a jacket and the camera along with the light meter, loading all of it into the basket on my bicycle. I didn’t really have an idea of where to go, so I pedaled around for a while, stopping now and then to practice taking the same kind of photos I’d been taking all along—street scenes, buildings and houses. Always, though, I ended up lowering the camera before pressing the shutter. In my mind’s eye, I already knew that none would have been all that special—just more of the same—and I didn’t want to waste the film.
It was around that time that I sensed that the mood of the village had shifted. It was no longer ghostlike and sleepy, but strangely busy. On practically every street, I heard the sounds of drills or hammers, and when I rode past the grocery store, I noticed that the parking lot was full, with additional cars lining the street out front. Trucks filled with lumber rolled past me, and at one of the businesses that sold tourist items like Tshirts and kites, I saw a man on the roof fastening a tarp. Boats at the docks were lashed with dozens of ropes while others had been anchored in the harbor. No doubt, people were getting ready for the nor’easter, and I suddenly realized that I had the opportunity to take a series of photos with an actual theme, something with a name like People Before the Storm.
I’m afraid I went a bit crazy with it, even though I only had twelve exposures. Because there was no joviality in the people I saw—just grim determination—I tried to be as circumspect with my camera as possible, all the while trying to remember everything that Bryce and his mom had taught me. The overall lighting, fortunately, was pretty good—thick clouds had rolled in, some grayish-black in color—and after checking the meter, I’d peer through the viewfinder and move around until finally achieving the perspective and composition that felt right. Thinking back on the photographs that I had studied with Bryce, I’d hold my breath, keeping the camera perfectly still while carefully pressing the shutter. I knew they weren’t all going to be amazing, but I was hoping that one or two would be keepers. Notably, it was the first time I photographed people going about their daily lives…the fisherman securing his boat with a grimace; the woman carrying a baby while leaning into a wind; a lean and wrinkled man smoking in front of a boarded-up storefront.
I worked through lunch, only stopping at the shop for a biscuit sandwich as the weather began to perceptibly worsen. By the time I got back to my aunt’s house, I had a single exposure left. My aunt had returned early from the shop—her car was in the drive—but I didn’t see her, and I arrived just as Bryce’s truck pulled in. When he waved, I crazily felt my heart speed up. His father was beside him, and I could see Richard and Robert in the bed of the truck. I grabbed the camera from the bike basket. After Bryce hopped out, he strolled toward me. He was wearing a T-shirt and faded jeans that accentuated his wide shoulders and angular hips, along with a leather tool belt that held a cordless drill and a pair of leather gloves. Smiling in that easy way of his, he waved.