Page 81 of Error Handling

“Don’t they usually?”

It’s Christopher’s turn to be thoughtful. “I’m going to go with no. I had a cat named Samson when I was growing up. He was a domestic long-hair.”

“Appropriate.”

“I know.”

“Anyway. He attacked our chickens. Caught one by the neck. Drew some blood. It was rude. And I won’t even get into the spots he used to leave on my pant leg when he started purring. Let’s just say, they stank.”

“Just because one cat is rude, doesn’t mean all cats are.”

Christopher peers down his nose at me.

“Just because one man defecates on a sidewalk, doesn’t mean all do,” I continue.

“I suppose you’re right,” Christopher concedes.

“I think we’ve learned something today.”

“Which is?”

“That Samson had an incontinence problem.”

Christopher laughs. “Are we talking about Samson of the Bible now?”

“Sure, why not?” I say, laughing.

Christopher heads up the ramp in the East Bay parking garage and finds a spot on the second floor. After we park, he collects his camera bag and a tripod, and then we head to the fountain.

“You have to tell me what to do with my body and my face,” I say.

“Your body, your choice.”

“No, really. I’m about as photogenic as a wooden clothespin. The old-fashioned kind with round heads that I used to color with markers at my great grandmother’s house. I gave them faces, hair, and clothes.”

Christopher looks at me with a gleam in his eye. “Thank you for that walk down memory lane.”

“Shut up.”

“You don’t resemble an old, wooden clothespin.”

“You haven’t seen me in front of a camera.”

“You haven’t seen some of the people I’ve photographed,” Christopher says. “I’d never say this out loud, but not all brides are lookers, even in their wedding dresses.”

“You just said it out loud.”

“Oops.”

We reach the three-tiered fountain that boasts three mermaids below the top tier and various aquatic creatures beneath the middle tier. Due to the fountain’s age and historical significance, a fence detracts onlookers from swimming in the light blue basin. Decorative pavers comprise the sidewalk around the fountain. Well-manicured hedges provide backdrops for the benches surrounding the water feature. Beyond, the deep blue of the harbor shimmers in the afternoon sun.

Christopher walks to a bench and pulls his camera from the case. It has a broad orange strap, which he places around his neck, and then he sets up his tripod.

“Should I face the sun?” I ask.

“You never took a photography elective, did you?”

“No.”