The fading sun provided welcome shade for the attendees. Several highly decorated ponies delighted the crowd, and Justine moved to the first row to shoot the first of many photographs. She faced the galloping ponies, admiring their rich colors and the designs painted on by their owners. White ponies had black and red handprints all over their bodies. Black ones had red lightening streaks, but her favorite was a gray pony with turquoise circles of life tattooed in a connecting formation around its body. The rider wore a matching silver and turquoise hat and a fringed cowboy-style shirt. He had long black hair and wore tight jeans.
She aimed her camera at the rider and zoomed in, but then she pulled back. Was her mind playing tricks on her, or did every man in Gallup suddenly start looking like Darrius Red Sky? She aimed the camera again, knowing for sure her mind was on Darrius. She took several photographs of the Darrius look-alike and the beautiful ponies that actually were the opening act for the rodeo. She could hardly shoot the pictures for watching their performance. The riders galloped around the arena in style and with such perfection. The ponies jumped into rings, hurtled around obstacle courses and even stood on parade just before their show ended.
Rodeo clowns wearing baggy cowboy outfits and floppy hats performed for the crowd doing rope tricks and other cutups. They made her think about the Koshari clowns; she could hardly wait for the main powwow so she could see the Koshari truly perform.
Though Justine had enjoyed the clowns and other rodeo performers, she had kept her eye on the rider on the silver horse. It was amazing how much he looked like Darrius. Was it he? That she didn’t know, but each time he and the pony moved, she moved as well, following him until she could prove to herself that the rider was not Darrius. The man was probably at home wondering if he had, indeed, made the perfect jewelry sale. She looked down at the stunning bracelet. Yes, it was a keeper, and her money was as good as in Darrius’s cash resister.
From a distance, she saw the rider walk his pony into the assigned parking lot, put him into the trailer and then get into a large white F150. She photographed that as well, but never took a face shot. If it was Darrius, he would object to having been photographed. That she was careful of.
The rodeo ended just before 9:30, which gave her time to grab a quick bite and head over to the night parade on Route 66 by 10 o’clock. She needed a break anyway, and was beginning to feel the weight of the backpack of cameras. She lugged the black camera bag over to a fry bread stand.
For once, it was a relief to sit back, eat and do absolutely nothing for the few minutes she had to herself. Being the second of five children hardly ever afforded her the luxury of having time alone whenever she wanted it; she was always on the go for or with someone. Her photography afforded her the opportunity to be alone, quiet, concentrating on landscapes, cityscapes and other beautiful things that caught her eye. She thought back on when she got her first camera. She was nine years old and her parents had given her the camera for her birthday. She had been hooked since then, becoming the shutterbug of the family. She toted the camera everywhere, probably pissed off everyone with her never-ending group pictures. Then one day she discovered landscapes and, as she got older, her and her friends traveled all around California—she was in photo heaven. Her interest in photography continued to grow and soon landed her in photography school. Upon graduation, she had local jobs and then the Oakland Piquet called, landing her pretty decent-sized assignments. When The San Francisco Examiner pulled her away from her photography assistant’s job with the Piquet, she went running.
Her education and experience were paying off now; this was her second major assignment for the Examiner. The Gallup powwow was growing in popularity but pictures in other magazines generally did not do it justice, with exception of New Mexico Magazine. She had wanted this assignment very badly and had campaigned for it. Her boss almost gave the job to Wilfred Sands. Wilfred’s photography was good, but not like hers was. She remembered her boss saying how much he liked her pictures from the Arizona powwows and her local work assignments with area craft shows and sporting events. She never shied away from dangerous situations. Just a few minutes ago at the rodeo, a charging bull was turned around and headed for the crowd. Instead of thinking of saving her own neck, she stayed put and was able to get a couple of shots before a clown corralled him. She was scared, but she got her shot!
The sun had finally disappeared. It was now a cloudless, star-filled sky with streaks of pink, red and orange—the only clues left behind by a robust sun. As she drove down Route 66 on her way to the night parade in midtown Gallup, she looked at what seemed to be millions of stars in the sky. It was a perfect sky for a night parade, the perfect atmosphere, and she and her cameras were ready.
She picked a place on the sidewalk near one of the many storefront jewelry shops and waited for the start of the parade.
Several native children dressed in traditional ceremonial costumes led the parade. Feathers were attached to practically every inch of their gemstone-studded, multicolored outfits. This was something Justine had wanted to see ever since hearing about the ceremonial years ago. The lifestyle of Native Americans had always fascinated her, and she had read a few books on their customs and way of life on reservations from early eighteenth century to the present. She was not, however, as familiar with the different kachinas and what they symbolized. She had read about some of them, but there were over three hundred. If at all possible, she would ask Darrius to give her more insight into the kachina stories. But for now, here she was watching real ones, performing traditional dances from the wolf dance, jingle dress dance to the warrior dance—all fascinating, and all being photographed to become a lasting memory in the minds of anyone who would read her article.
* * *
Justine’s last round of photographs were of the male hoop dancers. She was amazed by their precision and dexterity as they maneuvered the hoops into intricate designs and danced in and out of them. The hoop dance, as she remembered reading, meant that all things were related, designed to be part of a whole—one people, one world. A good philosophy, one everyone should adhere to.
The dancers’ jumps and spins transformed their decorative costumes into colorful blurs. Watching, she wished she were part of the custom. Of course, her African American and Italian customs had their own dynamic traditions, but she’d always had an affinity to the Native American culture. Could it be she was destined to be a part of it? Could this destiny also include a man—Darrius Red Sky? Realizing her imagination was running amok, she shook herself and returned to the dancing.
The combination of dance, enticing foods and the festive night atmosphere had relaxed her, put her on another plane. She liked it.
Her cameras were becoming tiresome after being carried around for hours. She couldn’t wait to dump the bag on her nice luxurious bed and drift off into another turquoise dream. She packed up and went looking for her car, but the departing crowd made it hard to see where she had parked.
She stood in the middle of a side street off Route 66 and finally spotted it near a sign advertising the Ranch Kitchen Restaurant. She had parked there because she wanted to remember its location. She planned to eat there before leaving town, having read great reviews about it in New Mexico Magazine. Walking toward her car, she spotted a tall and slender figure with long dark hair. It could have been any Native American man in New Mexico, but even in the dark, this one had Darrius’s profile. She realized her mind had been so fixed on seeing Darrius that she would see him in any man until she came face to face with him. Even so, she followed the man, calling at the top of her lungs, “Darrius! Darrius! Stop! It’s me, Justine, from your store.”
But he kept walking as if he hadn’t heard her. What with the crowd noise, it was entirely possible he hadn’t. She called out again, and followed until she lost sight of him in the crowd. That didn’t stop her. She had to find him, look into his eyes again—and, of course, pay him for the bracelet.
She saw him emerge from the crowd and keep walking until he unlocked a white Ford F150. With all of her might, she called his name again. To her surprise, he heard her this time—at least he heard something, and he turned around.
Justine grabbed a hold of her camera bag and ran in his direction, still calling to him. When he recognized her emerging from the crowd, he smiled and that let her know that, yes, the man had seen her and was willing to wait.
Panting and out of breath, she stood before him. “I’ve been calling you for almost a block.”
“For that long? You know I would have stopped sooner had I heard. You here photographing the night parade, I see. Take any good shots?” he added, moving closer to her.
“Lots. Probably more than my editor can use.”
“I saw you snapping away, getting in the middle of the action. It was exciting to see you at work.”
She stood next to him, leaning against his truck. “Should have seen me at the rodeo. Almost got nailed by a bull.”
“I saw it, and my heart skipped a few beats. I relaxed once you were safe behind the row of seats.” He turned and faced her. “Now my heart is skipping beats again.”
“There’s no danger around, Darrius.”
“Exactly my point.”
His meaning was well understood, and Justine didn’t quite know how to take it, so she turned to her profession as a safe space. “So, you were at the rodeo?”
“Indeed. I love rodeos.”
“Were you riding?”
He leaned in a little closer. “I may have been. Why? Did you see someone there who looked like me?”
“Maybe. I took pictures of a silver pony with rings of life on his sides.”
“He sounds beautiful.”
In a dream-like tone, she responded. “He sure is—was.”
Darrius definitely got her meaning and smiled to himself. To elude any further comments on their apparent attraction, he took her wrist. “How’s the bracelet holding up?”
“Wonderful. You should let me pay you for it now, while I have you here. Though I’d have to pay by check.”
“Save your checks. There’s an ATM near your hotel. You can come by tomorrow and pay if you like. Then again, you may just change your mind and go for the nugget bracelet instead.”
Christ! The man’s hands on her made her weak in the knees. No man had done that to her since—since never! What was it about Darrius Red Sky? Everything! She slowly withdrew her hand. “I’d better get back and upload these pictures to my editor. My laptop is in the room.”
“You could use mine. But you would have to come to my house to use it. I do have some pictures I would like to show you—some taken of Red Rock.”
