This morning, as is my norm for Saturdays I headed-out as early for a bike ride with my camera gear. Actually, I started out later than I would have rather done because I needed to wait for the rain to end, but that is another story for another day.
Walking about bushy park this morning I came across one of my favorite clearings. The floor of the clearing is filled with Snowdrops in late February, then with Crocuses in early March which finally give way to Daffodils in late March. It is one of the loveliest areas in the park, in my humble opinion. Today was no exception but what was exceptional was the number of people there.
In the clearing there were at least fifteen people milling about with camera gear, reflector shades, and even a portable make-up station. I apparently had come across some kind of a professional shoot. Not wanting to get in the way, I turned around and started to leave but was blocked by a woman who was arriving up the path I had just traversed. "Excuse me," I said stepping to the side of the path to let her by.
"You're American" she said in a fairly pronounced Southern drawl. I agreed that I was and she just gushed. "I miss the accent the most." She said. "I've been living here for two years now and don't get to hear voices from home too often, well except when I call my mom."
"You should try the King's Arms, across the road," I replied. "I am always running into Americans there. Strangely enough, many of them from my state and from the state my parents live in!"
"Are you on the shoot?" She asked, motioning to my camera gear.
"Oh, uh... No." I replied. "I just ride over from the other side of the river on Saturdays to get some exercise and to take some photos. I an amateur."
"Your accent," she said. "I can't quite place it. You're definitely American, but what part?"
"I live in Colorado, but have lived in Tennessee and am native to Florida." I replied. "Couple that with my having spent time in all the states except Alaska and the fact that I have been coming over here fairly regularly for the last eighteen months and it's no wonder that my accent is a bit muddled."
"Florida?" She replied brightening, "That's where I am from! What part?"
You might think that this is a bit of a coincidence, but it really is a small world. I have bet the neighbors of my best friend's parents in Thames Ditton in the deli. "Miami." Was the one-word response I gave.
"Really? Me too!" She gasped. "You know, this is going to sound like an odd question, but did you go to Southwest?"
"Go Eagles!" I replied... "You can't mean that you went there too!"
"Yes! Class of 1981!"
"Really? I was class of '80!" I replied.
"What's your name?" She asked, I thought you looked familiar. "Weren't you in the orchestra? Bass was it?"
"Cello," I replied and told her my name.
"IT IS YOU!" she cried and hugged me. "It's me, Loni Lott! Uh, Pacheco is the name you'd remember me as! God! I haven't seen you since when? When you lived in Tampa and we ran into each other! What a small world."
I remembered the day. She had come into Blair Television to ask for directions to another tenant of the building at which she had a meeting. Of course back then it had only been six years since high school instead of twenty six. "You're looking great!" was the only thing I could think of to say.
At about this time, the security guard that the photographer had hired to keep the curious away from his shoot, wandered over and asked Loni if I was bothering her. Without waiting for an answer, he told me that I had better get moving. Eyed my camera and then called over his shoulder to the photographer to see if anything was missing. Without waiting for a response, he took my camera and gruffly told me to beat it!
"No!" Said Loni, "This is an old friend of mine from the state. Don't you have something else to do?"
"They're ready for you, Miss Lott." was all that the meathead said. He also made it entirely clear to me via his body language and the glare that he gave me that he was ready for me to be gone.
I tried to protest and ask for my camera back but he made a menacing motion and called over the other guys that also looked like steroid addicts and I decided it was better if I just went.
I left. I biked over to the police station to report them but by the time we returned, they were nowhere to be found. The police took my report but it was with the condescending obsequiousness one might use when talking to a child about their imaginary friend.
I am now sitting at the King's Arms Writing all this down so that I don't forget it and will post it up to my blog as soon as I get home. Damn it! That was a nice camera!
I hope that where ever you are, your day is a bit less surreal!
Don Bergquist - 01-April-2006 - Hampton Court, London, United Kingdom
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