My attention drifted, and I only snapped back when Genie started sobbing—suddenly, uncontrollably. She tried turning her head away, but I saw some rogue tears fall from the corner of the same dark brown eyes I'd only ever seen cry with laughter. In a sort of silent-movie panic, Emily mimed at me, like I knew what to do. I mimed back to shush.
Settled and letting her tears dry on their own, Genie took a finishing drag from her cigarette, then continued: "I ain't no saint. And when I catch folks sizing me up, using them comes easy. It's just by then—sleep-deprived, cash-deprived, and all—I was using myself. And having had enough of it, I walked out of town on a whim, following the canals. Carrying a full backpack of camp and camera equipment, well, felt like I was heading to a baptism of pain. It nearly broke me. How relieved was I when I pulled myself over the last hill and literally saw what was in my head since those good-bye beers came to life? The scene at dusk was like a photo negative—purple sky stretching forever, these shadows creeping up like a good night quilt over a perfect field of lavender. It felt electric."
Telling that story revived Genie. She spoke in great technical detail about setting up for a dawn shoot. Emily, from the kitchen, interrupted with a reminder: Genie's latest beau, Marty, and his crew were still meeting up for night swims at Oak Lake. I swear, those ladies were out of boring study wear, into "look-at-me" street attire, and packed for a swim in less than ten minutes! I even got a few "How does this look on me?" which really moved me, asking for my opinion and all. Genie even let her hair down—relaxed, brunette curls behind a shag haircut. I think she looked like Ripley from Alien. I hadn't seen the movie, but I had seen the magazine articles in town.
We walked out the door around seven at night. So giddy from hanging with older girls that I wasn't paying attention and got the shock of my life when these beefy, hairy man-arms picked me up like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder. Another set of man-hands, smelling of sardines, clasped over my mouth and held onto my head. They had me locked in the back of a campus security cruiser before I had my bearings. Genie banged at their car window, but they left her cursing in the street like a sailor.
When the cruiser stopped again, they carried me off like a sloppy rolled-up carpet into some underground laundry room. Delores—the same Delores who requested I be back by dinner—was there. She cracked into me right away! How my shenanigans had put an entire campus into lockdown because they lost a kid. How UNL administrations had to cross-reference my hometown with active students to find where I was hiding. How I both lied to her and let "The Program" down—and so much more!
