by a stage at one end. As the sun goes down, Austin's tinted glass skyline behind the stage mirrors the purple Texas sunset. Street vendors line one side of the bridge and people hang along the downriver side so they can watch the mass departure. People fill the walks and grassy areas along Town Lake below the bridge.
Emily walked from her house toward the river to the festival. As she approached the bridge, the crowd erupted to the high-voltage grooves of “Downtown” by Vallejo. Austin loved their homegrown bands and Vallejo's lyrics about addictions and lust and unchecked vice were always a crowd pleaser.
She wandered the party, running into friends, stopping to take photographs. Emily had started carrying her camera. Its weight against her neck gave her purpose. She felt invisible and involved at the same time. She shot a few frames of the concert, zoomed in, waited for an opportunity. Clicked off a few shots of the lead singer. Cute. Sexy.
Folks from Group had staked out a grassy hillside by the water earlier in the day, so Emily headed there to mooch a beer. She sat on a cooler and faced down toward the river walk. People below were paying attention to the action up on the bridge, swaying to the band's Latin-inspired rhythm. She scanned people through the viewfinder and that's when she saw her. It wasn't difficult to pick the hooded figure out of the crowd. She was standing still in a sea of movement. Emily trained her lens on the girl, zoomed, focused and waited.
For the longest time, the girl watched the stage. Although her jacket had a hood, it was also sleeveless and showed bands of tribal tattoos around her biceps. Emily zoomed in on her profile and focused, but the girl suddenly shifted. Emily tried to keep her in frame as the girl shoved her way through the crowd. At one point, her subject glanced to the side and Emily caught a glimpse of something on her cheek before she lowered her head and walked on.
Emily kicked over somebody's beer on her way down the hill.
“Awww! Man!”
“Sorry!” she called out behind her. “Sorry.”
The girl was like mercury, sliding through the smallest openings in the crowd. Emily tried to keep up, but she found it hard to make headway against the opposing current of the festival. Emily bumped a guy carrying hot dogs and tacos. When she looked back again her street punk was gone. Emily cursed to herself and desperately scanned faces in the crowd.
In the distance, the hooded figure appeared climbing a ramp up to street level. Emily saw an opening and cut through the swarm of people. The girl paused, glancing down at those below. Emily snapped a shot, unsure if she'd focused.
Once at street level, Emily followed her for blocks, music evaporating with their every step. The girl threaded her way between people, walking rapidly, her head down. She stopped to look in a shop window. Emily saw her chance and called out.
“Lorelei?”
The girl whirled around, paused and then yanked her hood back from her face.
Emily caught her breath.
“No pictures!” the girl hissed.
Emily had forgotten the camera hanging around her neck.
“Oh, this? Okay. No problem. No pictures.”
A vivid phoenix curled along one cheekbone, its frayed tail feathers touching the edge of the girl's left eye. A cascade of stars sprinkled her other cheek. A scroll design peeked from the collar of her hoodie.
“How do you know my name?” She was younger than Emily had expected for her height. Several cheap plastic barrettes held back her ratty brown hair. Blond streaks started four inches from dark roots and fell to her shoulders.
“I heard somebody call you that one day. That's your name, right? Lorelei.”
She bit her lower lip, considering her answer.
“Yeah,” she offered. “So?”
“I'm Emily.”
“So, what do you want?”
“I just wanted to meet you.”
“Why?”
“I don't know. You look interesting, I guess.”
“Are you mental?”
“I don't think so.”
“A
Emily walked from her house toward the river to the festival. As she approached the bridge, the crowd erupted to the high-voltage grooves of “Downtown” by Vallejo. Austin loved their homegrown bands and Vallejo's lyrics about addictions and lust and unchecked vice were always a crowd pleaser.
She wandered the party, running into friends, stopping to take photographs. Emily had started carrying her camera. Its weight against her neck gave her purpose. She felt invisible and involved at the same time. She shot a few frames of the concert, zoomed in, waited for an opportunity. Clicked off a few shots of the lead singer. Cute. Sexy.
Folks from Group had staked out a grassy hillside by the water earlier in the day, so Emily headed there to mooch a beer. She sat on a cooler and faced down toward the river walk. People below were paying attention to the action up on the bridge, swaying to the band's Latin-inspired rhythm. She scanned people through the viewfinder and that's when she saw her. It wasn't difficult to pick the hooded figure out of the crowd. She was standing still in a sea of movement. Emily trained her lens on the girl, zoomed, focused and waited.
For the longest time, the girl watched the stage. Although her jacket had a hood, it was also sleeveless and showed bands of tribal tattoos around her biceps. Emily zoomed in on her profile and focused, but the girl suddenly shifted. Emily tried to keep her in frame as the girl shoved her way through the crowd. At one point, her subject glanced to the side and Emily caught a glimpse of something on her cheek before she lowered her head and walked on.
Emily kicked over somebody's beer on her way down the hill.
“Awww! Man!”
“Sorry!” she called out behind her. “Sorry.”
The girl was like mercury, sliding through the smallest openings in the crowd. Emily tried to keep up, but she found it hard to make headway against the opposing current of the festival. Emily bumped a guy carrying hot dogs and tacos. When she looked back again her street punk was gone. Emily cursed to herself and desperately scanned faces in the crowd.
In the distance, the hooded figure appeared climbing a ramp up to street level. Emily saw an opening and cut through the swarm of people. The girl paused, glancing down at those below. Emily snapped a shot, unsure if she'd focused.
Once at street level, Emily followed her for blocks, music evaporating with their every step. The girl threaded her way between people, walking rapidly, her head down. She stopped to look in a shop window. Emily saw her chance and called out.
“Lorelei?”
The girl whirled around, paused and then yanked her hood back from her face.
Emily caught her breath.
“No pictures!” the girl hissed.
Emily had forgotten the camera hanging around her neck.
“Oh, this? Okay. No problem. No pictures.”
A vivid phoenix curled along one cheekbone, its frayed tail feathers touching the edge of the girl's left eye. A cascade of stars sprinkled her other cheek. A scroll design peeked from the collar of her hoodie.
“How do you know my name?” She was younger than Emily had expected for her height. Several cheap plastic barrettes held back her ratty brown hair. Blond streaks started four inches from dark roots and fell to her shoulders.
“I heard somebody call you that one day. That's your name, right? Lorelei.”
She bit her lower lip, considering her answer.
“Yeah,” she offered. “So?”
“I'm Emily.”
“So, what do you want?”
“I just wanted to meet you.”
“Why?”
“I don't know. You look interesting, I guess.”
“Are you mental?”
“I don't think so.”
“A
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