Life Is Real

Chapter Three

Hours passed as Casha and I waited uninterested in the photo studio. I stared out the window, watching every person walk by. Some were talking with others, some walked alone, and some hailed taxis. Man, going into one of those black London taxicabs seemed like the coolest thing ever. They looked better than those bright yellow ones back home. As I watched the outside, Casha got herself intrigued in the old photos from the filing cabinet in the back.
The sound of clinking metal drawers and shuffling files was all that could be heard in the studio. Casha had buried herself in endless pictures of strangers milestones.

"Aw!" she exclaimed at one point in time. "These two got married today! Well, two years ago today! Aw... It's their anniversary." She held a picture out to me, one showing a bride and groom staring into each other's eyes.

"So what?" I growled. "Marriage sucks."

"How does it suck?" Casha asked frustratedly. "Getting to spend the rest of your life with someone is great, Hadley. Marriage is really special."

"Yeah? Well, tell that to my parents."

Maybe their divorce was the reason I was so bitter...

There was an awkward silence in the air as I rethought my decision of saying my last sentence. I usually crushed Casha's happiness in a heartbeat with some dumb backstory. Casha huffed and began looking through the pictures again as I returned to my window.

So much had happened and this was just our first day here. I had eased into the fact that we were in 1974, I wasn't sure Casha had, but I was definitely fine. The Rainbow was to happen sometime, or maybe it had already passed... I wasn't sure what month it was, but going to The Rainbow show wouldn't make my day, it would make my century. I remembered that Queen II was to be produced in this year, and the same to the Sheer Heart Attack album. A Night At The Opera was to be next in 1975, encasing the beloved hit, Bohemian Rhapsody. Would Casha and I still be here in 1975, I wondered. We had no money, no house, no car. How were we even supposed to make money as photographers if we didn't even have...

A camera.

That's what we needed. A camera.

"Hey, Casha," I called, approaching my photo-induced friend. "Do you have a bag with you?"

"A bag?" Casha asked, suspicion creeping onto her face. "Hadley, why do you need a bag?"

"For this!" I exclaimed, showing her the camera I had hidden behind my back.

"Hadley..."

"It's nice isn't it?" I added, admiring the camera in my hands. "I found it in that cupboard over there. I thought we could use it and-"

"No," Casha interrupted. "No, no, no! We are not stealing a camera!"

"Casha, think about it," I said. "We have to make money so we don't get kicked out on the streets, we have to make money by taking pictures. How do we take pictures without a camera?"

"We don't."

"Exactly," I muttered. "So, do you have a bag or not?"

"I don't," Casha mumbled. "But when you get arrested, I'm not bailing you out of prison."

"I know."

•••

Eventually, I'd found a bag to hide the camera in. There was a washed up paper grocery bag that was sitting on the outside sidewalk. I exited the studio and discreetly picked it up, then when I got back inside, slipped the camera into it.

Just minutes after hiding the camera, Mr. Roland returned. The ground shook when he entered the studio, ever footstep of his landing in a thud. He smiled genuinely at us as he hung up his coat and hat while we tried to smile back. He sat back in his desk chair and pulled out a stack of money.