There was Edgar
By Kathryn Bradley
Now that I think about it, I arrived at every shoot expecting not to see Edgar. He was always there just the same.
If we were shooting inside, he was right at the door, sometimes scamming his way inside. If we were out on the sidewalk, he would gradually move through the crowd of curious tourists and frustrated, hurrying locals until he was in the shot.
While I was spreading out the tripod and sorting through filters and lenses, he would roam back and forth behind the rest of the crowd. While I was adjusting the camera, he would run his fingers through curly gray hair and lick his lips expectantly.
Every time, he was in the shot. It was a joke among the rest of the crew. We wondered how he always found us. Sometimes, in the bar after work, we wondered why. Mark, when he trained me, mentioned that Edgar would be there. I didn’t really believe that he meant every time until my tenth time out.
Sometimes, we would purposefully stage the reporter with his back to a busy street, or against a wall. Edgar would simply cross the street and stand, his hands in his pockets. For hundreds of shots, my entire working life, I saw him every single day.
Then one day last week, he was gone. The next day, no Edgar. Saturday’s Local Focus, right in the middle of downtown, and no Edgar. We took longer than we had to on location shots, waiting for him to show. Ten years at this, and I had seen him every day. I started looking for him everywhere. In the park. In the grocery store. I scanned the obituaries page.
I worried, but the group didn't seem to mind. Over beer, it seemed less important.
Edgar found love, we decided. An old beauty who'd seen him on the 5:30 and swept him away.
Now that I think about it, I arrived at every shoot expecting not to see Edgar. He was always there just the same.
If we were shooting inside, he was right at the door, sometimes scamming his way inside. If we were out on the sidewalk, he would gradually move through the crowd of curious tourists and frustrated, hurrying locals until he was in the shot.
While I was spreading out the tripod and sorting through filters and lenses, he would roam back and forth behind the rest of the crowd. While I was adjusting the camera, he would run his fingers through curly gray hair and lick his lips expectantly.
Every time, he was in the shot. It was a joke among the rest of the crew. We wondered how he always found us. Sometimes, in the bar after work, we wondered why. Mark, when he trained me, mentioned that Edgar would be there. I didn’t really believe that he meant every time until my tenth time out.
Sometimes, we would purposefully stage the reporter with his back to a busy street, or against a wall. Edgar would simply cross the street and stand, his hands in his pockets. For hundreds of shots, my entire working life, I saw him every single day.
Then one day last week, he was gone. The next day, no Edgar. Saturday’s Local Focus, right in the middle of downtown, and no Edgar. We took longer than we had to on location shots, waiting for him to show. Ten years at this, and I had seen him every day. I started looking for him everywhere. In the park. In the grocery store. I scanned the obituaries page.
I worried, but the group didn't seem to mind. Over beer, it seemed less important.
Edgar found love, we decided. An old beauty who'd seen him on the 5:30 and swept him away.
posted by ash | 7:41 AM | 2 comments