Colombine’s collection contained plenty of views, plenty of details and suspiciously few pictures of herself. Mea noticed while looking through the photographs. Lu Cia nodded so promptly that she seemed to have been waiting for the observation. Their next stop required no new destination. Only a small change of roles.
An imagined story inspired by original Travel2City photographs. These stops form a collage of separate journeys and days, not a one-day itinerary. The characters, dialogue, clothing, activities and some lighting are artistic additions.
Colombine had already chosen the view when Mea pointed to the empty space beside Lu Cia. “There.” Colombine glanced behind her to see whether somebody else was standing there. “You,” Mea clarified. The camera remained at her waist, and her face took on the curious mixture of amusement and uncertainty usually reserved for drawing someone else’s smile. Lu Cia moved half a step aside. The harbour behind them had room for dozens of boats. Surely they could find room for one friend.
At a stone wall in Antibes, the roles finally changed. Mea held the camera while Colombine tried so diligently to look natural that Lu Cia began swallowing a laugh. “What should I do with my hands?” Colombine asked. “Whatever they do when nobody supervises them,” Mea said. The hands went into pockets. The shoulders dropped. Lu Cia could contain herself no longer, and that was when Mea pressed the shutter. The first photograph was a little crooked. Colombine wanted to keep it.
At Cap Ferrat, Colombine finally found a model of perfect stillness: the faces in a stone relief. She tried their expression. Chin slightly higher, eyes in the distance, no unnecessary emotion. Lu Cia lasted approximately one second. Mea lowered the camera because she could not hold the frame steady while laughing. The stone faces remained solemn, which only made matters worse. “All right,” Colombine surrendered, “I’ll leave this profession to the experts.” She did not have to perform for the next photograph.
In Nice, they sat side by side and began looking through the photographs. One was blurred, Lu Cia was speaking in another, and in the third Colombine had not managed to arrange the correct expression at all. They all paused at that one. “Don’t delete it,” Colombine said. Mea looked at her over the camera. “I wasn’t going to.” Beyond the sea wall, the water moved quietly towards the shore and back. On the small screen was a friend who had briefly forgotten that somebody was taking her picture.
“That one is me. Let’s keep it.”
From notebook to book
The Map with No Last Page
Travel2City journeys continue between the covers of a book. Discover our illustrated travel world.
