Walking down the brick sidewalks of the South End pre-dusk, Friday after-workers unbuttoning their coats and loosening their scarves, I have a cinema playing in my head. Caleb and I are four years younger, still in Bloomington, and having some wide-eyed late-night discussion about our big dreams of being artists.
Then, flash forward to 2010, and I'm walking past the Beehive to the Mills Gallery, where Caleb's name is on the door as one of the featured artists, and he and Leyna are inside and there is a champagne reception and a toast and strangely behatted characters asking to get their pictures taken with him. I couldn't have written it better myself.
Caleb wearing my clothes, circa 2008