In that movie A League of Their Own, Geena Davis comes down the stairs as an aged woman whose days of youth and excitement have long passed. We don't know for sure what kind of stories she has from her life, but when she stares at an old photo, a window from her past is opened. With the simple view of this picture, distinct memories flood her mind. Had we glanced at the photo unassisted, we would have seen a picture only as deep as the photo paper would allow. The keeper of the photo, the one whose life crossed paths with the frozen image, can see much further inside that same picture.

I don't know why I thought of that today, but it led to my playing a little game. I decided to randomly open a picture saved on my computer, and from there I would connect that image to an experience not directly apparent when observing the picture.



You look at this picture and see a cute girl with a studly Italarican. You assume that they know each other from the body language. From the drink and the people in the background, it's obvious that some sort of party is going on. You see and guy and a girl having a good time at a party.

What I remembered from looking at this picture: a few days before said party, one of the more surreal moments of my life.

A year and a half ago, during my life-changing trip to South Africa, my group planned on hitting an improv comedy club. Whose Line is it Anyway still had a decent following, and all 36 of us planned on sitting in the audience, hoping there'd be a poor man's Colin Mochrie that would call one of us up to make a complete fool out of ourself. Well, I was suddenly hit with a strong fever and a stomach bug that afternoon. When we returned to our hotel early in the evening, I decided to get some rest rather than go with the group. I drifted in and out of consciousness, and it got darker and darker.

I'd open my eyes... still sunny, about 7:00.
I'd awake again... a burnt orange tint to the sky, 8:15.
I'd finish a dream... navy blue cloud of fog, 9:45.
I'd wake up with nausea... blackness, 11:55.

The shivering of my body contradicted the damp sweat stains on my sheets, and I continued to fall in and out of sleep. All the while, most of my group--- including my roommate--- explored the nightlife of South Africa. I never expected to see any of them until I went down for breakfast the next morning.

So it was to my astonishment that when I awoke again sometime around 3 or 4 in the morning, I felt the weight of another person on my stomach. I could not figure out whether I was in the midst of a vivid dream or an unexpected sex romp. All I could tell by widenning my squint was that I had someone straddling my waist, from the silhouette I could tell it was a young woman, the bed sheets were removed from my body, and this girl was staring at me, awaiting my attention.

I figured out that I was indeed awake. The room was completely absent of light, so I couldn't pinpoint the identity of my mounting lady until she spoke. Her breath smelled strongly of alcohol--- from what I can recall, some vodka must have been involved--- and she asked me if I felt any better now.

I bent my head upward, and she leaned her torso closer, so that we were now talking with our faces inches from each other. Our voices kept quiet with that breathy morning tone, continuing a previous conversation about underground music and touching an array of topics for maybe five minutes. Then she looked at my nightstand and noticed my wallet. It was open to a photo of my girlfriend, whom I had only been dating for two weeks. She inquired about my girlfriend: her name, how we met, where I thought it was going, that whole deal. I responded directly to each question, reflecting my content in my current situation, all the while trying to figure out where the bed sheets were, how this girl got in my room, and whether or not I was aroused. We remained motionless, same quiet tone, same facial closeness, I wondered if I could get drunk from the alcohol on her breath. She then tells me about her guy back home and her romantic life, and that was it. She swung her leg across my waist, lifted her butt from my pelvis, put the sheets back on me, and said goodnight. I told her I'd see her at breakfast. She acknowledged, walked out the room. No dream, no sex romp. I went back to sleep.



(By the way, the girl in the photo and the girl in my story are one in the same, but I'm sure you figured out that puzzle.)