NIGHT
I started to sneak out when I was 12. I was impulsive and determined. It was no small feat to climb over the pitched two-story roof barefoot, hang on the exhaust pipe over the laundry porch, and slink out the side gate without waking Mom up. The shoes I threw onto the front lawn waited like two guilty accomplices, ready to start nighttime adventures. This was in the early years before friends had cars, and consequences had not yet taught me the foolishness of walking across Oakland alone at midnight.
I was a city kid, smart enough to watch over my back and lurch next to foliage to hide myself. Often, my destination was Colonial Donuts on Lakeshore, two miles away, open twenty-four hours a day. Oakland has a lot of cut-throughs, side streets, and hidden staircases. My blood pumped when I ran through Morcom Rose Garden in the darkness. The darkness muted the lush hues and folds of rose petals. The magical street and stoplights glowed like beacons of direction. There was something I didn't have much of in the darkness- solace. Solace was in the quiet rhythm of the night, the slow and steady hum of an occasional late-night AC Transit bus or Bart train. This is when I first fell in love with walking at night.
I started taking photos at night in high school. I once drove to Treasure Island with my Canon AE-1 (which I will refer to forever and ever like a first love), parked the car at the entrance to the Naval base, and hiked up the hill. I held a tripod in one hand. My camera swung from my neck. I hung onto the cliff's side of the metal barrier up to where the Bay Bridge ran light a trail of lights into San Francisco. When the negatives came back from the lab, only two or three were crisp. But I had captured what I wanted to - the memory of every night I crossed the bridge into San Francisco - all encapsulated in a tiny rectangle of emulsion.
Every time I travel, I take my camera out at night. Still foolish sometimes, watching bars from across the street in dark alleys, I am a suspicious voyeur ready to turn or walk away abruptly if noticed. Part of the magic remains the sneaking, stealing moments packed with the strange peace after the sun sets.
