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hs65150.jpgbuy prints of select halfsquatch photographs at etsy or dawanda. (prints of all photographs are available upon request) day 65

The Art Motel was packed with hipsters and art snobs. The models who didn’t look like models who had been cast as models in Stacey and Jimbeau’s multi-disciplinary performance milled about at the reception before the show, most of them looking gaunt and affected and in dire need of food or a fix.

Rebecca’s nesting dolls sold out immediately. She had made only fifty and those who didn’t arrive early enough to buy one pressed business cards into her hand or wrote their e-mail addresses on paper scraps and napkins. She told each of them she’d be in touch when her next series was ready.

Once her dolls were sold Rebecca dashed to the park. She arrived in time to catch Devin wrapping up his introductory speech: “…at its core, the Totem Hole represents my interior thoughts, the feelings I repressed for so many years, about my First Nations heritage.”

Minus herself and Devin, Rebecca counted one-hundred and twenty-eight people at the unveiling of his installation. Devin acknowledged their applause with a blush and a bow. Rebecca hung back as Devin signed Totem Hole postcards and copies of the Vacancy event guide.

She waited until the crowd dispersed before rushing up to him and giving him a congratulatory kiss. Any tension between them had melted. Devin had an explanation for everything. He’d had a thing with Stacey, sure, but that was before. It was never really going anywhere anyway – he told her that from the start. It could never be serious. It wasn’t the right time, she wasn’t the right person, he told Rebecca. She’s not like you.

He tried to persuade Rebecca to drop out of Stacey and Jimbeau’s show. But Rebecca stuck to her word. She’d do the show, she’d wear the bison hair capelet and trot down the runway while newspaper headlines and TV news footage flashed in the background.

“I really want to do it, Devin,” she said. “You’re always the one telling me I need to ‘accept myself and where I come from.’”

It was an argument he knew he couldn’t win. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

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                                                                                                                                                          ©2008 pamela klaffke