Rosethorn by Ava Zavora Page B

at the massive red towers of the bridge set against a cloudless blue sky, feeling that it was all there just for them on this perfect day.
    They parked by Stow Lake then bought hot dogs and sodas at the Swiss-like concession lodge and rented a paddleboat to tour the shallow lake in the middle of Golden Gate Park. They stopped paddling under the stone bridge, where it was cool and dark, and ate their lunch. Ducks swam past and quacked angrily at them. The park smelled of moss and ferns, ancient and woodsy.
    After lunch, they circled the island in the middle and when Sera saw the waterfall where Japanese tourists were taking pictures of one another, she was reminded of the one thing she had been wanting to do. Although Andrew was at first reluctant, she convinced him to let her take pictures of him.
    They paddled to a shady spot near the Chinese pavilion.
    “Do you want me to pose?" Andrew had puffed up his chest and flexed his arms.
    “No. Just relax ,” she said from behind the lens. “Tell me about your family, your mom and dad, your brothers."
    She took a few snapshots as he started, letting him loosen, and waited until he had stopped looking tense and got used to the camera in front of him, then started snapping the real pictures she wanted.
    To her he was an explosion of color- from his golden hair to his deep blue eyes. The golden tones of his skin captivated her imagination. She usually preferred black and white, but with Andrew, only color would do him full justice.
    She wanted to set on film that expression in his eyes which made her breathless, his mysterious half-smile, the unexpected moment when he laughed, showing all of his teeth, his Adam’s apple bobbing, the lean profile that showed the curve of his cheek and the length of his hard jaw.
    She recalled what the man at the party had said to her, of the woman she would become. She wondered about the man that Andrew would become and if she would be there to see it.
    “No more pictures,” Andrew said after awhile. “I want to see your face." He reached over and let the camera hang from her neck. “Stop hiding.”
    They continued back to where they started and returned the paddle boat. Walking hand in hand, they entered the park and strolled down the main drive, which was closed to cars on Sundays. People on bicycles, surreys, roller blades, and skateboards were freely moving in the middle of the street. They passed sunbathers on the grass taking advantage of a warm, sunny day in the usually cold and foggy city and paused to watch a group of rollerbladers dancing and doing leaps to loud dance music.
    Strolling some more, they paused on the bridge by the De Young Museum. There was a sign which read, “Free Swing Lessons on Sundays from 12:30 p.m. to 4:30 p.m." They looked out below to the grove of trees and benches, at the edge of which was a great stone band shell with a stage. A crowd was dancing to big band music. Sera looked eagerly at Andrew, who looked doubtful. She kept looking up at him, mutely begging.
    “I can’t dance,” Andrew had his hands open, palms up.
    “We’ll just watch.”
    “Okay,” Andrew reluctantly said as Sera pulled him after her.
    They made their way to the edge of the stage and watched the dancers, some in jeans and tennis shoes, others in sweats, as if they had been jogging and spontaneously decided to start dancing, while quite a few men wore zoot suits and fedoras, their partners in 40s dresses, bright red lipstick, scarves in their hair and open-toed pumps. Sera started bobbing to the music, her face lighting up as she watched the dancers twirl, feet dancing in dizzying speed, making jumps and flips, all in rhythm to the trumpets and drumbeats of “Jump, Jive, an’ Wail."
    Andrew watched Sera as she tapped her feet excitedly to the music, then studied the dancers on stage, paying attention to their feet. He shook his head.
    The song ended, then “Rock This Town” came roaring on.
    “I love this song!” Sera