Vivid Lies by Alyne Robers Page A

Row after row of metal seats are covered in color and words. The thick stone pillars that hold up a massive canopy are also covered in spray paint. Art has been painted over art. I walk in a trance, running my fingers over the railings, thick with paint.  
    Kane wordlessly hands me my camera and I look through the viewfinder, trying to pick where to start. There's so much to look at. So many colors. So many messages.  
    "Is it really vandalism when it's this beautiful?" I ask, focusing on a bleeding heart on the pillar near me.  
    The smell of paint lingers in the air, mixed with the salt water behind us. Each seat is unique. There's a large space where the seats have been removed, the ground below it just as colorful as the area surrounding it. I move on instinct, being drawn to one spot, then the next. Kane silently follows me down a long and winding corridor.  
    "How did you find this place?" I ask while I continue photographing.  
    "You see the luxury apartments over there?" I turn to look across the water. "This is the perfect place to photograph their windows with a high zoom. I go where my subjects take me."
    "Is that legal?"
    "If their blinds are open for anyone to see, it is."
    It's here where the largest pieces of art are. Names written in graffiti lettering stand six feet tall. Bright pinks, blues, and greens mix in my mind to cover the red and orange of flames that haunt my mind. Every terrifying image is painted over with the illegal painting I see on the abandoned walls.  
    The words 'Dare to Live' stand proud and vibrant over all the other tags. Each letter stands taller than me, and I snap a panoramic of it. It's a big message, not just in its size.  
    From the top of the structure, I look down at the entire stadium. The Miami skyline is in the distance and the ocean is calm before me. I stop to appreciate the creativity and time it took to decorate every square inch of this venue. Illegal or not, this space isn't going to waste. I take a deep breath and realize that my hands stopped shaking.  
    "Thank you," I tell Kane who is standing a few feet away. He was giving me space, but never letting me get lost. "I could spend hours here, never seeing enough."
    Kane gives me a half smile and I snap more photos. My favorite view is getting the art with the clear blue sky above. Kane leads me up a ladder to a metal bridge. Across the plank, a room with large windows overlook the stadium and the water. It used to be the control room. I snap another dozen or so photos until my battery starts to get low.  
    "I should get back," I say, my voice laced with disappointment. "Brooklyn will need the car soon."
    Kane leads me out of the stadium. I hate leaving when I haven't seen it all yet.  
    "Where's your car?" as we cross the empty parking lot.  
    "The Sand Bar," I tell him. "Miles and his band played last night."
    "Sounds like fun. Why didn't you leave with him then?" Kane's tone is flat like he doesn't really care, but he's watching me like he does.  
    "Not so much fun. Complicated. We got into an argument and I left, came home and found comfort in a whole bottle of wine."
    "Do I need to kick his ass?"  
    "No," I say with a laugh and I shake my head. "We've known each other almost our whole lives. We fight like siblings."
    "He didn't look at you like you were siblings."
    I have nothing to say to that, so I don't. He saw Miles when he was in his most protective state. I know how Miles looks at me and I know how he looks at Brooklyn. It's probably similar to how Kane looks at her.  
    Back at the bike, he takes my camera bag. I am again picturing Kane and Brooklyn together last night. And Miles and Brooklyn together. How do I fit into all this? Is there even room for me?  
    It's never a competition, but it's always a battle. An unspoken and hidden war to be our own people but stay connected to the one person we care about more than anything.  
    "So, what's with the party last night? Special occasion?" I ask