Lucy in the Sky

“Dance with me,” his breath swam into her ear, the voice an oily mixture of demand and desperation. Lips grazed her cheekbone. The music was at an anxious tremble now, guitar pangs and occasional balmy kisses from the ocean air. Their small table was littered with shot glasses and limp lime rinds indented with their teeth marks, all casualties of the savage rounds of tequila they had slammed in the last hour. Salt from margaritas scattered around the glasses like wedding rice. The citronella candle was askew, balancing dangerously at the edge of the table, bubbling wax over its holder in volcanic fashion, the flame sashaying along with the dancers because it too, was being romanced by the four men on stage expertly strumming their instruments and stirring up music that made her feel aggressive and needy.

 

Lucy hesitated at his offer only momentarily, giving him her best heavy-lidded look, challenging him. She knew he still thought her to be a stiff American to his languid Latino moves and she appreciated this advantage that she had, that they didn’t know one another that well. He had no idea that this was a large part of her past. Each step towards the other dancers shot familiar electricity up her calves and deep in her diaphram, her feet giddy with a long-lost need to move her body in a way it hadn’t in far too long. Classical dance had been her genre of choice, yet it had never stopped her from frequenting the underground salsa bars back home with the other girls in her troupe, trying out moves that were so very different from what they studied on a daily basis. That seemed so long ago, she had a brief pang of anxiety wash over her. What if she didn’t have those moves in her anymore?

 

The energy on the dance floor was soupy with moisture as if someone had turned the shower on and they were all drenched in the steam. She let him lead her deep into the dancers, surprised at how cool his palm was. Once in the midst of all the bodies, the temperature spiked and a hint of dizziness threatened to unsteady her. He stopped in the nucleus of the dance floor and they were engulfed by bodies undulating and dipping, hips climbing on hips, men with hands firmly placed on the smalls of women’s backs. Intricate footwork gave way only to rapid twirls and occasional clapping of hands. She loved Mexico and its ability to make even the most lackluster person find a passion that normally lay dormant. Maybe they would eat spicier food or splurge on jewelry, drink more liquor than they ever would in their living room. Perhaps they wouldn’t lather on the sunscreen as heavily in a dangerous attempt to look like the exotic locals with their wide eyes and bronzed complexions, or they might forgo shoes as often as they could, sleep in longer, eat nothing but succulent fruit. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. Anyone who came usually pushed the envelope in some small way. All the tightness in her neck and shoulders from last nights tossing and turning evaporated as he looped his arms around her waist and they began as though everything was leading up to this, everything else prior to this had just been one very long pause. It was almost romantic enough to make her believe she had met Milo a few days ago just for this moment, like his offering for her to jump into his cab at the airport had been so that they would share this dance two days later and if they parted ways when the music stopped, it would be acceptable.

 

Left, right, left, right, front, back, smooth and easy. Soft knees and nimble toes. Rapid tapping and chasing of feet. They laced arms and tried to keep up with the manic rhythms sounding from the stage.  She realized that even though the moves came back to her and she was no doubt good, he was even better.

 

She spun and let go of it all, the harsh purpose of this trip, the crippling issues she had left behind to get here, to the place where she hoped to finally find answers. She deserved this respite, this night of abandonment. Tomorrow she would regain her focus, but for now she was living and she refused to feel any remorse. She laughed deep from her throat and felt younger than she was, rebellious as only dancing made her. She hadn’t sounded anything like herself since she had landed here and it was comforting to know she could still be this way. She hadn’t lost it all. Men were now whooping and girls’ skirts flounced flirtatiously, giving way to shiny tanned thighs and delicate ankles, the twangs of the guitars forcing them all into a scandalous frenzy made more potent by the tequila coursing through their veins. Any other night they were all strangers, but tonight they were neighbors under one roof, sharing secret smiles and looks with one another.

 

She watched the muscles of his quadriceps rise through his linen pants as he deftly circled around her, his hair dampening in tight tendrils on his smooth forehead. She tied her shirt up into a knot under her breasts and ignored the sweat running in rivulets down her abdomen. She was going to pass out if she didn’t allow some of the breeze coming in from the ocean access to her skin. She turned her face towards the water for a moment, inhaling deeply. She felt wonderful.

 

The dance floor of the cantina opened to the beach where the light reflecting on the inky water was fluorescent in its luminosity, the moon itself a voyeur intent on watching, longing to be them for a night. Sand glowed in creamy ribbons. The pretty people moving as one on the stage; a giant organism with pink cheeks and skin slick from the movements, they were creating something that the outside world couldn’t resist soaking in.

 

She had slipped off her sandals earlier and particles of sand stuck to her feet, scratchy but soothing. His long fingers dove into her hair where it flowed freely down her back and clung to her shoulders from the moisture that licked every inch of her. He cradled the base of her head and lingered there, placing pressure on the nape of her neck. Just one touch and her muscles loosened even more. She was letting him do this to her and she didn’t care how far it went. All around her the torches that lined the outskirts of the entire cantina became a blur, the only objects exuding seriousness as they stoically stood guard against any reality that might try to interrupt them. He pulled her into him roughly, and positioned her leg on his hip, bending her back so that her vision swam and she glimpsed the stars as they winked naughtily at her, giving their approval to the writhing going on below them. Those same stars wanted to see more, to see what sort of trouble these humans could get into if given enough time.

 

Strong arms yanked her back up and spun her away to dance alone for only a few seconds, his need to have her near him allowing her only the smallest break. She looked over her shoulder at a young couple behind them, their large sensual mouths and full eyebrows that of their Mayan heritage. She grinned as they pushed up against each other, eyes closed, blind to everyone else around them. Her dark hair was plaited into thick braids, rich like melting chocolate, that dangled and slapped her soft back as her partner slid her around in a delicate circle. Every so often his hand would dip down low enough to grab one of her a*s cheeks and pull her in closer to him.

 

Milo reeled her around by her wrist and slammed her against him again, his torso hot and wet through his white shirt. This was going to go too far, but she didn’t care. White teeth flashed as he gave her an impish grin that confirmed her fear. The delicate crucifix around his neck made her giggle as she wondered if he would keep it on after he took everything else off. Miniscule flecks of turquoise were inlayed on the cross and stood out brightly against his caramel skin. She groaned inwardly, knowing that she may as well start dancing him back to her hotel room. This was one battle she willing decided she would not win, like a thrown card game, and she did love a good battle. With her, everything was about a power struggle of some kind, even this.

 

She turned and curved her back against his chest, wrapping her arms around him from behind, relishing the feel of his ribs and tight back through his thin shirt, the music bullying them, testing their bodies to see if they would bend further, checking how fluidly they would move their limbs. The guitars were humming; she could feel the vibration in her lips as they curled like snakes at the charm of the instruments and the diminutive Mexican men manipulating them in such a loving but abusive manner. She jutted her backside into him firmly and sighed in satisfaction when he tensed, the weight of her between his legs too much even for him to handle, her skilled companion. She laughed again, and turned to put her arms around his neck.

 

Then she saw her. Trudging blindly up the beach in a sliver of moonlight that shone on her like a flashlight.

 

She wore the same dirty red pants rolled up at the ankles, and yellow sweater, attire too warm even this long after the sun had gone down. Her hair swayed in lank strips down past her elbows and she came only as far as the torches and sat, cross-legged, watching. Those ominous dark eyes scanning the cantina for something. Even from this distance those eyes made her inhale sharply. She wondered if the girl would notice her, if she would remember her despite the hundreds of customers that likely frequented her ramshackle store on a daily basis, all becoming just a sea of pale white tourists after awhile. Would she see her and recall the confrontation that had transpired between them? Lucy hadn’t expected to run into the girl so far from the market. She hadn’t even been in the cluttered shop yesterday for more than a few minutes before the girl had covered her face with her hair, pulling it towards her like a veil so that only her eyes, abnormally wide and glistening even in the shade of the shop, peered out at her. The shop was shaded but stagnant, only one window letting in a feeble breeze. The moth-eaten curtains hung like swiss cheese, moth-eaten and flimsy. Several rugs, once colorful, were now caked with grime and layered the floor. One forlorn stool held a Coke can and a crumpled bag of Fritos. She could discern the softest sound of a radio coming from the back and almost let out a laugh at the Beatles song playing. “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.” If only her parents, hippies of the truest form, could be here now.

Despite this, the lack of air and clutter of the shop, the jewelry this girl was peddling was some of the loveliest Lucy had seen yet, her semi-precious stones clear and clean, vibrant. The silver polished brightly, the racks of earrings straight and tidy. The girl had monitored her every touch, any finger that moved she glared her way. Lucy was about to ask the price of some earrings when the girl broke her cold silence and spoke.

 

“Por favor. You go,” she had mumbled almost inaudibly as Ava stroked smooth rings and an ankle bracelet. She scrutinized an array of amber and lapis lazuli, chandelier earrings embedded with turquoise and amethyst, chunky bracelets of opal and slender barrettes of Tigers Eye. At first she didn’t hear her, assuming she was speaking to someone else until she looked around and noticed she was the only patron in the shop. The girl raised her voice to her, “You go now, no come back.”

 

Too shocked to be angry, Lucy had smiled cordially at the girl and assured her she was just trying to purchase something. Normally the peddlers down here swarmed the tourists, doing anything they could to sell their wares, so this girls wish for her to leave was very strange. She ignored the girl and fingered the lovely silver necklace with its ceiba tree charm hanging from the thin chain and was lifting it for a closer look when the girl began scolding her again.  She studied Mayan culture, it was the reason she was here, so she knew very well that the ceiba tree represented the tree of life, a mythological symbol, one that was believed to connect the heavens and the underworld. A common theme in many parts of the world, Yggdrasil for the Norse, the Eyptians and their Holy Sycamore, the Hindus with their banyan tree, no religion or mythology was without their trees and fruit. For the Mayans, it was the ceiba, sometimes referred to as “Yaxche.” She wanted the necklace and would compensate the girl well; in fact, she wouldn’t even haggle. She would pay whatever the asking price. She explained this to her in clear, confident Spanish.

 

“Cuanto cuesta, amiga?” she asked politely, keeping her voice even.

 

Still, the girl shook her head and backed away from her, her glossy black hair still draped across her face in protest. From where she stood, Lucy noticed the shaking hands twisting her red pants nervously and she became slightly concerned. It was even hotter today, which seemed impossible, and she had downed two bottles of water before even leaving her air-conditioned room this morning. Perhaps the lack of circulation in the cramped shop was getting to the girl.

 

“Estas infirma, senorita?” she asked, wondering if the girl was feeling ill. Beads of perspiration dotted her cheeks where her hair parted just enough to allow Lucy a glimpse at her face. The locals didn’t normally perspire like this; they handled the heat with more nonchalance, bred for it as they were. She cupped the necklace in her palm and started towards the girl, hoping to pay for it and leave, feeling badly for upsetting her even though she had no idea what she had done to trigger such unease. The instant she moved towards the girl she shuddered as she felt the same dizzy spell coming on that had been plaguing her for days now. Her throat went dry as she stopped abruptly.

 

“No, no necklace, senora,” the girls voice rang louder now, the accent ripe, and rubbed her hands harder on her dingy pants. “Go, go now.” There was silence but for a dog barking outside the doorway and the tail end of the song on the radio. “The girl with kaleidoscope eyes…..”

 

Lucy was growing irritated now, unsteady on her feet and only half-listening to her temperamental new friend. It was highly likely she could find a similar necklace someplace else, so rather than argue, she laid it on the counter and slung her bag over her shoulder, deciding the girl wasn’t stable and the purchase wasn’t worth exacerbating the problem. She needed water and to sit. She also considered the girl may occasionally become overwhelmed with all the traffic coming in and out of her store, the odds were that more than one visiting American had raised their voices to her or became combative about prices.  This combined with the stifling heat would be enough to make anyone cranky. Admitting defeat, she shrugged her shoulders and turned to head back out into the bustling market place when she heard the girl whisper something under her breath. She paused and at that moment knew she should just keep walking, leave the girl to her muttering, but patience frayed by thirst and uncomfortable heat egged her on as she swiveled back to face the girl.

 

“Que dijas usted amiga?” What did you say?

 

The girl stood still, her eyebrows gently furrowed, and a flicker of surprise registered in her face at this stranger in her crisp white cotton sundress, skin pale and freckled in comparison to her own, red hair, standing defiantly in her doorway. She looked intimidated and unsure of herself, as if her rudeness had been abnormal for her as well. Lucy knew her stance in the doorway could have been less confrontational, but something about this young girl was making her defensive. The watery charcoal eyes staring at her own hazel ones, the lashes sweeping up and down like dusty brooms as she blinked rapidly, unnaturally. She waited as the girl decided whether or not to disclose what she had just said. Then suddenly, in a burst of movement, the girl was on the other side of the counter, gripping Lucy’s wrist. She tried to yank her arm away, but the girls fingers were strong and halted her.

 

“Hey---,” she started to reprimand her, but the girl pointed to the door.

 

“No go to Calakmul, senora,” she stared at Lucy with ferocity again, her confidence coming in waves, color forming high and red on her face with its defined Mayan cheekbones. Lucy felt lightheaded. So close were they that she could see the girl had flawless skin, free from any blemishes or even the smallest pores, was a delicious café au lait color. She was so thirsty now. She smelled cilantro and tobacco on the girl. Her head felt heavy and the sounds of the market just outside the shop became softer, farther away.

 

“You go, senora, you leave back to los Estados Unidos,” the voice faltered again now, the resolve of just a second ago melting as quickly as it had come. Lucy locked eyes with her, becoming lost in the barely noticeable dilation of her pupils. They both stood there, not moving and she suddenly felt very tired, as if she could sink down onto the decrepit floor of the shop and curl up in the girls lap. She heard the dog barking outside again, although it seemed so far from them she wondered if she was imagining it. Where was Milo, wasn’t he meeting her here? Her memory sizzled for a second and she couldn’t recall what they had decided on, where they were meeting up. She vainly tried to shake her hand free from the girls as she battled with the increasing vertigo, squeezing her eyes tight and clamping her hand on the girls shoulder for support, startling the both of them. These episodes left her shivering, as if she had just drank a bottle of tequila and was in a whirlpool of vicious spins. The mention of Calakmul had thrown her. She and Milo were leaving for Calakmul in two days, it being 30km from the Guatemalan border and one of the largest known Ancient Maya cities ever discovered. Here she would stay until the research was complete. Two weeks, a month, it was undecided. Sweat dripped down in between her breasts before turning cold. Her stomach rolled as she opened her eyes and tried to zero in on a stationary object to counterbalance the spinning. She had to get out of this shop; the heat and the girls odd behaviour were making the dizziness worse. She needed to go before she threw up at their feet and the girl really started mouthing off. She was almost grateful when she felt nails digging in to the delicate skin above her veins and causing her to flinch.

 

“No go to Calakmul, amiga, no go, no bueno,” the girl anxiously nibbled her own lower lip, mimicking Lucy who still had hers in a subconscious vice grip between her teeth. “Es muy malo para senora. Es malo para tus amigos tambien.”

 

Lucy jerked her hand away in frustration and put her hands on her knees, hunched over. A few deep breaths and she was through it and able to recognize her surroundings once more.

 

“Senorita, digame, how did you know I was going to Calakmul?” She blurted out in between sucking in air. She turned the tables now and grabbed the girls hand, pushed her thumb into her wrist with equal pressure, feeling the warm blood beneath the skin pump faster at the question. The girl shook her head erratically, refusing to say anything more, and wrenched her hand away, backing up abruptly and slamming her hip into the edge of the counter. Realizing she had just gone too far with the timid, albeit insane shop girl, she felt her own cheeks burning not just at the heat, but at her unsavory reaction. She quickly apologized, embarrassed.

 

“Lo siento, senorita, gracias por ayudarme,” she shifted her bag up higher on her shoulder and rushed out of the store into the menacing sunlight. Her hands were clammy and she smoothed them on her dress as she scanned the area for the bar where Milo was meeting her. La Gata Negro. The cantina they had agreed to meet at. She was weak for a drink and some food. Surely the girl had been having some sort of delusional episode. Lucy had convinced Milo that once done in Quitana Roo, they would head to the archealogical site to meet up with her colleague from the foundation, Jonas Bennett. Between Jonas’ infinite knowledge of Mayan culture and Milo’s familiarity with the geography of the ruins, the trip to Calakmul was something she had decided not to pass up when he approached her two weeks ago in class, not even with everything else going on in her life, not even on such short notice. She had practically run all the way to the bookstore to let them know she would be leaving in a few days and needed the time off. The fact that Jonas had invited her was an honor and this research would push her dissertation closer to completion in a shorter span of time. How this random young girl knew her itinerary was unsettling, but explainable, to be sure. Many people in her line of work came through these shops and she was just mistaking Lucy with someone else. She brushed it off as a classic case of heat exhaustion and confusion.

 

Still, that was just yesterday afternoon, and Lucy hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. Now the girl was here, well past midnight, only a few feet from their table.

She sighed as Milo lifted her hair from her back where it lay heavy, like a musty curtain. The air mingled with his breath as he blew on her spine and gently bit her shoulder, his teeth pinching her skin delightfully. Closing her eyes, she tried to stop thinking about the girl and the panicked feeling she’d had in the shop. She swayed on her feet, this time unintentionally.

 

“Woah, too much tequila, carina?” Milo steadied her and followed her eyes to the petite Mexican girl now sitting in the sand just outside the dance floor, no one else paying her any attention. He wasted no time in steering her back towards their table and motioning for a waiter to bring some water. “Aqua rapidemente,” he called, “Por favor.”

 

She let him coax her down onto her chair where he dipped his hand into a mixed drink that was by now nothing but water and a few weak slivers of ice, but enough for him to get a gasp out of her as he rubbed the melting cubes onto her arms and chest to cool her. Still, she kept stealing glances at the girl, wondering why she was here when it looked like all she was doing was laying in the sand to sleep, not the most relaxing atmosphere considering the dance floor was still hot and loud with no signs of relenting. The waiter reappeared with waters and Lucy snatched one from his hand, gulping it down as quickly as she could, not caring that it dribbled down her chin and splashed onto her lap.

 

 

 

Reviews

[Cal Vance]

beautiful
just like you!