Blue Sun, Yellow Sky Read online

  Even though the trek was considered hard and, by the very nature of camping, uncomfortable, it wasn’t as ‘hardcore’ as one might think. Hired porters carried all non-personal items like tents, cooking supplies, sleeping bags, and food, and did it with an astounding efficiency. Once we had breakfast, we packed up our personal belongings and they packed up the rest. But twenty or thirty minutes later, we’d see them running past us on the trail! And lunch and dinner were ready to go by the time we arrived at our resting destinations, and they did it carrying twice the load in sandals made of used tires.

  “What are you thinking about?” Jeff asked.

  I smiled automatically—a natural defense mechanism—and said, “The porters’ sandals. I was thinking about how amazing it is that they can hike this far in sandals that look like thrift store throwaways.” Jeff had been avoiding me, and after sleeping with him again, I couldn’t get myself to look at his face so I continued watching the porters’ feet.

  “I hadn’t even noticed,” Jeff said. He took a closer look as a group zipped past us. “You’ve always had a really good eye.”

  “And yet, I’m the one who’s losing it,” I snapped. I hated the bitterness in my voice—it made me sound like a petulant child.

  “You are,” he said gently, but also matter-of-factly.

  “It’s not fair.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “You’re not being very helpful.”

  “You’re not asking for help.”

  “No, I guess I’m not. Why would I, from where I’m standing you don’t really seem emotionally capable of being much help,” I said.

  “I can tell you’re irritated so… I’m going to give you some space.” He walked a little faster toward the happy-go-lucky couple before turning back and saying over his shoulder, “Let me know when you’re ready to talk again.”

  I wanted to throw a rock at him. But he was right, I was angry, and the quickest way to calm me down was by not indulging me. Any other guy would have tried to fix the situation; Jeff knew to stand back.

  It took me a full twenty minutes of walking alone and stewing in my frustration before I settled down. First I was mad at Jeff, then I was mad at the universe, and finally, I was mad at myself.

  We walked by a small stone house where a little boy stood outside wearing a blue and gray striped t-shirt, dirty underwear, and yellow rain boots. His gray Labrador Retriever puppy chewed on a twig next to him and they both curiously watched the hikers trekking by. His yellow boots popped out of the scene as if the moment were a living Kim Anderson portrait. She was known for using isolated color in a photo to bring attention to a single object while fading the rest of the scene into a black and white background.

  I smiled at the boy as my anger settled, but I was embarrassed and having a hard time breathing, so I didn’t bother trying to catch up. The group was about a hundred yards ahead of me for an hour before they stopped at the Phuyupatamarca ruins. Perched on the side of the mountain were rounded structures that looked like old, abandoned castle corners. Roofs were gone, floors were covered by compact dirt, rock, and grass. Throughout the area, colorful flora could be found sprouting out of cracks in the concrete buildings. Peach fungi, similar in size and shape to enoki mushrooms, grew in small patches along with bundles of small, purple orchids and a long-stemmed lupin flower that reminded me of the Texas blue bonnet. My favorite was a drooping red flower, Caiophora andina, which, as it turned out, was beautifully poisonous. Held strong by a green peduncle covered in tiny clear thorns that permeated the drooping flower itself, the andina grew in the shape of a red, hollowed-out pumpkin, and was about the diameter of a quarter.

  I took a macro photo of the flower with my camera and then turned a corner and saw the smallest stream of water. It trickled into a stone basin through a hole in the rock wall. Its flow was consistent and the shade of rock underneath the water showed that even seasonally the stream didn’t change much. I reached my fingers in and watched it wash away the dirt on my hands.

  “Hey,” I heard Sabrina say from up above me, “Are you about ready? We’re heading out.” She, Sebastian, Cayo, and Jeff were all looking down at me.

  “Ye-ah,” I replied. I had no idea that my voice could crack while uttering a single syllable, but it did. Halfway through the word, I seemed to choke just enough for it not to go unnoticed.

  “You look tired,” Cayo said.

  “A little bit,” I replied, knowing it was less a physical exhaustion and more a mental one.

  “Try this,” he said, handing me a black substance. “Chew on like this, then you let sit, and then you spit,” he said. He opened his mouth to show me how he pushed the black rock into the space between his teeth and cheek and left it there.

  “Tobacco?” I asked suspiciously.

  “No. Black Rock.”

  “What’s Black Rock?”

  “It helps give energy for the walking,” he said. I shrugged and took a bite. I could see that it turned his teeth a yellowish color, which was not appealing, and coupled with the fact that it tasted like garbage, I was inclined to spit it out. But I didn’t want to be rude, and to be honest I needed the boost, so I kept it there until Cayo spit his out some fifteen minutes later.

  Slowly, I felt its chemical compound race through my system. Was this what it felt like to be on steroids? My shortness of breath was gone and I was certain I could run up the steps until I reached the top. Red Bull had nothing on this Black Rock stuff. The added kick of euphoria was a bonus. I discovered later that the euphoria and energy were because Black Rock was a mild form of cocaine, grown locally in Peru, and used by most of the population with the same popularity as cigarettes in the United States.

  “Hey, slow down there Rocky,” Jeff said, catching up to me. I slowed down. “Can we talk?” he asked.

  “About what?”

  “You know what about,” he said dryly.

  “Okay, shoot,” I said, not looking at him.

  “I’m sorry about yesterday. I don’t know what came over me. With Paris and then you telling me you were going blind I reacted really poorly. I feel like a dick. I’m not trying to hurt you—”

  I knew I was as much to blame as he was. He had made it very clear after Paris that he wasn’t available and I knew going into it that this was a possibility, but I had hoped for a different outcome.

  “Takes two to tango right? I knew what I was doing,” I said with a half-smile.

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning we’re twenty-seven, shit happens. So let’s just drop it okay?”

  “So, does that mean we’re okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay,” he hesitated for a moment and then opened his mouth to say something but Sebastian interrupted.

  “Hey Mates!” Sebastian yelled after us from behind. “We’re filling up the jugs, do ya need any water?” They had stopped on the side of a stream and Sebastian was pumping river water into their bottles using a portable filter.

  “Yeah, that’d be awesome,” Jeff said as he started to head over toward Sebastian with our nearly-empty bottles in hand.

  “What were you going to say,” I asked.

  “Never mind. It’s nothing,” he smiled.

  Over dinner, the four of us became fast friends. They were both recent university graduates traveling on a one-way ticket around the world. Neither of them had any idea what their next step in life was going to be, and I found it comforting to be in their presence because they weren’t at all concerned about their uncertain futures. Careful not to meet Jeff’s gaze, I told them I was in the midst of a career change as well and had no idea where I would end up in a few years.

  “What do you do, Jeff?” Sabrina asked.

  “I used to teach high school, but now I’m creating apps.”

  “Like Instagram?” Sabrina asked.

  Jeff laughed uncomfortably. “I develop games mostly. They’re pretty much just rip-offs of games you already play like Bubbles or Angry
Birds.”

  “That’s not true,” I jumped in. “He has a really cool one he’s working on called I Travel Better Than You, and it’s sort of like Instagram and Vine but adds a travel aspect to it with cool filters and video options.”

  “It’s still in beta,” Jeff added.

  “That’s pretty sick,” Sebastian said.

  “Yeah. But the name is kind of weird, isn’t it?” Sabrina said.

  “You don’t think it’s catchy?” Jeff asked.

  “No,” Sabrina and Sebastian said in unison. I laughed.

  “So how long have you guys been together?” Sabrina asked.

  “We’re friends,” Jeff quickly said.

  “So were we before he started shaggin’ me,” Sabrina replied. I laughed at her blunt humor, but also because she said what I couldn’t.

  “We’ve actually been friends since high school,” I said. “And randomly just ran into each other a few months ago at the DMV.”

  “Well, when the two of you get over this whole getting to know each other business, I expect an invitation to the wedding,” Sabrina chided.

  “We’re headed for America in three months’ time, so if you could make it around then, it would be super-convenient,” Sebastian said.

  We all laughed. “I’ve got a couch and floor in my studio that y’all are welcome to crash on anytime,” I said.

  “Ditto,” Jeff added. “But she has the ocean view.”

  “That would be amazing!” Sabrina exclaimed.

  Sabrina had crossed her arms and squeezed her triceps only once before Sebastian had his coat off and wrapped around her shoulders. It was such a small gesture, not to mention one that I didn’t need because I wasn’t cold, but a pang of jealousy shot through me nonetheless.

  “I’m jealous of all your traveling,” I said. “I wish I had done this years ago.”

  “You’re here now, right?” she replied. “That’s all that matters. It was about fifteen hundred quid for our tickets, but we’re spending six months traveling. I can’t imagine cramming it all into six weeks.”

  “Did you just say quid? Why is it that you British people have such strange ways of saying basic things like money?” I joked.

  “We British people?” Sebastian laughed. “Don’t even get me started on the stupid things you Americans do.”

  “Stupid Americans,” Jeff chimed in. “Could you at least be original?”

  “I loved America. I don’t think I’ve ever been as popular with the men,” Sabrina said.

  “Did I not just call them stupid Americans?” Sebastian countered.

  Sabrina punched his arm lovingly. “Don’t be a git.”

  “Don’t be a what?” Jeff asked.

  “A git. It’s like an twat or a wanker,” Sabrina explained. Jeff and I burst out laughing.

  “I love it. I’m taking ‘git’ home with me. It’s going to be my new favorite word,” I said.

  Somewhere during the course of our twenty-minute-turned-two-hour dinner, we crossed the threshold from acquaintances to friends. From that moment on, the floodgates of humor were rapidly flowing.

  A long-legged girl from another tent walked by on her to way to the bathroom and I caught Sebastian looking before seeing Sabrina’s gaze on Jeff. Sabrina rolled her eyes, “These boys have been camping for three days, they smell like armpit, and they think they’ve got a chance of sexing her? I’d pay twenty quid just to watch you get rejected.”

  Her confidence was magnetic. She took a situation that could’ve easily been a couple’s spat and flipped it on its head. I admired the way she controlled the situation and I could tell Sebastian did too. He pulled her in tight, kissed her on the forehead, and said, “I was simply thinking that she’s not as hot as my bird.” Charmer that one.

  “I didn’t even see her,” Jeff shrugged, almost believably.

  “You’re a terrible liar, mate,” Sebastian laughed.

  “Right, because you’re one to judge,” Sabrina said, rolling her eyes at Sebastian.

  “All men, be it British or American, are pigs,” I laughed, hiding the jealousy I now had for a stranger on our trek.

  “Yet we love ‘em anyway,” Sabrina said, kissing Sebastian’s arm.

  Being around them was refreshing, especially coming on the heels of Rome, where I had spent so much time alone, but watching them as a couple was killing me. Objectively, Sebastian was the better-looking of the two because he had an athletic build and supermodel cheekbones. Not that Sabrina wasn’t good-looking. Standing at about 5’7”, she was slender with an athletic build, which made her more of a tomboy than a sex symbol. Looks aside, her easygoing and charismatic nature deftly trumped the A-listers of physical beauty and Sebastian knew it. I was sure they were a walking cliché of meant-for-each-other, but as I looked over at Jeff, I found I didn’t subscribe to the concept.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Nurture

  SLEEPING that night was especially difficult. I found myself waking up every hour until finally it was so close to dawn I decided to give up. The ground was damp and cold, and all I could think about was how much I wanted to be Sebastian and Sabrina—cuddled together in a sweet and loving embrace. Jeff was lying next to me but he most definitely wasn’t with me, and that was almost worse than being alone. Pulling a sweater over my head, I tiptoed out of our tent in search of some tea or coffee. Outside, the moist and foggy air was cool with droplets of water and condensation covering everything from the tops of our tents to the blades of grass below. As I made my way over to the breakfast tent, I noticed green algae partially covering many of the gray stones lining our path. These same rocks decorated our campground, making the entire area seem bathed in a meadow of green.

  The sun had yet to rise, but our porters were bustling about when I arrived in the dining tent and found Sabrina already in there.

  “Hey,” I said, pouring myself a cup of tea. “You’re up early.”

  “Yeah, I’m not a morning person, so I have to get up super early and have my three cups of tea before speaking to anyone.”

  “That seems counter-intuitive. Shouldn’t you sleep in as long as possible?”

  She laughed and raised her cup, “This is number three. You should ask the porter who brought me my first mug.”

  I smiled. “Got it.”

  “What about you? What’s your excuse?”

  “Couldn’t sleep.” I left it at that.

  She didn’t pry as I had expected her to; instead, she turned her gaze from mine and said, “Life is so much simpler up here.”

  “Life can be simple anywhere. We choose to make it complicated,” I replied.

  “Did you see that little boy yesterday? Sitting on the front step of his house?”

  “The one with the yellow rain boots?”

  “Yes, he was so adorable with his filthy little puppy.”

  “Was he dirty? I thought he was just gray? Do labs come in gray?” I asked. I regretted not taking a photo of the picturesque scene of youth and innocence—but he seemed completely unaware of his bleak surroundings and I couldn’t stand the idea of drawing attention to it with my digital camera.

  “No, I don’t believe labs can be naturally grey. He was probably a mix. Cute as hell, those two,” Sabrina said.

  As we both went back to sipping our drinks, a feeling of loneliness crept back up on me. I thought about Lexi, who was my puppy for five minutes to and from school every day. Because we lived only three blocks away, my parents always walked me. “Walking frees your mind to be creative,” my dad would say.

  Lexi belonged to my neighbor, Mrs. Gottesfeld; she was a gift from one of her grandkids. The first time I saw her barking at the windowsill I let go of my dad’s hand and bolted toward her. She was sitting on a child’s chair, and as I approached I put my palm to the window and giggled loudly as Lexi pressed her paw to mine behind the glass.

  “Come on squirt,” my dad said, peeling me away. “We’ve got to get to school.”

  “Okay,�
� I replied, full of disappointment.

  We only got as far as the driveway before I felt Lexi’s tiny paws bounding up my right leg. She had escaped out the dog door. My dad was horrified—concerned that Lexi might get run over by a car. Mrs. Gottesfeld assured him, though, that Lexi greeted her grandkids the same way when they arrived and would promptly come back inside once they left. “She’s a smart pup,” Mrs. Gottesfeld smiled as she handed me a small cracker.

  “Make her work for it,” she said. “She’s a spoiled dog so she can only sit and shake.”

  Lexi didn’t even wait for me to ask her to “shake” before lifting her paw. I giggled as I took the paw in my hand and gave it a firm shake. The connection was instant. In fact, that was probably the first time I internalized the power of our most basic form of introduction. As far as I was concerned, she was my girl. Occasionally I might’ve forgotten my math homework or English assignments at home, but I never left home without treats in my pocket. Twice a day, every day, we met for a little tussle that lasted eleven years. In fact, in college, on days where I was so tired I was running on autopilot, I’d sometimes find broken cracker pieces crumbling in my pockets.

  The light, energetic way that the gray lab bounded about playing with his twig reminded me of Lexi. Life was as simple as a game of fetch.

  Jeff and I were distancing ourselves from each other. Anything even bordering on the lines of flirtation was gone. Actually, he stopped making any kind of physical contact with me. Yet his banter and verbiage remained the same and, at times, I forgot that the boundaries of our relationship had shifted at all. Veronica was Jeff’s Mumtaz Mahal, and I was crazy to think I could compete with that.

  “This is going to sound crazy,” Sabrina said, cutting into my thoughts, “but I feel like my life is consistently unbalanced. If my lovelife is in tact, then my career falls apart. When I get a lot of compliments on the way I look, my life seems to be total shit,” she laughed.

  “Where would the challenge be if you had it all?” I said. She shrugged. “Maybe the question you should be asking yourself is why you feel like what you have isn’t enough.”