Blue Sun, Yellow Sky Read online

  “How about taking the day off tomorrow? We can drive up the coast, hang out at Griffith, whatever,” Rusty asked as I opened up my walking stick and stepped out of the car.

  “Take a break? Are you sure that won’t mess with your mojo? Wouldn’t want you turning into one of those laissez-faire artists,” I smiled. “Thanks for the ride, Patrick,” I called out, hoping he could hear me.

  “Anytime, Aubs,” he replied.

  “Do you not trust me?” Rusty asked. “Why do you need the walking stick?”

  “I need the walking stick for lips in the sidewalk that seeing people ironically, don’t see,” I said. “I also feel more in control with it.”

  “Right, because you don’t trust me,” he said as he walked me to my doorstep.

  “If you were me, you wouldn’t trust you either,” I said, stumbling slightly because Rusty had stopped walking. We still had about ten steps before we reached the door. “What is it?” I asked, beginning to panic. Had someone broken into my apartment? Where was Tig?

  “There’s a dude in cowboy boots standing in front of your apartment,” Rusty said.

  “Hi,” a voice said from somewhere in front of us.

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Ah. You must be Jeff,” Rusty said, leaning forward, presumably to shake Jeff’s hand. “Rusty.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Jeff said in a tone that suggested it was anything but.

  “Right. Well, Aubs, Patrick is waiting for me in the car so I’m going to head out. You okay here?” he asked.

  I nodded. Rusty gave me a customary kiss on the cheek before I felt his arm fall away from my hand. Jeff came toward me and led me the rest of the way to the door. Reaching into my purse, I dug around for my keys. Just through the threshold, Tig brushed past my leg, letting me know he’d gone out, and I left the door open so he could come back in.

  “You wouldn’t answer any of my phone calls,” Jeff said.

  “Were you at my opening?” I asked. It was the first question that sprang to mind, followed by a slew of others.

  “Yes.”

  “I thought I heard your laugh. Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I didn’t want to chance ruining your night. Am I ruining your night?”

  “No. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call you back, but—”

  “No, I’m sorry, Aubs. About everything.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “You don’t need to feel bad about being with Veronica.”

  “I’m not with Veronica,” he said.

  “I don’t understand. You were going to marry her.”

  “I thought I was, but when we got back together I realized, and I think she did too, that we wanted different things.”

  “I’m not a consolation prize,” I said, my defenses rising.

  “What happened between you and me had nothing to do with Veronica.”

  “Jeff, you chose her. We were together and then we got off the plane and you went to be with her. I don’t know that I can just forget that,” I said.

  “Love isn’t a game show where you put two people up on pedestals and break them down by pros and cons. This isn’t about me choosing her over you, or even you over her for that matter,” he said. I could tell he was trying hard to formulate his argument properly and thinking carefully before giving me answers. There was a pause, and then he said, “It’s about me asking you for the opportunity to show you what we could be.” He slid a folded envelope into my hand. “Come with me.”

  “What? Where?” I wasn’t understanding.

  “You came on a spontaneous journey with me once. I’m asking you to do it again. In your hand is a plane ticket. All you need is your passport and comfortable clothes.”

  I heard the eagerness in his voice and I wanted to go—of course I did. Jeff was saying everything I imagined he would at a reunion, but it was all too sudden and I wasn’t sure I was thinking clearly.

  “I’m not sure this is a good idea. Can I think about it?”

  “Of course. Our flight leaves in a week. I cleared it with Michael at the gallery. He assured me you have the time.”

  “I’m gonna pretend like that’s not creepy,” I replied, trying hard not to smile.

  “If it were anyone else, it would be. Lucky for you it’s me.”

  There was a long pause before I asked, “Shouldn’t you take some time to just be by yourself?”

  “And do what? Party hard? In case you forgot, Shawn’s house is like a never-ending frat party. Check. Travel? Check. Think about what I want? Check. I know what I want. I want someone I can have a fifty-year-long conversation with and that’s you. And I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say you want me too.”

  I smiled in spite of myself. “I don’t know. Go on yet another trip where I can’t bring my stilettos?” I said, feigning disappointment.

  “You can bring whatever you want! Is that a yes?” he asked.

  I shook my head ‘no’ and said, “It’s a maybe.”

  “Maybe is good. Maybe is basically yes,” Jeff said.

  “Maybe is maybe,” I corrected. I’ll admit it was nice being in Jeff’s presence again, but, still, I was hesitant. The past six months were a constant roller coaster of emotions and I wasn’t sure I wanted to hop on another ride just yet.

  Tig brushed past my leg letting me know he was back inside. “Who’s this?” Jeff asked.

  “Tig.”

  “Cool name, Tig,” Jeff said, his voice sounding further away. “Good boy,” he cooed, scratching Tig. “Listen, I’m gonna go before I say something stupid that makes you change your mind, but you’ll call me this week?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I’ll call you,” I replied, knowing what I should have said was ‘Yes, Jeff, I want to go with you,’ while he was still standing at my door. But my feet stayed planted and my lips silent as I listened to his footsteps fade away.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Blue

  JOHN Sekoff and Gary Gibbs, a writer and photographer respectively from the LA Times, came to interview me at the Sanders Gallery the next morning. John asked me about RP, what this new art meant to me, how coming from a blind perspective shaped my worldview, and how I came up with the concept. The answers were pretty simple. Going blind was really hard, art was my world, and being blind meant creating in a blind world. Once I latched onto that idea, the concept of blind photography emerged. I told him how I found the camera in my dad’s old things, and as I learned to use it I discovered I could feel light. I told him it was important to me not to have the input of seeing people in my work. I wasn’t a part of the seeing world anymore, so my process couldn’t be either.

  He told me my story would appear on the front page of the Arts & Entertainment section. This was huge. Michael could barely contain his excitement as he moved about in a frenzy making sure the entire gallery was in tiptop shape. Being on the front page meant the art community, whether they liked my work or not, accepted me as an artist. That same evening, John e-mailed me a rough draft of the article. His prose was full of praise and admiration, and I couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear as Jeff read to me.

  “United Flight 6825 to Cancun will begin boarding at Gate 62A,” a voice announced over the loudspeaker.

  “That’s us,” Jeff said. We were at the airport and still, a part of me didn’t believe that I was about to fly to Mexico.

  “Do you need a kidney? Is that what this is about? You’re taking me to Mexico because you need a transplant?”

  Jeff smiled, “We’re not even the same blood type.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “How could I forget? When you crashed your bike into that parked car junior year you swore up and down for like an hour that you needed a B-positive transfusion.”

  “Right,” I laughed.

  Being blind had its perks: we were allowed to pre-board with the passengers in first class. As the plane took off, I pulled my legs up to my chest.

  “Nice socks,” Jeff laughed.


  “What?” I asked. Socks were the hardest for me to distinguish and at some point I gave up trying to match them by anything other than shape.

  “Right one is Kermit the Frog and left is hot dogs.”

  I laughed, turned in my seat, and inched my toes beneath him. “Much better,” he said. At times it was like the old days, an easy friendship with a long history of sarcasm and trust, and at other times he was a romantic stranger I’d met long ago and never quite forgotten.

  After a moment, his tone turned serious. “I got a phone call today,” he said.

  I waited. “And…”

  “Well, I don’t want to jinx it, but I got a call from the Instagram guys and they want to have a meeting. Could be something, could be nothing. Could also be them suing me for plagiarizing their idea,” he said.

  “Oh my god. What if they want to buy your program?”

  “We’ll see what they say. I’m meeting Kevin and Mike when we get back.”

  “Kevin and Mike? So you’re on a first-name basis with them now?”

  He laughed, “I thought I’d try it on for size.”

  “That’s amazing. I’m really happy for you Jeff,” I said. “Is that what this is about? You’re gloating?”

  “Maybe,” Jeff said. I could tell he enjoyed being cryptic.

  Jeff booked our flights, hotel, and itinerary to Mexico—exactly what he’d done for our around-the-world trip. He even arranged for Tig to have a vacation of his own at the Rover Oaks Dog Hotel. After quickly checking in and unpacking at the hotel, we met with Miguel, our tour guide, in the lobby. I noticed he had soft hands as he gave me a firm, two-handed shake and helped me pile into a car that smelled of dust and pine seed.

  “I was thinking about it and I realized we hit six of the Seven Wonders of the World,” Jeff said as we rode down bumpy roads on our stiff pleather seats. “Chichen Itza is the last of the seven.”

  I smiled. “I’ve always wanted to see the Seven Wonders of the World. Why didn’t we think of that six weeks ago?”

  “Because then you wouldn’t get to experience this last one with your new heightened senses,” Jeff said.

  “What if it just feels like being in Venice Beach?”

  “I don’t think it will.”

  “You really didn’t need to do any of this, but thank you—for everything.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replied, squeezing my hand. His palm was probably twice the size of mine and its protective grasp was comforting.

  “Only ten minutes more,” Miguel said from the front. “May I—do you have a special request? I have not give tour for someone who…”

  I chimed in, “Is blind?” By now, I was used to people asking me how they could adapt.

  “Yes.”

  “Just do it like you always do and if there’s anything I need, I’ll ask,” I smiled.

  The bumpy rumble of the moving car stopped and I fumbled for the door handle. After opening the door, I unfolded my walking stick and stepped out of the car. I placed one hand on Jeff’s elbow and used the walking stick to survey the floor for bumps, and walls for that matter. I still wasn’t very good at detecting the different surfaces, but the rumble beneath my stick as it was dragged from side to side in front me indicated I was on a gravel-like surface. Small pebbles rolled beneath my covered flats. Different than the cement I was used to walking on, the ground was unpaved and my steps were slower than normal. Jeff kept my pace. The air was thin and smelled of leaves; there was a breeze coming from my left, and I heard a variety of languages being spoken.

  “Are you okay?” Jeff asked.

  “Yeah. I’m good,” I replied.

  We walked four hundred steps or so before stopping. “This is the base of El Castillo,” Miguel said. I tried to imagine what they were looking at. I knew from photos I’d seen that the structure looked like a stepladder pyramid with a large plateau at the top.

  “Fuck, really?” Jeff said, more to himself than anyone else. He sounded disappointed.

  “What?” I asked, but before he could answer, Miguel continued with his tour.

  “It is believed Kukulhan is a boy who is born as a snake and cared for by his sister in secret. But when he becomes too big for her to feed, he is running away to the sea, making the earth move. So when we feel the earth move under us, we know it is Kukulhan,” Miguel explained, and we walked some more. When we stopped at a new location, I bent down and rubbed my fingers along the ground. I was right—sandy dirt with a few spurts of grass brushed under my fingers.

  “It’s roped off for some reason, but I swore you could go up it,” Jeff said. I stood up.

  Disappointed and joking—well, half-joking—I asked Miguel, “What would happen if I went up it?” Jeff guided my hand to a rope barrier so I would have something to hang on to, and I heard his camera start clicking away.

  “Nothing. If you wish to go up you have only to step over rope,” Miguel replied.

  “What?” Jeff exclaimed. “No way. You’re joking, right? It says they closed it to preserve it ‘cause it’s eroding.”

  “Yes…and no,” Miguel said. “My people believe El Castillo is full of magia, so anyone who goes up will be protected by Kulkulhan.”

  “I’m not worried about going up,” Jeff said. “I’m worried about going to jail when I come back down.”

  “I think we should do it,” I cut in.

  “No,” Jeff replied.

  I have no idea what compelled me to lift my leg over the rope, which came up to my thigh, but I carefully stepped over the barrier and, using my walking stick, I headed toward what I hoped were the steps.

  “Aubs!” Jeff called after me.

  I stopped, partly because my stick hit something hard—the first step—and also because I expected a guard to stop me.

  “Go. Go!” Miguel shouted. He was either proud of my boldness or thrilled to be sending another stupid tourist to jail—I could only hope it was the former.

  I didn’t really want to go up alone, so I turned back and said, “You can stay down here if you want, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering what it would’ve been like at the top. Do you?”

  When Jeff answered me, I could tell he was right beside me on the steps. “Oh come on. This isn’t your life dream, Aubs, and it’s not mine either, so if you’re asking me to choose between seeing the top and not going to jail, I’m going to choose not going to jail.” But even as he said no, his footsteps continued following mine.

  “There aren’t any railings are there?” I asked, taking my first step up. I already knew the answer.

  “No.”

  I was only on the first step when I began to feel vertigo. Stopping to gather myself I folded my walking stick, tossed it in my small backpack, and bent down to crawl.

  Neither of us said much. Being on all fours was a hundred times more stable and we ascended rather quickly—or so I thought.

  “You’re doing great, Aubs, we’re halfway there.”

  “Halfway?” I thought we were nearing the top.

  Down below, Miguel shouted after us, “Don’t rush, enjoy the Chichen Itza!” His voice reminded me of a Cirque du Soliel host because his assurances of safety only served to arouse more suspicion.

  By the time we reached the top, I was panting. Standing up caused a surge of fear to rush through me as it dawned on me that walking around an unguarded platform blind was dangerous.

  “How high up are we right now?” I asked.

  “We just climbed up ninety-one steps, the plateau we’re standing on makes ninety-two.”

  “I feel like that number is symbolic of something,” I said.

  “It is. There are four sides to the pyramid and each step represents one day of the year.”

  “We just walked up a quarter of a year—an entire season,” I breathed, steadying my shaking hands. “I think we’re in better shape now than when we climbed the Great Wall. Don’t you?” I said, winking in Jeff’s general direction.

  “Y
ou winked at my chest. You know, there’s a crowd forming down there,” he said, sounding worried.

  “And yet, the guards haven’t come after us. Look, we already broke the rules, so let’s just enjoy it.”

  Jeff was silent for a moment, but then he laughed out loud.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “Miguel just gave us a thumbs up. It looks like there are two guards behind him. Probably discussing our impending arrest,” Jeff said. The threat of jail only served to make me more audacious. When I was finally stable on my own two legs again, Jeff guided me to the structure at the top, which he described as an empty, square fortress with an opening in the middle.

  We walked until our voices started to echo and I knew we were inside the structure.

  “There isn’t really a whole lot in here. Just a couple benches shaped like—God, how do I describe this?” He thought for a moment and then said, “Okay, imagine you’re laying on your back, propped up by your elbows with your legs bent. It’s a stone solider resting like that with his head turned to the right.”

  “Cool,” I said, running my hands along the bend of its stone knees and up along the stomach.

  “On the other side is another similar-type thing, but it’s even more blocky and it looks like a tiger,” he continued.

  “Do you hear that?” I asked. The sound of clapping could be heard outside. We moved back outside, where the clapping was even louder. “What happening? It doesn’t really sound like applause,” I asked.

  “I’m not—I don’t know. They’re all clapping and smiling, but you’re right, it’s not applause. I don’t know what it is.”

  “Can you help me sit?” I asked. I didn’t feel comfortable standing so close to an edge.