Blue Sun, Yellow Sky Page 25

  “Sure,” he said, leading me back toward the building and helping me squat down. When I was comfortable he said, “I’m going to take a couple shots on the other side. I’ll be right back okay?”

  “Yeah, no problem,” I said.

  I reached inside my backpack for my iPod but realized I didn’t need the distraction of music. People were still clapping in non-rhythmic patterns, but it didn’t bother me. The concrete make-up of the infrastructure left a lot of loose gravel beneath my feet and hands and the thought of moving sent chills down my spine. Still, I boldly scooted forward until I felt my foot drop off the edge and touch the top step.

  The wind brushed across my face and the sun warmed my back. I imagined the foliage and tried to create a picture in my mind of the treetops that I knew from photos were sprawling before me. Pulling out my clunky Mamiyaflex camera, I took several photos. I pictured a sea of dark-green pointed tops swaying in the breeze and had the urge to race across them like a vampire in Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight saga. In my fictitious world, I was able to run forward and backward in time. The superpower even had a bonus of coincidentally curing my disease by giving me super-awesome-mega-power seeing capabilities. It was a nice thought.

  “What are you smiling about?” Jeff asked, sliding down next to me so that we were shoulder to shoulder.

  “I was thinking about what it would be like to be a vampire,” I replied.

  He laughed, having no idea what I was talking about. This was the closest we’d been since I my meltdown in Brazil. “Can you describe what’s in front of us?” I asked.

  A few moments passed while I heard him rifle through his backpack and flip quickly though a book. “According to my map, directly in front of us is the Temple of the Warriors, and to the right of the temple is a Group of a Thousand Columns.”

  “What do they look like?” I asked.

  “Uh…” Jeff started. “I guess the Temple of Warriors looks like a giant multi-tiered wedding cake. There are a bunch of columns in the front, which I guess could’ve supported a roof of some kind, and then a set of super-wide stairs spanning about half the width of the entire structure that lead to the top. At the top is a stone structure with more columns inside. The whole thing is really massive. Like taller than all the trees around it, and the people look like little figurines in a giant’s playground.”

  “What color is it?” I asked.

  “It’s kind of an off-white with a lot of black mold or dirt stuck to it. Maybe algae of some sort?” he said.

  “What about around it? Are there other structures?”

  “There’s a building to the left, another ruin-like thing, but beyond that it’s all trees as far as I can see. Trees and sky.”

  I smiled and was silent for a long time. “I can’t believe they’re still clapping.”

  “Oh. It’s a revolving group of clappers. They come, clap a few times, laugh, and then move away. It’s really weird,” Jeff replied. “It says here that the Temple of Warriors looks like plain columns but back in the day they were covered in bas-reliefs and had a lot of color.”

  “This is nice,” I said.

  “Does it feel like Venice?”

  “To be honest, Venice doesn’t even feel like Venice to me anymore,” I said. “When I learned that I was going blind, I was so certain that my world was about to shrink. And in some ways it has. Being independent requires a lot of repetition as opposed to exploration, but all that means is that life is experienced in nuanced detail rather than grand moments. I can’t stand at the top of a mountain and see for twenty miles in every direction, but within a six-block radius of my apartment, I know where every stop sign, traffic light, and crack in the sidewalk is. So my world simultaneously expanded and shrunk at the same time.”

  “So what would you say the here and now feels like?” Jeff asked.

  “It feels monumental. Beneath my fingertips I can feel the concrete edge of the step I’m sitting on. On my cheek I feel the flutter of a strand of hair being pushed around by the wind blowing from the left. My face and shoulders are warm, which tells me the sun is high in the sky, and the airs smells of treetop leaves and pine.”

  Jeff’s hands found mine and moved them to cup his face. “Hey,” he said, tilting my chin up toward him. “What do you feel?” he said.

  “You’re smiling,” I laughed.

  “I’m grinning. I’m grinning so wide my face hurts, and it’s all because of you,” he said.

  Before I could reply I felt his cool lips on mine. The kiss was slow, but my heart was beating so fast I had to come up for air far sooner than I wanted. He took my hand and rested it in on the nape of his neck; I couldn’t see his face but I knew he was looking directly at me. Kissing him blind was like being a teenager again and nervously making out with someone for the first time. His breath was shallow and rapid and I felt his throat swallow hard as I moved my fingers through his hair, enjoying the moment.

  “With any luck,” he said. “I’ll be as famous as you one day.”

  “Luck,” I said. “You don’t need luck.”

  “Is that right?” he said, sounding sexier than I’d ever heard him.

  “Yes,” I smiled. “I have it on good authority that your travel app is quite popular.”

  “Aubrey Johnson, have you been social media stalking me?”

  I laughed. “Stalking is such a strong word. I like to think of it as networking research.”

  He laughed deeply and I could feel the joy in his reverberating neck. “Right,” he said. “We should probably head down.” I didn’t want to go, but I knew he was right. He stood, took my hand, and slowly guided me down the steps.

  “There’s no way Miguel could have such amazing reviews if all of his tourists ended up in jail, right?” I asked, while planting my feet carefully on the steps. Without railings, that first step gave me vertigo again, but I tried to keep moving.

  “Well, he’s still there. And both thumbs are still up—”

  “Stop,” I interrupted, having only made it down two steps. Walking blind down a set of stairs with no hand railings was quite possibly the scariest thing I’d ever done. “I can’t do this.”

  “I’ve got you, Aubs. Trust me,” Jeff said reassuringly.

  “It’s not you I don’t trust, it’s me,” I said as I slowly lowered myself so my hands were on the ground. “This is really embarrassing, but I crawled up and I’m crawling back down.”

  Jeff laughed. “We’re never going to see these people again, so who cares.”

  “I can’t see them now, and I care,” I replied.

  “Good point,” he laughed.

  Thankfully, he followed me down the steps with a hand on my back to guide me. Coming up I could tell they were steep, but crawling backward down them felt like rock climbing without the protective gear.

  After about twenty minutes we reached the bottom, and Miguel greeted us. “It is worth it, no?” he asked, cheerily.

  “Ask me that again after you bail us out of jail,” Jeff said as I waited for my hands to be cuffed. Jeff whispered in my ear. “Just follow my lead.” Like I had a choice. “Wave,” he instructed.

  “What’s going on?” I asked as he led me forward with his hand on my back.

  “Nothing. The guards stepped aside and are letting us pass. Everyone’s looking at us and whispering like we must be somebody special. I wish you could see this,” he said.

  “Bad for tourism if American goes to jail at Chichen Itza,” Miguel interjected.

  “I don’t think that applies when said Americans are clearly breaking the law,” Jeff replied, suspiciously.

  Miguel laughed. “Ten years I have been a tour guide. I offer that to everyone but you are first to go up.”

  “Who are you?” I asked, confused. I would’ve felt much better if the police at least carted us off, fined us, and then let us go. But nothing at all?

  “My family owns the land. Well, used to. We sold it a few years ago, but we still go up it whenever we wa
nt. Part of the deal,” he confessed.

  “Really,” I said, letting myself relax a little. “So why don’t you just tell your clients that?”

  “This way is special. Remember the ‘magia’? When you believe it and you go up, it’s special,” he explained.

  He had a point. The experience was unique because taking charge made the moment ours. By seizing the opportunity, we became part of an elite group of people who got to climb the steps after it was closed to the public. Being up there by ourselves without the noise of tourists snapping pictures and crowding us—that was a trademark of Chichen Itza that no other place I’d been to could rival.

  “You know your business would skyrocket if you advertised exclusive access to the Temple,” Jeff added. “And you could easily charge triple.”

  “I can’t charge. Also part of the deal. And I don’t need money.”

  “How much did your family sell it for?” Jeff asked, apparently having lost his manners.

  Miguel laughed, “More than enough. Check your statements when you get home, I never charge for the tour, only deposit.”

  “So do you tell your tourists eventually that they are allowed to go up it?” Jeff asked.

  “I do not,” he replied seriously. “You are the only ones who trust in Chichen, and so the prize is yours. Most people come to Chichen to look, few come to see with their real eyes,” he said.

  There was something very genie-like in his voice, and I wondered if maybe he wasn’t human. He could’ve been a figment of my imagination or some kind of elaborate ruse that Jeff devised. But Jeff wasn’t that good of an actor and I could hear the genuine surprise in his voice as Miguel explained the situation.

  As if reading my thoughts, Miguel said, “I meet new people everyday. The world comes to me.” He paused for a moment, as if searching for the right words. “You know why I don’t tell them it’s okay? When I was a boy, I was good. Never do anything bad. But why? Because I do not know how good it can be. You see?”

  “I don’t quite follow, no,” Jeff said.

  Miguel thought about how to explain it again, “Sin riesgo, no hay ninguna apreciación.”

  “Without something…there is no appreciation,” Jeff awkwardly deciphered.

  “Risk—Without risk, there is no appreciation,” I concluded, and I knew exactly what he meant.

  As we walked toward the car, I didn’t bother using my walking stick. I trusted Jeff. Tilting my head in toward his arm, I gave him an affectionate squeeze. In return, he kissed me on the forehead and said, “Hey Aubs, guess what color the fire hydrants are in Mexico?”

  Acknowledgements

  This book would not have been possible without the help of so many people. My parents Richard and Nancy Hoang first of all, for pushing me to always do better and want more. My sister Kimberly who gave me the opportunity to be a writer rather than just call myself one. My younger siblings Andrew and Lillyan, who keep me hip to social media and all things “cool.”

  I owe an enormous amount of gratitude to Ryan Eslinger, who edited every variation of this book—without you this book would still just be an idea. And to my editors, Sara Taylor, Gina Hendry, and Jenny Pritchett, who made me look like a pro.

  To my readers and friends: Mai Nguyen, Indigo Wilmann, Eric Batchelor, Shawn Muttreja, Ellen Burns, Michael Ngo, Amechi Ngwe, Bill and Lina Wood, Divi Ramola, Katie Suh, Mark and Laura Simpson, Khanh Thai, and Sally Felt. You all inspired me to keep writing when I had doubts and gave me the courage to release it into the world.

  A special thanks also to my favorite Houstonians who made my two years there unforgettable: Dr. Ed and Chi Thuy Rhee, Kenny and Elena Marks, Jilly Marks, David Burns, Laura Burns, Sharon Graham and Alison Lott. Thank you all for your unconditional support and love.

  About the Author

  Jamie Hoang is the author of BLUE SUN, YELLOW SKY. Her driver's license says she lives in Los Angeles, but she tries to escape to foreign lands as often as possible. She is a writer, thinker, explorer, lover of tea, certified advanced diver, and never far from an ocean. She blogs about her life and travels at: www.heyjamie.com. Tweets at: @heyjamie. And posts pretty pictures on Instagram as @heyjamiejo.