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…Three Hours Later...

  They gave him some painkillers, that was all they could do. He got nervous while sitting in the waiting room, the time was slipping away much too fast and he had to finish packing. He hated nothing more than rushing. He had a rule for himself-never run for buses or the phone, both of these things could wait for him, but a plane was a different story. He limped back to the apartment doing his best not to move his bruised back. The door was unlocked and the first thing that greeted him was his packed bag, zipped up and ready at the door. The indomitable bag sat there, austere and immovable, it looked like a piece of architecture Ricardo had seen once in a magazine: tall, straight and black with a menacing presence that reassured the traveler nothing would sneak its way out of it in transit. He was infuriated, “how dare she pack my bag?” He thought, he could feel both fists clench in the anticipation of the throttling her, ripping out that damned tooth and wearing it as a token around his neck. The beating he could take, but he couldn’t stand the thought of someone else touching his things. He remembered a feeling like this before. It was an irrational feeling that he couldn’t control and that caused a landslide of problems; it was rage, and rage at a woman. Something about their obstinate subtly drove him to it, he thought; but really he knew it had more to do with fear, he didn’t want to be left alone and they always left him alone. They were inconsistent and emotionally demanding then they left in a huff without explanation. He hated their baseness and their meddling, he wanted nothing more than to be left alone and not to be left alone and he hated them for never doing either.

  “I have prepared your things for the peregrination.” She smiled at the ridiculous word and the gold tooth glinted evilly.

  “I hate you.” He said.

  She approached him gently and stood close enough that their noses almost touched. She stood there and waited letting his breath hit her skin again and again.

  “Well.” She said.

  He raised his fist and froze in a pose that called to mind a photograph of a revolutionary, fist high and face red with justified anger. His bruises were throbbing and his ribs ached with every breath.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” He asked.

  “Because you are like me.” She said.

  She was so close to his face that her eyes overlapped and became one floating ocular blob, but even with this distorted view Ricardo could recognize sadness. She stood there without touching him and let one tear roll down.

  …Three Hours Later...

  Ricardo slept for two hours. Sleeping on the plane was out of the question, he could never quite get in the right position. When he woke up Juliet was still curled in a ball next to him with her nose pressed against his back. At some point in the two hours he turned his back to her, but she insisted on pressing up against him. He acted annoyed, but he would have been even more irritated if she pulled away. He woke up before Juliet and paid a visit to the bathroom. When he passed the mirror, he lifted his shirt and turned his back. The bruise stretched the length of one flank, it was red but the center of it was already beginning to purple. He moved his arm up and down to make the muscle twitch and laughed a pained laugh when the bruise changed shape. He pressed it and it was tender, he laughed and pressed it again. Feeling that slight pain reminded him he existed, so he kept pressure on it and smiled. He certainly existed if he could feel and touch this, a physical injury is something that is not an illusion, it is a record of an event and a reminder of life thought Ricardo. So, he pushed the bruise again and thought of the creases in his hands that he often traced with a pencil, he never felt pain then, but here he felt pain, a glorious, living pain.

  …Four Years Before Canada...

  He had asked the other one if she was hurt. He said he was sorry he scared her. He had confessed that he was scared too. He was scared of her leaving, of forgetting him, of abandoning him, but it wouldn’t do any good. The damage was done and there is only so much she could take. He desperately held her and stroked her hair. She rubbed her neck and shook all over, but she was like a doll in his arms and he could do anything with her. He knew she wouldn’t resist, her body was lifeless except for the careful side to side rubbing of her hand on her neck. She had built a wall between herself and him already and her line of defense was a passive, unfeeling submission; it was the kind that made Ricardo feel the weight of his mistake.

  …Back in Canada...

  Ricardo and Juliet waited in silence for a cab. Both sipped coffee, although Juliet seemed completely indifferent to her cup, she held it with both hands as if to keep them warm. Ricardo didn’t have the inclination to ask about the beating, he simply accepted it with a reserved gratitude; it was something that had to happen and that’s it, no explanations needed, his abuser wasn’t merciless and for that he was grateful. Juliet obviously knew something about it, had helped planned it, no doubt, but he didn’t care, he put absolutely faith in her and it was a relief to shirk off the responsibility of knowledge, some things just happen and that’s it, he reminded himself again; she would have only said some strange thing about karma or retribution anyway. His suitcase waited by the door.

  “Did you pack anything?” He asked.

  “No.” She said.

  “Why not? Don’t you need something?” He said.

  “No, I don’t. It’s okay, don’t worry. I have everything I need. I won’t be staying long.” She said.

  “Then you have a ticket. You are coming?” He asked.

  “I have a ticket.” She said.

  She patted the left side of her jacket. He couldn’t see the ticket but, he imagined it resting in the inside pocket of her left lapel. Throughout the conversation she continued to stare out the window at nothing. She didn’t blink once, her eyes reflected the light from the window and her pupils contracted. She was thinking hard about something, pondering, and the power of her concentration made the room feel tight. Her well-shaped shoulders curved forward and made the skin stretch across her collar-bone and her feminine belly curl onto itself. Ricardo got up and paced the room, he watched the phone and waited for the cabbie to ring. When it finally did ring, they left without a word.

  Juliet laughed when they got in the cab. “Taken for a ride. Isn’t that it?” She asked.

  “Isn’t that what?” He said.

  “Isn’t that a phrase, or something people say when they are led to believe a lie, taken for a ride?” She said.

  “Yeah, I have heard it before.” He replied.

  Ricardo paid the cabbie at the airport and turned around to fetch his bag from the ground, but Juliet had gone.

  He scanned the crowd for her distinctive walk with no success. He didn’t have the patience to search, so with determination in his step he picked up his bag and went. He shoved passed a group of smartly dressed Canadian business people all laughing and enjoying the beginning of their conference weekend. The group eyed each other wondering who would be going to bed with whom on this trip and they scowled at Ricardo’s rudeness, although they stood directly in-front of a main entrance. Ricardo thought he heard one of them say “Spic, figures.” He hadn’t been to the airport in years and needed to focus, so he let the slur slide. Families waited in line with luggage carts, trying to keep the children nearby calm, single travellers sat on chairs that were joined to act as a benches and sent text messages to loved ones that probably read something like “I am at the airport, be there in a few hours baby” and “I know, LOL,” posh business folk from the financial district of Toronto stood behind the families impatiently afraid that the proximity to children would undermine their intimidating detachment. Ricardo headed off to the check-in line keeping his eyes open for Juliet. He felt like a hunter stalking its prey; he remembered this feeling of searching for someone who didn’t want to be found and he had mixed sensations of regret. He had chased after a woman before who had no inclination for him, who ran from him, but who only a few hours, or weeks, before was giving her whole self to him. He couldn’t understand all the running
. This feeling was all too familiar. Only the woman back then wasn’t as powerful, she was frightened and easily overcome. She told him to leave her alone with her pupils shaking while she steadied herself on the side of Ricardo’s car; she grasped onto to something made of metal to keep her from submitting. It made him sick to his stomach that someone was so afraid of him, but he couldn’t blame her, her fear and her delicate frame were disgusting to him and he could have killed her at the time so she had a right to be afraid. A blinking fluorescent light brought him back to reality. This time he was chasing a woman who was stronger than him, who was teasing him, this was something completely different.

  …Fifteen Minutes Later...

  Ricardo transferred his weight from one foot to the other while he waited in the security line. It was a long line, and he kept craning his head to see around the older couple in front of him, but to no avail, it didn’t look like anyone was moving. Somehow, he knew she was up ahead, was already at the gate, was possibly already there, waiting for him. “The bitch, she has me wrapped around her finger, the cold bitch,” he thought. But he couldn’t wait to get to her; the blood in his body was going to all the wrong places. To collect himself he focused on the pain in his side and pressed his bruises, this brought him back.

  “A nice feeling, isn’t it?” She said.

  He twirled around and saw her standing there, her gold tooth glittering in the light.

  “Where were you?” He asked.

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  Ricardo looked around, he felt like they were being watched, and it wasn’t the security, it was something else. A deep foreboding hit him and he looked toward the pointed, white corner of a set of walls where a dark-skinned girl with a familiar smile stared at them. The line lunged forward and Ricardo followed. When he turned back the girl was gone, but Juliet stood there looking at the same spot with something akin to sorrow in her eyes. The people squeezed closer together as the line pushed toward the metal detectors, smells wafted into Ricardo’s face as he stood there: the couple in front of him smelled geriatric like dried lavender and tea-rose; a blond woman behind him emitted a mixture of fruity lotion and perfume. The perfume smelled fresh, like something a teenage girl would wear, but the woman was at least forty. Body odor came from somewhere, Ricardo couldn’t place where, it was a pervasive scent that rested in the air below everything else and gave the other smells above it a musky heaviness. Ricardo’s senses were overwhelmed and he felt like striking out at something. But he held his ground, he turned to Juliet in the hope she would laugh at him and give him a reason to react, but she wasn’t there. Ricardo could hear the clock on a nearby wall counting the seconds, each tick echoing bomb-like in the base of his skull. He felt dizzy, without food, charged by adrenaline, but he pushed forward in line.

  …Twenty Minutes Later...

  The crowd dispersed in manic chaos after the security lines, some lazily made their way to the duty-free shop while others raced to catch a flight. A man in a frumpy, ill-fitting suit was looking at Ricardo and smiling.

  “Where are you off too?” He asked with a Southern American drawl.

  “Someplace warmer.” Ricardo replied.

  “Good idea, snow birds and all that, migrating to Florida. You’re young for that, but it’s like that, sometimes we need to get someplace warmer. Gonna work on your tan, eh?” The man smiled, which changed his face into something much younger. It was such a vulgar, American thing to say. But Ricardo laughed and accepted the joke.

  “So, tell me when you get there what will you do in the heat?” The man asked.

  “I don’t know. “ Ricardo replied.

  “Okay, well that is a vacation.” The man pressed up against Ricardo as he reached for right side of his belt. He turned his head when it was close to Ricardo’s face. Ricardo could smell the man’s breath. The man said, “Sorry about that, it’s a bit tight for you.” Ricardo smiled awkwardly and cringed at to the soreness in his side.

  The pressure from the take-off pushed him back against his seat. The pain sent a jolt up one side of his back. He grabbed both armrests and closed his eyes focusing on the rushing sound of the engines as the plane tilted.

  …Twelve Hours Later...

  They landed roughly, with a skid and an abrupt stop. Ricardo navigated the terminal easily. The airport was small. It housed only one mock-up market where some musicians played. It was a challenge to look for Juliet there because women with dark hair and skin were more abundant and she could blend. He wracked his brain to try and remember what she was wearing, but all he could remember was her hips and eyes. So instead he found his way toward the door. The air was dry and warm; a wind blew the dust through the legs of the women whipping their long skirts. A bus engine ran to his left, he saw a line of people getting on so he joined them, not really caring where it took him. He watched the palm trees speed past and become one. He got off at an un-intimidating stop that wasn’t crowded, and that nobody else seemed interested in , then he transferred to another bus without asking about the direction. He pulled the money out of his pocket that he had exchanged at the airport and recounted it for the fifth time. He didn’t care about it at all, but it was something real that he could touch and it comforted him. For the first time in his life he was blindly following a gut instinct, he wasn’t fighting it, he just followed it and trusted his fate to her. The bus flew past a crowded stop and Ricardo looked out the window. He could make out the edge of a busy square a short distance away where he saw a tiny black figure on a leash that bounced from one person’s shoulder to another’s. The tops of tents sheltered people who undulated from one side of the square to the other. He was glad he wasn’t getting off at this stop. Instead he got off the bus in a less populated business district. He started walking back toward the square. He heard footsteps behind him and turned around. She was there walking along side him as if she never left.

  “You don’t exist. Do you?” He asked her.

  She didn’t answer, but continued walking in time with him. “Yes, I do.” They walked on in silence past the square and toward the sand. The landscape was flat and interspersed with small sections of the grass. She took his hand and held it tight. The pressure of the flesh made a sweaty layer between the two hands forcing them to grip harder. No one was around them. It was a wasteland of sand that rested just at the border of a city. They walked on until they couldn’t hear the cars from the road behind them. They reached the first dune and the ground gave way beneath their feet. Each step became laborious and they struggled to lift their legs, but they kept on. Juliet pulled one foot out of the sand twisted her body toward Ricardo and the inertia pushed both of them to the ground, they slid down the dune on their backs. They held onto each other. Juliet pulled at Ricardo’s clothes, removing his shirt from the inside of his pants and quickly unbuttoning his fly like a reflex. The sand stuck to the side of their faces and Ricardo breathed it in; he wanted this, he wanted this to be the last of all things, the very last thing. He thought of the other one and her clammy skin, watery eyes, her walled-in presence that betrayed her fear, her ignoble and powerless whimpering. Then he remembered that he created her and the squirming monster before him was his responsibility, he despised himself, but this was ecstasy and didn’t deserve to die so well. He shoved his face deeper into the sand and inhaled while Juliet pulled off his pants. All he could see was darkness and all he could feel was her mouth. He flipped himself back onto his back and pushed her off. In one violent movement he was back on his feet with his pants re-buttoned. He continued to walk, she followed. He wasn’t ready just yet and she was impatient. She kicked the sand and grunted; the sounds from her mouth were tortured.

  At the next dune she jumped on his back, knocking him to the ground again. She straddled him and held him in place with her legs while she stripped off her own clothes, then they slid down the side of the dune together; the sand scrapped her body and packed itself inside Ricardo’s clothes. He took his clothes off and
threw them to the side, they were unnecessary. They both stood up and walked toward the next dune, as if they were in Eden, unaware of their nakedness, her watching his every move and him fixated on the dune ahead. The sun pummelled their bodies with its heat, it reflected off the nape of Juliet’s neck and the indentation of her spine where the sweat found a causeway to travel to the division of her buttocks. His brownness giving off a dulled light compared to Juliet’s golden hue. They walked this way unaware of each other; both marched toward the finality of something. Ricardo was terrified, but he couldn’t look back; he knew she would take him and he needed it, this restitution, he deserved every bit of it.

  Two dark specks were moving across the sunset ahead of them at a pace that matched his and Juliet’s. The gelatinous air engulfed the pair in a clear smoke that moved along the horizon in waves and Ricardo lost himself in the rhythm of the couple’s walking, Juliet took the opportunity to pull him back down again. Ricardo let his body go limp and kept his eyes on the couple moving across the horizon-line; there were four now moving like pencil sketches on browned paper with shadow black bridal trains behind each figure. Two of the figures were leading, or at least one, the size of a child was in the lead but the other had lost its charge and was watching his follower walk away. Juliet straddled Ricardo again and he entered her without passion but she let out a moan that shook the earth. One of the figures fell and the small one in front of it ran back. Juliet slammed her hips down again and again, bruising Ricardo and making his injured back scratch against the sand. She continued her assault until Ricardo was breathing heavily and pushing against her sides. She screamed at him and dragged her nails across his chest. Ricardo saw the small figure in the distance walk back alone then scatter into the air as a million flies stuck in a dust devil. Juliet wrapped her hands around Ricardo’s neck and squeezed.