Part 1: Nueva Casa
Jesus dreams of a white desert and a golden-haired rescuer; beach day where Andrea reveals Miriam is with Christian; evening kitchen conversation with Layla, who reacts with shock to Winston's name.
The desert was snowy white and blindingly bright as far as his eye could see. The sand was as smooth and undisturbed as a Japanese zen garden. No stones or tufts of stunted grass marred its surface. It was an endless white sea, and Jesus strode on its surface with no destination in mind, because there was no destination. No distant mountains and no oasis, just smooth, glosslike infinity. He knew this place. He had always known this place. He had spent days here, maybe weeks or decades, wandering its endless expanses, devoid of hunger, thirst, or sleep. There was no need for these things. The sun bored down, seemingly closer in the sky than usual, but the heat didn’t bother him. Its rays didn’t burn his skin or cause his eyes to squint. He was The Wanderer, and this was his domain. His tracks stretched endlessly back, and they would extend endlessly forward. He didn’t mind being The Wanderer. It was pleasant enough, placing foot in front of foot in front of- his foot stuck. It was trapped in the sand, ensnared by some force. He tried to step forward, but the sand was thick as mud. Finally, with a great heave, he freed his stuck leg and took a giant step forward, searching for steadier footing, only to sink further down.
Quicksand! Now both legs were trapped up to their shins. He struggled to raise his legs, but the sand was as thick and binding as molasses. In his struggles, he lost his balance and fell to his hands and knees, which in turn was absorbed with a terrifying quickness. He floundered and struggled to free himself, but he could not escape this terrible fate. Now it was up to his chest, and he was sinking fast. In moments, he would submerge completely, swallowed up by the hungry ground. Sand would fill his lungs as he choked reflexively for one last breath. The Earth, or whatever damned place this was, would consume him, leaving no trace of his existence but his meandering tracks. Now, the sand rose to his collar bones. He flailed his arms on the surface, searching for some purchase to pull himself up on, but there was nothing. His arms swam through the sand fruitlessly, and finally, he took one final breath before he sank underneath the surface. His mouth and eyes were covered, and he held his breath for ten, twenty, now thirty seconds. In moments, his air would run out and death’s cold embrace would overwhelm him. A hand grasped his own, and began to lift him towards the surface. His spirits soared as he was reborn out of the sand by the radiant golden-haired face, eclipsing the sun before his eyes. He was lifted higher and higher, his torso and legs freed from their prison as he stared deep into his savior’s beautiful, soft, understanding eyes, up out of the sand, through the dreamy landscape, and into the waking world.
The penultimate day in Baja Leai was spent on the pristine golden-colored sand of the same beach they had overlooked three days earlier from Baja Leai’s capitol plaza. Droves of tourists and students occupied the expansive beach that stretched for almost two miles along the rolling Pacific waters of the Baja coast. Surfers paddled their boards like turtles out into the waves, trying to tame the powerful waters. Swimmers were scattered into the depths, but few strayed further than eighty feet from dry land.
Blankets, tents, umbrellas, folding chairs, and volleyball nets peppered the landscape. Children were frolicking, adults were relaxing and soaking up the sun’s rays, and dozens waded into the warm, inviting waters, almost like a dream upon waking.
They arrived by bus an hour before noon, electing to sleep in and enjoy their rest rather than trying to beat the crowd, and by product, they had to walk for some time before they found a suitable place to set their towels, cooler, and items. Sophia insisted on applying a generous layer of sunscreen to each of her little tribe, then instructing each of them to wait before entering the water. The weather was perfect, a clear blue sky over a hot, balmy day. Juan once again produced his trusty ball, and they began to explore the shoreline with it as a guide. It probably wasn’t best to get the ball wet, but they passed it in and out of the water like water polo players, some wading through the waves, and some preferring to stay on dry land.
Jesus was nervous to wander too far in, wary after his recent water-borne brush with danger, and untrusting of his weakened body, but soon enough, he had forgotten about his limitations and joined the others in the water. They passed the ball around through the water and dry land for two hours before returning to their camp to relax. The sun shone brightly in the apex of the sky. Miriam’s light brown hair cascaded weightlessly around her round, dimpled cheeks. Jesus couldn’t help but stare at her beauty.
“You really like her, don’t you, kid,” Andrea said. She had surprised Jesus by sneaking up behind him. Jesus turned sheepishly and stopped watching Miriam from under the coolness of the umbrella. Andrea plopped herself down next to him. He looked at her, but didn’t offer a verbal response.
“It’s obvious by the way you look at her,” She said, “Don’t think she hasn’t noticed.”
“Has she said anything about me?” He asked.
Andrea shrugged. “She likes you fine, if that’s what you mean. But she doesn’t like you like that. She and Christian have a thing going on, if you haven’t noticed,” As if on cue, Christian ran by and put his hand on her shoulder, teasing her. Jesus watched the two flirt for a moment before diverting his gaze.
“Why don’t you go for Carmen?” Andrea suggested. It was true, the younger girl did have the hots for him.
“I don’t know. I guess I’m just not into her,” He said. Andrea laid down on a towel and made herself comfortable.
“What about you? Rodrigo is a clown.”
“He’s more interesting than any of the guys around here,” She said, sitting up. “Plus, he has a-”
“Jesus!” Enrique yelled, “Get over here and quit sleeping.”
The sun passed overhead, and their food and refreshments disappeared until everyone was left exhausted and content. Then, the group retired back to the home and left the beach behind. Jesus showered and went downstairs to the kitchen, where he found Layla chopping carrots for a soup. She was wearing another long, flowing skirt, and a green tank top, revealing toned arms and a muscular back.
Jesus decided to talk to her.
“Thank you for having us stay here,” Jesus began.
She smiled, “It’s my business. I rent out rooms to travelers. Besides, I like having people around.” “The decorations here are interesting,” He said. A bronze colored metal sun hung outside the kitchen window that overlooked the garden, where tomatoes climbed greedily up terraces, their vines twisting and stretching into plump, ruby red fruit. Cucumbers, cilantro, jalapenos, onions, and bell peppers were planted in rows. It occurred to Jesus that maintaining a garden of that size would take considerable dedication.
“Thank you,” She said, “What’s your name? You’re one of Osito’s, right?”
“I’m Jesus.”
She turned her full attention towards him, examining him from head to toe, “Of course you are,”
She said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugged, “Nothing,” She said simply and scooped up some chopped carrots with the broad part of her knife and deposited them into a pot of boiling water.
It seems like someone is keeping something from me.
“So how do you know Osito?”
“When I met him, he was called Fernando. He used to be skinny,” She laughed, “And he had all of these staunch ideas about political dissent and revolutionary responsibility. He was a walking advertisement for the People’s Sovereign Party, this anti-government group. Not a word passed through his mouth that wasn’t some rehearsed political rhetoric,” She said, and began washing a bundle of potatoes. “I think I like him more now. But he’s always been a man who needed something to believe in.”
It was obvious by the way she talked about him that she admired him, “I met him through our mutual friend Winston.”
“I met Winston,” Jesus said.
She shot him a look of poorly disguised shock. Jesus wondered why she reacted that way, “When did you meet him?” She asked after an awkward moment passed.
“A couple months ago. I don’t know why, but he started coming around. I think he knew my mom,” He said. Layla continued washing her vegetables.
“Can you ask Sophia to come help me with something?” She asked.
“Sure,” He hurried upstairs and informed Sophia. Afterwards, he waited in his room until dinner, which was seared pork chops with potatoes and vegetables. Jesus ate and went to bed not long after.
The next day Jesus spent relaxing and sleeping. Some of the group had went back to the city, but he stayed behind and read more from his poetry book. That night he, Christian, and Enrique stayed up talking late into the night. When they woke up for the return journey, he was weary-eyed and groggy. He slept on and off through the bus ride home. Somehow, the journey seemed shorter the second time around.