Most people don't know how good they have it until they travel outside their comfort zone. Sadly, many turn a blind eye, unable to face the harsh realities of the real world. Some are too caught up with the meaningless stuff being shoved in their faces daily. ‘Buy this,’ ‘buy that’… it’s nothing but a constant stream of advertising to spend, spend, spend. For what? To go broke? To max out their credit cards trying to keep up with the latest trends.
It doesn't make an ounce of sense to me. Not when there are hundreds and thousands of people in dire need of the very basics, food, clothing, and shelter.
Traveling has opened my eyes to many things. It has opened my eyes to the real world, the raw, untouched, and untold world where many people live with next to nothing. Every day they rise with smiles on their faces, attend to the tasks at hand, work hard to make a dollar, and repeat the sequence the next day for their entire lives.
As I gaze over at Val, she’s glistening. I watch as she wipes dots of perspiration from her forehead. It is eighty-nine degrees today with a hundred percent humidity. It’s different from the dry desert heat she's used to. She tugs at the front of her T-shirt, pulling it away from her chest as it sticks to her skin.
“Maybe you should’ve worn a sundress,” I suggest. “You might have been cooler.”
“Yeah, I know. I need to iron a few things, but there’s no iron in the room.”
“What do you say we stop at the bar before we head back to the room? Manuela makes a tasty batido.”
“What’s a batido?”
“A fruit smoothie with milk.”
“Sounds good right about now.”
As we sit sipping our smoothies, I study Val's face. She looks different without all the heavy makeup she usually wears. With her lips glossed a shade of coral, and her hair pulled up into a high ponytail, she looks much younger.
“What are you staring at?” She fidgets uncomfortably.
“You,” I reply, reaching for her drink. Sliding it in front of me, I take a long sip from the straw. Her forehead wrinkles as she narrows her eyes.
“Is there a problem?” I ask.
“You just drank from my straw.”
“Are you afraid I'll catch something?”
“No.” She giggles, rolling her eyes. “There’s nothing to catch from me.”
“Then why the worried look? I don't have cooties; I just wanted a little taste.” I slide the drink back toward her. “I should have ordered the pineapple instead of the papaya. I like yours better.”
I lean back and watch as a shiny violet hummingbird hovers near a brilliant red heliconia. Poking its long needle-like beak into the flower, it flutters its wings, drinking and swallowing the sweet nectar. I glance over at Val and see that she’s looking at the bird as well.
As I turn my head back to the tiny bird, it flies away as another appears. This one colored bright blue and green zooms in and drinks from the same flower. The tiny little hummingbirds aren't afraid to share, and I wonder for a moment if Val gets the message. It's okay to share things with someone you love. It's called trust. You need to have faith in each other.
Could Val be someone I love? Someone I can trust? Someone to have faith in?
Only time will tell…
9
Valerie
“So, what did you want to be when you grew up?” David asked, over our second glass of sangria. “Surely it wasn't a Vegas cocktail waitress.”
“No, definitely not,” I said, licking the sweet wine from my lips. “Cheers to me losing my job,” I raised the glass in front of me.
“Cheers!” he replied. “You’ve been freed from a life of polyester.”
We laughed as we clinked glasses over a flickering candle between us.
“Seriously, what did you dream about when you were young? How did you picture your life?”
“Well,” taking another sip, I swallowed. “I dreamed about writing children's books… books that would include animals.”
“That makes sense, seeing how you bonded with Mr. Tiger kitty last night.”
“And I’d love to travel the world.”
“Where would you start?”
“Oh, maybe a train ride through Europe or take an African safari.”
“Adventurous, I like that in a woman.”
“Speaking of women, care to share a little bit about your past, your marriages?”
“Not particularly,” he said, clearing his throat.
The waitress appeared at the table with our dinner at just the right moment. David had ordered the olla de carne and I, the ceviche with a side of patacones.
“I guess I’m just curious why they didn't work out,” I uttered. Reaching into the dish, I grabbed a patacon and munched on it.
“One word,” he replied, chewing a piece of beef, “jealous.”
“Jealous? Of what?”
“I don't know. I think they lacked confidence.”
“Both of them? I find that kind of hard to believe… unless you have a certain type.”
“I don't really have a type. Perhaps they couldn't handle a man like me.”
“What do you mean?” I seized another patacon. “A man like what?”
“I'm outgoing, adventurous. I like to experience new things. And I travel a great deal for work.”
“And they couldn't handle that?”
“Apparently not, sometimes my actions would be mistaken for flirting. Not on my part, mind you, but there were times when my actions were misconstrued.”
“Misconstrued?”
“Yes, women would hit on me when I was just being friendly.”
“Hmm… you know what they say—it takes two to tango.”
“And I only tango with one woman at a time.”
Reaching for the glass pitcher of sangria, he poured us another round, and then lowered his head, taking bite after bite of his food.
“You know, I really don't want to talk about my past. The past is the past and that’s where it belongs.
