What if those stories were wrong? What would that make me?
The last stretch of the road was flat, and the sun was now coming over the edge of the very pass we’d just descended. It shone brightly over us, and sweat beaded on my forehead. Obregán felt more and more intimidating as we approached it. I could not understand and appreciate its size from the top of la montaña. Down here, it was obvious that many of the structures and buildings en la ciudad were as tall as twenty or thirty homes stacked on top of one another. Somehow, they remained as still as the saguaros.
We were close to the southern entrance when I asked Emilia if we could stop for a moment. I stepped to the side of the road and stood there, staring, unable to fathom how many things there were to look at. La Ciudad Obregán was so high, so wide, and I could now see people leaning out of windows, some shouting at others down below or hanging clothing to dry. The sound, even at this distance, was like nothing I had ever heard. Obregán hummed, a magic of sorts passing through these people and this place. Or was it even magic? A creature snorted behind me, and I jumped, turned to see some massive bestia with thick, curly hair, two gnarled horns jutting out from its head. It nuzzled its owner, who walked alongside it, then snorted at me again as the two went on their way.
“What is that?” said Emilia.
I stared openmouthed.
There was too much to take in. We moved toward la ciudad, right as a group of children, their skin various shades of brown, rushed past us. It was instinct more than anything else: I reached out and grabbed Emilia’s hand. I didn’t even realize I had done it until I looked to her and saw that she was staring down at our fingers clasped together.
I pulled mine back, but she shook her head. “No, it’s okay,” she said. “Just so we don’t get separated.”
She grabbed my hand this time and pulled me toward Obregán. We walked together into that surreal place, and it was as if a thousand conversations were buzzing in my ear. I heard my tongue being spoken, but plenty of others floated past. There were thick accents that made the words hard and angular, other inflections that seemed to slow down time. A man with a small cart of sizzling meats gestured to us, then let loose a long string of syllables and sounds I had never heard before. I couldn’t even tell what kind of meat it was—or what lengua he spoke—so I smiled and shook my head, and then—
The smells. La carne frita hit me first, savory and sharp, and then a stench of waste, most likely from some creature nearby. Then something new. Floral? Was that garlic? Solís, there were so many new scents; how many more would I discover?
My stomach called out as more of these smells taunted me, tantalized me. I looked to Emilia, whose gaze was stuck on a woman selling freshly made pan and tortillas. She smirked when I caught her in the act.
“Looks like we have the same idea,” I said.
“Should we get food before we find El Mercado?” she asked.
“Maybe,” I said. “My stomach certainly wants to.”
We were right on the edge, just past the arched gates, which stood wide open. Los guardias sat on pillars and overlooked those coming and going, their eyes falling on us briefly and slipping right off. We must not have been worth their time. People continued to rush past us, some wearing long cloaks and colorful wrappings on their heads. A couple of men with heavily jeweled fingers and ears, sharing chisme in some strange language, looked the two of us up and down before moving on to wherever they were headed. Two women rushed by in wooden sillas propelled by the power of their own arms, and they wheeled around a crowd and disappeared. People spilled out of a large gray stone building to our right, and I couldn’t catch more than one or two words of their conversation. They passed by us as if we weren’t there. I watched a woman stroll by with a large clay pot perfectly balanced on her head, and she was communicating with a friend using only her hands.
And the buildings! I leaned my head back as I walked, staring up at the towering impossibilities that loomed all around me. I couldn’t see the tops of some of these structures. Someone bumped my shoulder and knocked me out of Emilia’s hand, and I tried to scowl at them. But they slipped right back into the crowd, gone as fast as they had come.
“I’ve never seen so many people!” I said.
Emilia squeezed my hand tighter. “We’re close,” she said. “Follow me.”
I let the crowd take me and Emilia, surround us, make us a part of it. As I walked, first to the east, I couldn’t focus on any single thing around me. A quiet anxiety festered in me, the fear building up as people shuffled past, touching me as they did so. Their shoulders brushed mine; a woman placed her hand on the small of my back as she squeezed past, and I kept crashing into people walking toward me. How did anyone ever learn to navigate all of this? How did a person hear conversations over the noise? How did anyone ever memorize all the streets and the alleys? I had been here for so short a time, and I was already completely disoriented.
I was also elated. I could go where I wanted. Do what I wanted. See what I wanted.
So I walked, my hand in Emilia’s. We tried to keep the pace of the
