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CABO SAN JOSE, MEXICO
Femme Fatale
Stone
I glance around the packed shuttle with dismay. On my way to town I’d been alone. I don’t mind people, but this kind of proximity to a bunch of sweaty, sand covered strangers is less than ideal. Especially because whatever the opposite of resting bitch face is, I have it.
On planes, in grocery stores, and even at funerals, people look at me and decide that I’m the person they’re going to unburden themselves with.
So, even though the sun was setting by the time the shuttle pulled up, the crowd of people waiting to board with me meant that I’d need my sunglasses to continue to act as my small talk deterrent.
It’s rude, I know. And normally, I’d just close my eyes and pretend to sleep during the thirty-minute ride back, but I don’t know when I’ll be back here again, and I want to see this city at night.
I came into town planning to get my business sorted with plenty of time left to sightsee. San Jose, the other side of Los Cabos, is not as rarified as San Lucas is – and definitely more my speed.
It’s where my friend Pedro told me I could find someone to help me plan a multi-day excursion on the Baja Peninsula.
The first part of my day went off without a hitch. But instead of sightseeing, I spent hours listening to my ex-girlfriend curse at me as she left my apartment with a box full of things she kept there. After that I was on the phone with locksmiths, utility and security companies, and all of the other places where we had joint accounts.
Then, my brother called to tell me that he’d forgotten to get his passport renewed. So, I found an expedited service for him and made sure it would be there before he left for Mexico on Friday morning.
By the time I was done, the alarm I’d sent to remind me that the last shuttle back to the resort was leaving in twenty minutes had gone off.
Now, a fat, glowing moon sits low on the horizon taking the sky from light blue to shades of deep indigo and violet.
As the dark transforms the sky, it also transforms the city.
The produce markets and street vendors selling tourist friendly relics that were omnipresent on my way through San Jose this morning are gone. In their place are musicians, magicians, soothsayers and doomsday prophets. A line snakes around the corner from a food stall that’s selling parcels of piping hot bread stuffed with strips of meat, tomatoes, onions, and a red sauce that runs unchecked down the fingers of the happy people stuffing their faces with it.
The sliding windows of the vehicle are open, and the cool Pacific breeze carries the mouthwatering aroma of it all. My stomach grumbles and I wish I’d at least had a chance to eat.
If I didn’t have a call with my boss in an hour, I’d get off right now and worry about how I’d get back to the resort, later.
I’m here for my brother’s wedding. Well, his first wedding. He’s having another wedding in Houston complete with church, and a huge party in a few months.
I’ll be starting my three-month stint as part of a medical staff on site at a refugee camp on the border of Colombia and Venezuela in a month and can’t get away.
So, his fiancé, Confidence, decided to have this surprise beachside ceremony, because she knew how it was important to Hayes that all his brothers be there when he says, “I do.” As much as I hate resorts and weddings, there was no way I’d miss it.
When I went to add the date to my calendar, it coincided with a lunar event I added months ago. One of the best places to see it, according to my astronomy sources. The Baja Peninsula.
I was ten years old when I stopped believing in luck. But every once in a while, there’s an alignment of moments and events so perfectly timed that there’s no other explanation.
The stars aligned on this trip and I’ve got a really good feeling about it. Besides getting to see my favorite planet, the excursion I planned is the stuff of my adrenaline junkie heart’s dreams. I’ve got four days packed with things that make my heart race just to think about.
“Is this your first time here?” The woman next to me asks and I stifle a groan. I was doing so well. Resigned to my fate and raised better than to ignore anyone who speaks to me, I respond.
“In Baja, yes,” I say conversationally, but briefly. I don’t smile or even make eye contact.
I pray that she’ll take a hint. My prayers
fall on deaf ears.
“Where are you staying at the resort? We’re up in the hills. We’re here for our anniversary, and I told him,” she jerks a thumb at the man on her right. “I wanted five stars and nothing less. Didn’t I honey?” She slaps the arm of the man next to her.
“Sure did, honey.” He gives me an apologetic smile and pats his wife’s knee less out of affection and more in warning.
She pushes it away and turns until her back is to him.
