Eternity (35 page)

I want to pull my hand away but he has it in a vice like grip, occasionally muttering “still” and increasing the pressure even more! I’m near to braking point when he finally stops, brushing another wipe over the area, a little too firmly for my inflamed skin and releasing my hand. I get a couple of seconds to admire his handiwork before he seamlessly swathes it in cling film and extends his arm towards the front of the building motioning for me to leave.

Now it’s all over I’m in a state of shock, from the pain, from my utter disbelief at what I’ve just done and from the nagging worry that I may now have Hepatitis! This could turn out to be the biggest regret of my life, but looking down at my plastic coated wrist, at least it will be a pretty regret.

I stand up shakily and head out, the original bearded man is waiting for me and passes me a piece of paper with 500peso scrawled on it, clearly his language skills don’t extend to numbers.

In a daze I pull the notes out, half passing them to him and half dropping them on the desk, muttering an apology as I step out into the sunshine. The heat is unbearable, even in the air conditioned shop I was sweating profusely and having repeated hot flushes, so out here is a whole new level of hell. I practically fall back into the cab, scaring the driver half to death as he had fallen asleep against the window while he was waiting.

Once he realises it’s me, he sits smiling looking me up and down until I realise he wants to see what I have just had done, thank god I didn’t get it in a more personal place is all I can think as I show him my wrist.

He’s nodding enthusiastically as I lean my head back on the seat and close my eyes, waiting for my stomach to stop churning; I can safely say I will never be doing this again!

The short drive back goes slowly, with each bump in the road threatening to bring my breakfast up and the air con intermittently making me feeling like a shivering mess; I go from too hot, to too cold about twenty times per minute, with my body fighting off the shock of what it just went through.

When we arrive back at the resort, even though my body temperature has just about stabilised, I loathe the idea of stepping back out into the oven hot air.

I slink out of the cab, giving the driver a pathetic smile before scuttling into the lobby. As I pass through the glass front I catch a glimpse of my reflection, I’m white as a sheet and I can feel the beads of sweat re-forming from my brow to my toes.

Collapsing down into one of the plush leather chairs, my slick skin squeaks and I almost slip right off again. In less than a minute Mari is by my side, “Miss Kaitlin!” she exclaims, taken aback by the drastic change in my appearance in such a short time, “I get you water” she states, rushing away again and returning promptly with a fresh bottle from the fridge.

Taking it from her I smile, offering my usual excuse, “I’m fine, really. But thank you” taking small sips of the chilled water gradually starts to bring the blood back into my face and I see her begin to relax as I stop looking like the walking dead.

“You look better” she says after a few minutes, “I see?” she asks gently touching my hand where the edge of the cling film rests.

“Oh yes, of course” I oblige, turning my forearm to show her. By now it resembles how Carlos’s looked yesterday, with a layer of blood and sweat trapped between my skin and its temporary bandage.

Unless she saw Carlos’s, she will not know the significance of it, but she politely smiles and tells me it’s beautiful in broken English.

I give myself ten minutes in the lobby, by which time, apart from my hair and clothes being a little damp, I’m pretty much back to normal then make my way back to the house; the whole trip only took around forty minutes, so I’ve still been gone less than an hour in total, it’s even possible that Carlos has been sleeping this whole time.

I inch the door open and tiptoe into the lounge as quiet as a mouse, as I’m clicking the front door closed I hear Carlos from the stairs, “Kate! Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick!” he cries out, running across to me and throwing his arms round me, “Why are you wet?” his concern changes to confusion as his skin makes contact with my clothes.

I step back, keeping my hand behind my back, “I’ve got a surprise for you” I mimic his announcement. His eyes light up at the mention of it, the last surprise I got him was me trussed up in a lace corset, so no wonder he’s excited.

Revealing my hand, I hold my inner wrist up to him to see, it takes him a nanosecond to comprehend what I’m showing him, before he grasps my hand and pulls it in for a closer look, “I don’t believe it, you’ve just gone and done this? On your own? Where did you go?” He’s full of questions but the beaming grin on his face says he’s blown away by the gesture.

I explain where I went and he confirms it is the same place he used, which by all accounts is a very reputable place; I’m inwardly relieved that I don’t have to worry that I inadvertently contracted some incurable disease in the process. I’m never normally spontaneous, so I had all but convinced myself that in doing something so uncharacteristically risky, Karma would punish me with the worst possible outcome.

Carlos tells me that he had taken the design in himself, so it’s likely that it was his template they used on me too, it’s all linking together in a perfectly romantic way, not dissimilar to our matching double eternity tattoos.

Taking me to the kitchen sink he lovingly removes the cover and bathes my wrist under gently running water, rubbing his thumbs over the surrounding skin to remove the last traces of blood. Once it’s clean you can clearly see the sweeping black lines, encircling each other in one continuous loop.

Bringing my hand out of the water Carlos leads it to his lips, dropping a delicate kiss on the edge of my palm, just below the tattoo; then taking a towel he dabs away any residual moisture, before reaching into a drawer and fetching out a tube of cream. With a feather light touch he smears a layer of cream over my inflamed skin and re-wraps it loosely in a clean sheet of cling film, “Just to keep the sand off the cream” he explains. I love the way he cares for me when I’m hurt, even if it is self inflicted.

Morning turns to afternoon and afternoon fades to evening without us even noticing, we are so wrapped up in our ‘eternal’ love it’s like a dream. We sit away from other people out in public places, giggling in corners, sharing in private jokes only funny to us. We are attached to each other at all times, holding hands when we walk, wrapped in each others arms when we stand, legs entwined when we sit, to the outside world its sickly sweet, but to us it’s essential. Without a constant contact between us, we feel lost, empty, incomplete; nothing is right until we are together, moving as two parts of the same person, like our life is one long, erotically charged Salsa dance, the music to which plays in our hearts.

We are perfect partners, undoubtedly made for each other, it’s as though all of the heartbreak we have both suffered has been designed specifically to unite us together; a complicated patchwork of events, so masterful it could only have been constructed by fate.

After our boat trip we had promised Blair and John we would meet for this evening festivities; the whole resort is a buzz with anticipation, the bar has been decked out to the nines with brightly coloured banners and paper lanterns hanging from every available point. Whatever the Mariachis is, it is truly celebrated here.

A circle of chairs has been placed around the courtyard, with a further two wider ones around them, with only one small gap in the circles that leads into the bar. The seats are filling rapidly, from a heaving crowd that feeds in from the bar, drinks in hand. Carlos spots Blair and John, fighting to keep possession of the seats they saved us in the inner circle.

With one simple hand movement Carlos indicates to piggy back me, above the growing noise of the crowd; I jump on to save getting separated from him and he sets off, climbing over vacant seats towards the centre courtyard, leaving a sea of surprised faces behind as he side steps and jumps over their waving arms and discarded belongings. 

Eventually we make it to our friends; I slip off Carlos’s back and take my seat next to Blair, with Carlos sitting down beside me and John next to him, giving us the opportunity to speak with our same sex counterparts while still maintaining contact with each other.

I give Blair a flash of my wrist, turning her into a shrieking mess, with the decibels rising even more when I explain the story behind it. We’re so engrossed in gossiping that we don’t even notice some twelve men enter the courtyard; it’s not until I get an elbow in the ribs from Carlos that we realise the din of the crowd has died down and all eyes are fixed on the entertainment.

All twelve men are dressed in matching costumes comprising of black boots, impossibly tight wool pants, brightly coloured shirts with ruffled fronts and to top it off an unnecessarily large sombrero, all decorated with silver threads woven into each piece of clothing.

They each hold either a trumpet or, a guitar; the guitars vary in shape and size giving a depth to their music. They play lively tunes, singing out their souls in Spanish, I am none the wiser as to what they are saying, but the words have me hypnotised.

As they continue people begin to join in, first with encouraging whoops and cheers at random intervals, until the more confident, or drunk, members who are familiar with the songs actually sing out the words from the sidelines.

The Mariachis begin to serenade each woman one by one, while their backs are turned to us, Blair explains the songs to me; they sing of numerous subjects, but mostly they sing of loving women or being hurt by them.

By halfway round the circle their heart wrenching tunes have reduced many a woman to tears, although each one still smiles and taps her foot, claps, or even dances on to the continuing music; they seem to be elated by the melancholy the music induces in them.

All too soon they are stood in front of me, staring into my eyes as they strum out the first few notes. After the first verse, when I’m blushing wildly at the prospect of having twelve men sing to me, Carlos stands, merging in and becoming part of the band, to the audiences utter delight; one man pops a sombrero on his head, while another hands him a bright orange, short jacket. By half way through the second verse he has joined in, belting out the words to me. Blair leans in close and translates for me:

"I loved her, yet she broke my heart,

I feel sorry for anyone who now,

Asks me for my love, I am truly hurt.

I will never give love another chance."

It’s all wildly romantic, I’m not moved to tears, probably because I am getting all the meanings of the words second hand from Blair instead of directly through the emotionally charged singing of the Mariachis, but still my heart is racing as they move on and Carlos sweeps me up and spins me round, swaying us to the beat.

We dance late into the night, the band makes a timid attempt to leave twice, but their path is blocked by the crowd, cheering for more, so instead they carry on, the music becoming slower and sadder as the night progresses, until finally people are too tired, or saddened to hold them captive any longer.

The bar sends out another wave of drinks once they leave, finishing off the last die hard stragglers still milling about outside.

Blair and John have long since called it a night, arranging to come to Carlos’s tomorrow evening for a farewell dinner for me. Today has been full of love and promises while the night has been full of energy and romance, by the time we stumble in at four am, it’s all I can do to keep my eye’s open, falling into a deep peaceful sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

Thursday has arrived! It’s my last real day in Mexico , the depressing pain in my chest starts from the moment I open my eyes. I don’t want to spend my last hours wallowing in self pity, but the thought of actually leaving here kills me a little inside. Especially now Carlos and I have reached such a crucial point in our relationship; things have taken a dramatic leap forward, we were in love, but now we are officially committed and we have the branding to prove it. Just as we’ve pledged an eternity together, we are being forced apart, star-crossed lovers doomed to end in tragedy!

I’m being ridiculous I know, but something strange happens when you fall in love, suddenly everything in your world starts to revolve around that love and consequently, without it, your entire being threatens to collapse in on itself.

And this is what I face in going home, finding away to keep everything up in the air where it should be, while my centre is an empty void, at least until we are re-united again.

I lay there for what feels like hours just watching my Adonis as he sleeps, little grunting snores comically escaping his lips as his eyes flutter, watching his dreams unfold.

After a while he stirs, stretching awake, “Morning sweetness” he mumbles.

“Hey you” I reply, stroking his hair off his face.

“What do you want to do for your last day?” he asks, still sleepy.

“I don't mind as long as I'm with you. I should probably pack first, but then I'm all yours” I say, getting out of bed and picking up items of stray clothes from around the room.

He lies there watching me move around for a few minutes before offering to help, “It's OK, it's mostly all done, just need to get my bathroom stuff really, I think everything else is in the bag already” I never fully unpack on holiday, it just seems like a waste of time as you know it will just need to be packed again at the end.