Around 10:00 P.M. our vacationers stood before the hotel's toxic pool house watching as live eels swim around like green lightning in a cloudy night sky. Seaweed had sprouted up and out through cracks in the concrete; hanging plants had been left to their own devices; and mold spores climbed the support beams in the center of the room like mushrooms on trees. The room seemed to have it's own atmospheric pressure.
Carla, with her bright white and diamond laced nails, is staring at the hotel's website on her phone with an arched brow.
"It looked different in the photo." Lucrecia's words are rhetorical and annoying.
Squeak!
The glass doors behind them open and a young woman from the front desk explains that they cannot be here; it isn't safe. She apologizes in Spanish for the inconvenience and then says something in Japanese for Carla to translate.
"If we would like to swim she has directions to a clean watering hole. She says she can get us a taxi and a tour guide there in the morning. We'll just invite Sun. I have him on Snap." She smiles and theirs a twinkle in her eyes.
Guzman agrees before the group even has a chance to discuss but what would be the resistance? Ander's here for Guzman, Valerio's a roll with it fellow, and Carla's excitement is a vote all on it's own. As the tall and broad 'leader of the pack' he strides away from the pull house and everyone follows.
As he wonders up to the front desk Lucrecia takes a seat on one of the vibrant yellow cushioned benches rather aggressively. Ander sits opposite her, slowly, wincing as pain shoots up his sides. When he's finally down he shivers a little and focuses on breathing.
Carla's eyes catch the light of a game room in a nearby corridor and allows the music to pull her in that direction. Setting down a collection of tour guide pamphlets Valerio wanders along after her strapping Ander's wine hat beneath his chin and tying the scarf around his waist as he walks. The two of them vanish into the swirl of technicolor.
Hoisted, side by side, on a platform, attached to a massive machine with two monitors, are a pair of motor bikes; one pink; one green. The source of the lights, the music, and the luring inescapable energy.
*Super Bikes 3*
"WELCOME TO TANZANIA!" Says a mechanical female voice in the machine.
Across both screens it reads; Swipe To Play. In front of the synchronized image of the track animated in a three dimensional fantasy world format. jungle terrain; deep cavernous jumps; ancient mythological beings with massive appendages swooping down along the path.
Twelve bikers, two open spots. Valerio smiles at Carla. Carla smiles at Valerio. Then they both mount their chosen fighter.
Valerio selects a purple female biker with a yellow cat helmet hiding her face and Carla chooses an angry looking fellow who looks more like a chef in white than someone who pops wheelies and lands quick flips.
Ching! Ching!
They swipe their cards. Tiesto's 'The Business' starts to play as we pan over the terrain one final time. Each player gets a milisecond of screen time and then we count down from three. The engines catch fire; the beat drops; and we race.
Back in the lobby Guzman, leaning up against the counter and getting ink all over his wrists from a pen he doesn't realize is busted, finely scribbles a schedule out for tomorrow's events on a scrap piece of paper the woman behind the counter gave him before she went back to typing out some information on her computer. Over the years he's gotten rather good at making lists. It eases his worrisome mind.
Lucrecia, after waiting on a text from a friend who's clearly too busy for her, rises from her spot, glances almost sympathetically at Ander, then clicks in her stillettos over the marble floor to take a spot next to Guzman. He smiles at her but it's not the way she wants him too.
"Tomorrow's an eventful day." He says loud enough for Ander to hear as well, "Eleven A.M.; The Cherry Blossom River. Four P.M.; Runaway at Model Hall. Eight P.M.; Karaoke at the Village Candle. It's going to be great!"
Ander groans as he stands. His hoodie seems to swallow him at every angle and his sweat pants fold down over his soft boat shoes. Pain ripples in every joint outward towards the tips of his fingers and toes. Every step is a thunder.
He leans, tiredly, over the counter-top and says, "I'd like to visit the Gensing campus while we're here."
Guzman tries really hard not to look at Ander with pity but it's not that easy. He's constantly having to resist the need to preserve Ander.
Lucrecia's shrill voice makes Guzman cringe the moment she opens her lilac lips, "For what? You want to continue your education? Do you even have time for that?"
The glare on Guzman's face appears like cracks in a glass bottle breaking against a hard surface; any harder and he'd be dust.
The contagious warm laughter of Carla and Valerio echoes down the corridor before the conversation continues. No matter where they are a bright sun like Carla and a tidal moon like Valerio can cut through darkness sharper than any blade.
The three of them lazily make their way down the corridor. When they reach the archway of flashing lights Guzman doesn't hesitate to walk inside. He steps up on the platform between them and lets the neon dance across his thick pale muscles and his beautiful freckled face while he makes non-biased, humorous banter. Thick blonde and black ringlets of hair flutter behind them from the fans built into the gaming monitors.
Lucrecia mumbles something Ander can't hear and then she stalks off to join the others annoyed that he's ignoring her. He's not ignoring her; the hallucinations must be back.
He holds his hand out watching as the cuffs droop low and catches droplets of rain in his palms and on the tips of his fingers lost in his head as they feel so real against his skin. There's a chill down his spine as a pair of lips touches his neck. Everything in the technicolor room continues on without him as a light piano only he can hear pulls him into a turn.
It's Polo; the Benavent boy. Lucrecia murdered him; he's dead. Or- at least- he should be. Why appear like this? Here? A beautiful monster who, in life, was also capable of taking lives. A body that felt so nice to hold when his mind was wired with spikes. In Polo's death his mind is now free.
"So..." Ander asks, "What brought you to me?"
All Polo can say is, "I'm here for you."
No one is in this hallway; no one will care if he slips away for just a moment into this illusion. Hands find hands and body to body they sway. Ander presses his face to Polo's chest as they dance. It's nice here. It doesn't hurt as much.
Polo smells like black bamboo. His charcoal colored hair, lotus lips, and tightly tailored purple suit make no sense but Ander doesn't care about logic right now. Ander can see flakes of sunlight when he finds the strength to look up into the blue of Polo's eyes. That sharp jawline fits nicely in Ander's hand. While the hallway is dark and the rain seems endless Polo is wrapped in a warm glow.
The Royal Carribean is a transnational franchise. One of the more popular hotels among tourists from over seas. Europe isn't too far from Asia but Americans find themselves lost here quite often. Surprisingly, for most US citizens, that's exactly where they want to be.
Sebastian, a scholar from Emory University in North Carolina, is currently making his way down the staircase. This music major minors in medicine and spends most nights mourning over the loss of himself. Ander has no idea an overly emotional artist, who wants to save lives, is about to interrupt this moment with death.
"You speak english?" Sebastian asks the boy standing in the window overlooking the city.
Ander slowly turns his face away from the day dream that fades as quickly as it came.
When Ander doesn't say anything Sebastian fills the silence, "Sadness is a universal language. There are lines on your cheeks, and circles around your eyes. Your silence is very loud."
Polo is now a mist Ander can barely remember and when he goes to think about it all that appears is the image of a bloody boy Guzman held that night at the club their senior year. The night that made them run away together.
Ander tells him, "I'm fine. Just tired. Jetlagged maybe, my friends party a little harder than I do."
Sebastian smiles, his tan makes his skin tight and his button down is open enough to reveal his collar bone and the veins all along his thick neck. He huffs, "When I'm honest with my friends, because they are my friends and they care about me, they listen."
Ander absorbs this information. he blinks a few times. Then mulls over what he's discovered in his mind; he knows Guzman would do just about anything for him; he's aware of Valerio's and Carla's natural healing instinct; he can read through Lucrecia's bullshit enough to know she actually cares about him.
He discovers that a broad statement like this is one he wants to divert, "I don't even know your name. What makes you think we're friends?"
He knows this isn't what the american meant. It's just easier to make them uncomfortable than feed into their strangevity. A slight pang of confusion lingers in Ander's chest as the American walks away and he has no idea but Sebastian is going where he's spent a many a night since he got here; the ballroom. The piano calls to Sebastian the way death calls to Ander.
Four people come out of the gameroom laughing and Ander eases because he knows them all. They approach him and notice the glare he holds on the american slipping around the corner.
"What was that?" Asks Carla as she steals the wine hat from Valerio and drinks from it without putting it on her head.
Ander rolls his eyes, "A stranger."
"Come on!" Beams Valerio who now stands behind Ander resting his head on the tired boys shoulder, "Let's go check out the room!"