June McComb and the Temple of Whom? (lji s9e6)
The thrill of the chase is why I do this. I tell myself that at night because it's so much easier than admitting I might have a problem. After the bullets, boulders, and arrows, it was the shot of adrenaline straight through my core that kept me coming back. You can't match religion or drugs to that sort of addiction; no magic nor pill could compare. I didn't get into archeology to dust precious pieces of pottery; that's why sane people do this. Inspiration had already taken hold, pushing me past that brink. The fact that she got mixed up in this is all on me.
“June..? June McComb? Is the doctor bloody well in?” Her voice calms my nerves and the ever-present well of thoughts from before. With a thrust of my shoulder, my boot pivoted on the heel back to my compatriot. A furious patting of my hand to my trilby followed. Someone should really leave warning labels on how dusty these Aztec ruins are.
“Jin-Jin...” I replied to my best friend, though I use the term loosely since I drug her on this elaborate form of suicide. “We should stick together. Any training you've had that might be relevant, feel free to inform...”
“I am a barista; you know that! And my name is Gwen. Say it with me: Gwen. Why does my girlfriend have a scary pulp delusion? We pass one Chinese takeout and suddenly I'm Jin-Jin, the quasi-Asian sidekick.”
Her foot scooted closer simultaneously with the ratcheting ringing in the walls. I hooked my ankle around hers and grabbed her elbow, pulling her to the floor as darts gracefully flew over our heads. “Look, I want to understand your feelings. They are very relevant to my interests. But unless we work together here, we're going to die,” I whisper to her as she tries her best not to glare daggers through me.
“So what is it? The dangers and traps and...all, I mean.” Kissing her on the forehead, a quick glance around reveals nothing to my tired eyes. My feet slam the ground as I leap up, bringing her by the wrist when she's ready. My heart skipped beats as I relayed the most likely causes; the thrill, my plight.
“Spiritual curses if you believe the mythology. My guess is someone incidentally triggered the defensive measures...or purposefully turned them on to ward off thieves.”
“Sound the signal. White women in trouble.”
“Shush. You're making us look bad. We're plenty capable of surviving.” Planning would achieve that; just as soon as I got my fix. I tried hiding my anxiety and excitement from her. She didn't need to know that this life threatening event caused my hairs to stand on end. My eyes narrowed to the walls and paths not taken. “Just follow me closely. And...I'm sorry I brought you to a place that got very dangerous, very fast.”
“Not exactly what I had in mind for our anniversary.”
“I know.”
I did know; she'd yet to see what I'd gotten her. Ambling arm in arm or as near to it as allowed, we delved into the mysterious catacombs holding decay, dirt, and my desire. An activated glow stick in my hand lighted the path before us. We couldn't hesitate; not now. I wouldn't allow that.
A parting of the stone led down further than we could fathom as the bridge beckoned beyond our gaze. More marks than I could count were strewn about the chambers, lining the narrow runway nestled above a pit. And beyond the gloom, doom, and the glyph-riddled bridge, lied our glittering prize and my gift to Gwen: the jade death mask of Cuacuauhtzin.
“It's been untouched for centuries. Hidden...here after Spanish conquistadors devastated the Aztec empire. They wouldn't dare let their most legendary lord poet's burial mask be lost to belligerence.” I heard her sigh as we tucked into one another. Glancing over my nose, I was all smiles when her eyes met mine. “Hey, hi. Hard part's over. Just a riddle now, and...”
Pushing away with a look, I knew she felt betrayed by the thrill, my addiction, and this discovery. I knew she'd hate the time it would mean; lectures, exhibits, paperwork, study. But mostly, she hated knowing I kept things from her. But she worries; with good reason, it seems. A heavy sigh followed. “...what riddle?” Gwen hoarsely asked after that awkward moment of deciding if the other is ever worth talking to again in a relationship.
I panned the room to find the answer on the wall to the right of the bridge. Marching there, I quipped, “Convenient...pop another light, let's read this.”
“You speak...squiggly line?”
“Enough to order a steak. Just give me the damn light.”
The wall revealed little to most. But within the glyphs, I read one repeated phrase - speak first. Gwen finished the pack of Orbit gum and achieved a new high score in Angry Birds. She was so proud.
“Speak...first,” My head craned to greet the glyph-stoned bridge. “Oh, you got to be kidding me! I feel like I need a whip and a state nickname.”
“West Virginia June has a certain ring to it.”
“See those stones over there? God, this is so cliché. Okay, those are stepping stones. No true alphabet, but each symbol represents a sound. I have to use the word 'first' in Nahuati as my bridge or...here, let's test it.”
It wasn't my favorite compact; I had others. I always kept one with me on digs or...when I fueled whatever disease it was that caused me to do stupid things like this. You know, mirrors are quite handy in a pinch, glancing around corners. Or the foundation, useful for dusting or subterfuge. No one thinks twice about a woman with a compact. It's sad I now feel I have to defend having one. Also, sometimes I don't like having a shiny nose, okay? Not a crime.
My wrist extended, the plastic disk flinging out and landing on a stone carved with a moon. Gwen sighed as she turned away. “Great, all that buildup and you don't...”
With a crashing sunderance, the stone fell away split-seconds into my girlfriend's disappointed words. The rumble from within the ground encompassed our senses with fear finally drowning out my thrill and the fix within these walls. Rock roared with the echo from a terminal plunge into the center of the earth.
Nodding my head with an uneasy step back, we remained silent for a good ten seconds; a personal best for us both. “Right,” I stammered. “Step on a crack...break your mother's back. I'm not an acrobat. Any...anyone can duck to a floor to avoid being shot. We're done, Gwen. And I think...I think I need help.”
“You know...I always heard that, wow, that's a long way down. Anyway, I always heard that phrase started out 'step on a crack, turn your mother black.' Racism, huh?”
“Jin-jin,” I quietly whisper.
“I take it back, that's racism...”
Still, she sighed, tucking in against me as we made our way out.
This entry is for a writing competition, the real live journal idol. Yippie, look at me, writing an entry that wasn't strictly comedic for once.