I would let fate decide my destiny. I’d go where the most attractive offer was: to school to finish my PhD, to work somewhere, or off to an interesting dig.
During my Master’s studies, I’d spent my research time at a major dig in Central America, and at another in the Middle East, with a young, female visiting professor, Dyana Berkley, who would become the second reader of my Master’s thesis. She became something of a mentor and confidant to me, which I suppose was predictable, given the dearth of citable women in contemporary archeology.
I was completing said dissertation and applying to PhD programs when I got a call from Dr. Berkley. She’d been funded to open a new site in the Middle East, this time off the coast of El-Agamy, Egypt in southern Mediterranean waters near Alexandria, but away from the more explored areas. The project would include lots of underwater work, which really excited me. That included diving, along with manned and robotic submarine work, with the real possibility of utilizing domed habitats, and establishing a permanent domed habitat should the early excavations look promising enough to warrant it.
I’d also get living expenses and a small stipend.
The opportunity was everything that excited me, and my research there would count toward my PhD at the University of Florida, where Dr. Berkley was based. I was over-the-moon with the thrill of this opportunity. Ignoring all the other offers I had, I accepted immediately.
Tia was there, at the foot of my bed, when I awakened in the middle of that night. Her face was faintly illuminated, but there was no obvious light source. She looked at me with a knowing smile, a smile that said she was happy for me. Her eyes, though, said something else. They appeared to be looking off into the distance again, a distance of place or time – I couldn't tell which. It was the same gaze I'd seen the first time she'd appeared. Once again, her eyes seemed to reflect a knowing sadness. I sat up, intending to ask her what she saw, but she was gone.
Was she telling me I was on the right path, or the wrong one? Her lips enjoined one thing, her eyes another.
In some way, she seemed to be saying that I'd made the right decision, but that it would lead me somewhere I didn't want to go. Somewhere that would make both me and Tia unhappy. I struggled to understand. Would it truly make me unhappy? If I didn't like it, I could always resign and return to River’s Edge, right?
Certainly, it was at least worth a chance. As for Tia – she couldn't really be there in my bedroom, I knew. Her image was simply a manifestation of my own mind trying to make sense of my own future, and trying to evaluate the decisions I'd already made. I thought my future held challenges, but that they were understood, and that I could work through them. I'd do an interesting dig, get some PhD credit, decide whether or not to write it up (or get forced to do a paper by Dr. Berkley), and then decide what to do next.
I'd committed to the future I'd chosen. The wheels were in motion. I faced the rest of my studies with confidence.
The final weeks of my Master's program passed, and then I was done.
**********
Thus it was that when I finished school in June, two months after I'd turned 25 years old and with my newly-minted Master’s degree in hand, I bade my parents farewell for what I expected would be the better part of a year. I flew from the metroplex to Rome. Relations between the US and the current Egyptian government were strained over religious issues of course, so direct flights from any US city, even from New York to Cairo, had been suspended.
The Italians apparently didn’t care about such things to the same extent. I landed at Leonardo da Vinci – Fiumicino Airport, changed terminals, and boarded my Alitalia flight to Cairo. Dr. Berkley herself met me there as I emerged from customs into the crowded, bustling Cairo International Airport, by far the busiest in Egypt.
I’d been to Egypt some years before and I’d loved it. After losing Tia, that had been the trip I wanted for high school graduation. Most of my time on that trip was spent in and around small villages along the banks of the Nile River. I really enjoyed that area because the people seemed so very happy, despite extreme poverty. To me, it was something of a celebration of the basic goodness of the human spirit. Yeah … that was back when I believed there was a basic goodness.
I’d tightly packed my things into two modest bags and a carry-on. Dyana, as she told me to call her, had hired a driver whom she called on her mobile. He met us just outside the arrivals area, popped my things into the trunk, and we headed out of the airport and onto the Ring Road around Cairo, to avoid the packed, intensely crowded city as best we could. Eventually we left the Ring Road and proceeded northwest towards Alexandria.
The temperature was a warm 80 degrees F or so and the driver left the windows down. That would have been comfortable except for the dust that seemed to be everywhere. The dust didn’t let up at all until we were almost at the sea near Alexandria. The gritty air gave way to a pleasant salty breeze off the Mediterranean, though by then, I felt like every exposed inch of my face, arms and legs was covered with a fine, orange-brown powder.
The base for our archeology operation was a former Turkish frigate, the Barbaros Hayreddin Pasa, which Dyana had acquired with her very impressive grant money. The ship was moored offshore near the small peninsula, Jazirat al Marabit, between Alexandria and El-Agamy. We tool a small launch out to it. Dyana showed me to my tiny cabin, and helped me figure out where to stow the few belongings I’d brought.
The Barbaros stayed anchored at that spot while we had a surprisingly good, Mediterranean-cuisine meal on board later that evening. I met everyone in the crew and all but one of the archeologists and students connected to the dig. For the first time, I was an archeologist, not a student. My firm little 34 B cups were bursting with pride.
**********
We spent the next several days at anchor in the same spot while we opened dozens of boxes of new or newly-arrived equipment, set it up, and familiarized ourselves with the operation of much of it. Dyana and I did a few test scuba dives, including one using Sea-Doo Seascooters which I hadn’t tried before. It was fun being pulled along without having to work at swimming. The Seascooters would allow us to do efficient, close-up surveys of the sea bottom and mark spots for more detailed investigation.
On the second day Dyana and I were doing a lot of work on deck – just the two of us. The day was very warm, but there was a constant breeze, usually from the northwest. My straight, lower-back-length hair was tied in a ponytail, but the wind still managed to whip it all over. I finally paused long enough to plait it, in the hope that it would just dangle out of the way, down my back. The problem was that I spent so much time crawling around boxes on the deck that the braid kept getting caught on everything as I’d bend over. I tried arranging the braid like a headband around my head and shoving it under my baseball cap, but the cap was too tight to be comfortable. When I loosened it, the braid fell out, right onto the hot, oil-covered shaft that had been lying on the sun-drenched deck, which I was gingerly (it was really hot) installing into the propulsion sleeve of a robot submersible.
I swear that I heard my hair sizzle – though it was probably my imagination. It did appear that I’d gotten an instant, hot-oil treatment on the tips of my hair! At least my split ends would be happy.
Dyana was watching me and my hair shenanigans, a faint, knowing smile on her face. She didn’t say anything, though. The short bangs of her modified Louise Brooks, less-than-chin-length, stylish bob were cut all the way across her forehead, to where her hairline began at each side. That was enough that even with the wind behind her, she didn’t have hair in her eyes, and usually the wind was blowing her hair back from her face.
I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, that she continued to watch me struggle with the submersible assembly for over an hour and finally said, “Let’s take a break.”
One of the great things about most digs is that there’s always beer to be had. Maybe that’s because archeologists have uncovered so many remains of ancient breweries, that they figure t
he modern age should maintain the tradition. The Barbaros’s stock of beer was plentiful and we took two out of a cooler on the deck and kicked back for a break with a couple cold ones.
We both looked over the work we’d completed, and what we had yet to do. The rest of the team was in various places below deck, preparing for the survey work ahead. At the moment, we were still the only team members on deck.
“It’s never going to work, you know,” Dyana said.
“It better work. We need both submersibles!” I responded.
“I don’t mean the robot subs,” she replied. “They’ll work; they’re brand new, high-end, after all.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. I didn’t get it.
“It’s your hair, dear. It’s way, way, way too long. It’s a serious inconvenience while you’re working on the deck, and it will be an outright hazard under water.”
“Wha … what?” But I knew what.
“Gotta cut your hair. The shorter the better. Today. You have two choices: I cut it now and it’s done, or we make a big coming of age celebration about it, and we call everyone together to do it, and let them cheer you on.”
From Tia’s influence years ago, I’d come to like being the center of attention more than most, but I didn’t want an audience for this! In fact, I REALLY, REALLY didn’t want my hair cut! It’s been long since … It’s ALWAYS been long!
“You wanna cut my hair? Cut all of it? SHORT?” I swear my voice rose an octave with each sentence.
“Not only do I want to; I insist on it.”
“My long hair? You want me to cut it?”
“No, not really.”
I was both confused and relieved at that point. “Then I don’t understand …”
“I don’t want you to cut it, I want to cut it myself. In fact, I am stipulating that it must be cut, if you’re planning to stay on this dig.”
“Really? But … but … but …”
“Do I cut it now, or gather everyone together to watch? If you don’t decide, I’m just going to cut it now.”
“With what?”
“An acetylene torch …”
“WHAT?”
“Oh for heaven’s sake. I was just joking. I’ll go to my cabin, grab the implements I need and be back here in less than a minute.”
“Dyana, I don’t want this. I love my hair.”
“Look, you’re an archeologist. You work in windy, dusty, dry, wet, hot, terrible climates, about 90 percent of the time. You’re in one now. That school-girl hair isn’t compatible with your chosen profession.”
Those words got to me. I HAD chosen my profession. I’ve never wanted to be anything else. That was more important than ever – I was doing it for me, and for Tia, whose similar, compatible dreams would never be realized. But I didn’t want to give up my hair!
“Dyana, I want to keep my hair. It will take me five years or more to grow it back this long.”
“No it won’t.”
“Of course it will. It’s almost 30 inches long! That’s more like six years!”
“It won’t take that long, because you’re never gonna grow it back like this. You don’t need it! You’re not in junior high anymore. It’s time to be all grown up.”
In that, she was surprisingly right.
“NO!” I shouted. “I don’t wanna have it cut!”
“Listen to yourself. For a professional, you sound surprisingly like an eleven-year-old. It’s time to cut it, and I’m going to save you lots of trouble. Wait here.”
“Dyana!” I called after her, but she disappeared through a hatch under a bulkhead.
I chugged the rest of my beer, then claimed another one. What was I gonna do? I couldn’t let her cut my hair off, could I? She seemed determined, and she was the boss. I didn’t want to get on her bad side, but I wanted my beautiful, long hair! Why you ask? Because I loved it! And besides, it had always been long.
She returned in less than five minutes with a folding chair and a small travel bag. “Sit here,” she insisted.
I didn’t move. I didn’t want to move. Even if I’d been willing, my own fear was keeping me rooted to the spot where I was sitting, my back against a porthole, protecting my braid.
She patted the seat of the folding chair, a confident smile on her face. She was scaring me right then. I looked into her eyes. They were actually quite lovely eyes, a deep brown that complimented her short, dark, luxuriously brown hair. Hair that was the length she wanted mine to be, I was sure.
I tried a compromise. Maybe just a trim would satisfy her. “Just a couple inches, that’s all,” I told her.
“Okay, three inches,” she said, “no more.”
“Two inches,” I tried.
“Alright, two inches,” she patted the seat. I got up, walked over, and sat down. I didn’t see how a two-inch trim was going to hurt anything, though I couldn’t understand why she thought that was going to help any.
She pulled a surprisingly large scissors out of the bag and walked behind me. “No more than two inches,” I said.
“Agreed,” she said.
A moment later there was this awful scrunch above my braid, and it separated completely from my head!
I shot up out of the seat. “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?” I shouted, surely loud enough to be heard on shore, miles away. As my hair fell forward into my face, I reached around the back and felt that my braid was gone! I felt her hand on my shoulder, pushing me back down as she placed the severed braid in my lap.
“AH … AH … AH …!” I was so shocked I couldn’t even speak. I heard the snip of a smaller scissors toward the top back of my head.
“DYANA! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”
“Cutting your hair to no more than two inches,” she said, innocently.
I heard another snip. She was still cutting in the back! I heard another snip and started to get up. Dyana pushed me back down with a warning that, “If you don’t sit still, you’ll end up with your hair all hacked up.” There was another snip!
“Stop it!” I yelled. She could not have misunderstood me in the first place. I told her so.
“You said no more than two inches, so I’m making it no more than two inches,” she said, trying to sound innocent. Snip!
“I meant not to cut more than two inches and you know it!” I yelled at her, starting to get up again.
“It’s too late now, anyway. You’re about to join the short-hair sisterhood which, as an archeologist, you should be a member of already. You’ll like it, if you sit still so that I can do a good job.” She was combing my hair out and snipping the whole time she was talking.
At this point, it was too late and I knew it. I was really pissed off, and I don’t get that angry very easily. I’m one of the most even-tempered people you’ll ever meet. At that moment, though, I was ready to throw Dyana overboard with a chunk of metal fastened to her neck! The tears started to come and my shoulders were shaking as I tried, now angry with myself, to stem the tide.
She stopped for a moment and stepped around in front of me. She was breathing heavily and I could actually see her very erect nipples pressing tightly against her T-shirt. Before I could do or say anything else, she looked into my tear-filled eyes, bent down, and kissed me passionately on the lips, her tongue probing and her hand clenching my hair behind my head, forcing my lips tightly against her own.
Everything seemed to change in half a heartbeat. I was both shocked and almost instantly aroused. This beautiful, successful woman was kissing me! I put my hands on either side of her face and held her there. We attacked each other with our mouths and tongues. We were both breathing in gasps. One of my hands reached down to her breast and felt the rigid nipple through her shirt. There was no bra in the way. I began to rub it between finger and thumb, easily at first, then more vigorously. The moment of passion extended to several minutes. Then Dyana pulled back a few inches and just looked at me with this incredible expression of passion and need.
“What the hell
happened?” I asked breathless.
“I’ve wanted to cut your hair from the day I first saw you on that original dig we shared,” she said. “As I was doing it, I became overwhelmed with the need to kiss you, to possess your hair and your mouth.”
“Cutting my hair did that …?”
“Yes,” she interrupted, not letting me finish. “And don’t expect me to apologize. I love that I did it, and I’m going to love it even more when I finish.”
“But … but … I didn’t want my hair cut!”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
“How? It’ll take years to grow it back!”
“Like I said, you will never grow it back. Now that you’re a woman, you can put aside the things of a child. I’ll make you the woman you’re destined to be.” There was no mistaking her words or her tone. Unbelievably, this stunning, successful woman wanted me!
In a way, it was as though Tia had returned to me, all grown up, but still in charge.
I was speechless. I knew I should be even angrier, but I was too consumed by those few minutes of spontaneous passion. How did she even know I was bi? As I recall, I was screwing a male grad student when we were on that dig. Either she didn’t know that, saw through it, or had some bidar that I’d never heard of.
Though I continue to be attracted to men, you know I swing both ways given the right partner on the right occasion. Most of my sexual experiences to that point in time had been with men, but my first kiss was with a girl, a friend at an international school in Brussels which I attended in the eighth grade. Of course, we both claimed that we did it so we could practice for when a boy kissed us. I liked it, though, and I like looking at beautiful people, women included, and perhaps Dyana especially. At that moment, I was at least a little sexually conflicted and still shocked by the cutting of my hair, and even more, I’ll admit, by Dyana’s moves on me.
Despite my distraction, I knew I was still angry - very angry - about losing my hair. I reached up to my crown, grabbed a handful of the now far-shorter hair and yelled at Dyana again, “How are you gonna make up for this? Tell me that!”
Destiny Taken (Destiny Lost Book 1) Page 5