Oasis

by Katya de Becerra

  “You’ve clearly given this a lot of thought.”

  “I have. Here’s my logic. Well, the rest of it, anyway. We know each other really well. We’re friends, and I know you don’t blush and stumble around me like you do when Ortiz is around, so if we make out, you’re not going to get hurt afterward. Because you don’t care about me that way, you know.”

  Unbelievable. I snorted. “I’m glad you care about my feelings, Luke. But what about you? What makes you so sure you’re not just going to fall head over heels in love with me after one kiss?”

  “There’s only one way to find out.” Quick to act, he brought his face close to mine, and, despite knowing how bad—no, terrible—an idea this was, I didn’t shy away. He smelled of soap and green-tea-scented shampoo. His lips and the cocky way he held himself combined with the sheer audacity of his hitting on me made me a little dizzy. My heart didn’t exactly speed up when Luke brought his lips to mine, but when his body heat washed over me, striking against the night’s gentle chill, I didn’t feel revulsion either. In fact, I was mildly turned on. An alarmed thought crossed my mind as I recalled Dubai’s strict indecent-exposure laws, but the desert promised solitude, and I relaxed.

  Testing out the extent of this temporary lapse of judgment, I scooched closer to Luke, and our lips touched once more for a drawn-out moment. Then again, lasting longer this time. There was a certain consideration in these kisses but also a slow-burning sensation of rebellion. Of wrongdoing. Encouraged by my willful participation, Luke took it to the next level, his mouth becoming more demanding as he wrapped his hands around me, pulling me tight to his chest. One of his hands snaked its way up to rest on the back of my neck, while another traveled dangerously low. His tongue met mine. My inhibitions melted away as I relaxed more and more with each breath we took when we briefly came up for air. I saw the night skies again when Luke’s weight pushed me down on my back with gentle but unyielding force. He cradled my head. It occurred to me he was doing that so I didn’t get sand in my hair. That was nice of him.

  A subtle cough made me pull away from Luke. I craned my neck up to find Tommy towering over us. His face was unreadable, but his lips were so tight, he looked like he had no mouth. I would have laughed at that if not for his burning eyes.

  “There’s a curfew here.” Tommy pushed his hands in his pockets and kept on staring at us.

  “Why?” Luke’s voice carried a challenge. “Are we in danger of disappearing like the people you wrote about in your blog post?”

  After glaring at Luke like he was a nuisance of the lowest rank, Tommy shook his head. When he spoke again, Tommy pointedly made eye contact with me, ignoring Luke. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. If you wander off into the wilderness, it might be a while before you’re found. And we can’t afford to be rescuing every single fool who gets himself lost.”

  “And who made you the enforcer of the rules?” Luke stood up and stretched a hand my way without looking at me.

  I snubbed his offer of help and got myself up, then found Luke’s eyes and mouthed, “Stop this.”

  He grew silent, but his standoffish posture made clear he was bubbling with anger. This was not good. Despite my dubbing him a nice guy in my head, Luke was still an unknown, even after years of us being friends. I did know one thing about him for sure though—he was prone to sudden anger, even physical violence.

  I saw his fingers twitching, as if wanting to curl into fists. Too much testosterone.

  “Let’s just go back to the tents.” I grabbed Luke’s hand. He was like a coiled spring, in urgent need to release pressure. I gripped his hand tighter and pulled, forcing him to walk with me in the direction of the camp. I avoided Tommy’s eyes, but his glare was magnetic, and I kept being drawn to his face as he walked beside us.

  When the three of us crossed back over the camp’s unofficial border, Tommy stalked off into the dark, leaving us abruptly. Luke and I walked the rest of the way to the residential tents without exchanging a single word, but we were still holding hands, both of us too stubborn to let go. I finally decided to drop Luke’s hand when we were close to our assigned tents. Relieved about parting with him for the night, I faced Luke and noticed his frown.

  “Can we just be civil?” I asked.

  He nodded once before squeezing out through his teeth, “I can’t stand him.”

  “Don’t be so melodramatic.”

  “Can I at least kiss you good night?”

  “Not sure if that’s such a great idea,” I started to say, eager to retreat into the safety of the tent, but Luke stepped into my space and landed a quick fluttering kiss on my lips. So much for consent.

  “Happy now?” I took another step back, growing annoyed—with Luke for coming on to me, and with myself for not rejecting him. “Let’s not do this. We have a few fun weeks ahead. I wouldn’t want our time here to be defined by a failed make-out session and some wounded pride.”

  “Eloquent as usual, Alif,” Luke murmured. He tried to shove his fingers into his pockets but ended up with his hands flat against his sides, looking indecisive. “Sleep well, friend,” he went on. “I look forward to seeing you in the morning.”

  I watched Luke’s back as he departed, my mind growing even more uncomfortable at this possibly huge mistake I’d made in kissing him.

  I pushed the tent’s door flap out of the way, complete darkness meeting me inside. My hands stretched out in front of me, I walked in, then put the tent’s curtain of a door in its place. From our quick tour earlier, I remembered that my bed was to the right, so I took cautious steps in that direction and relaxed only when I lowered myself onto the mattress. I sat there for a few breaths, waiting for my eyes to adjust. The bed facing the tent’s door was Lori’s. It was empty. On the bed across from mine, Minh’s long black hair was spread across a white pillow. I watched Minh’s form shift dreamily under the blanket. She was fussing in her sleep.

  As my eyes grew more accustomed to the dark, I could make out the movement of shadows on the tent’s walls. Eyes tired, I watched the shadow play as thoughts of Mom creeped up on me and wouldn’t let go. Mom’s college minor was philosophy, and when she was a grad student she had to teach Philosophy 101 to support herself financially. Whenever she reminisced about it, she joked that discussing philosophical concepts with freshmen was a special kind of hell. But I knew that she secretly loved teaching undergrads and that she missed it dearly ever since she became a full-time field archaeologist.

  I also knew that Mom’s favorite part of teaching Philosophy 101 was discussing the works of the greatest minds of the ancient world: Plato, Aristotle, Socrates … and also Hypatia, Theodora, Catherine of Alexandria, and many others. Mom did her honors thesis on women philosophers of the ancient world—those who were written out of most histories but whose ideas and discoveries still rang true today. But Plato’s allegory of the cave was Mom’s favorite icebreaker with freshmen. Plato described our perception of reality using an allegory of people who were chained to the wall of a cave throughout their entire lives. They faced a wall, where they could see shadows created as various objects passed in front of a fire that raged behind them. The longer they stared at the shadows, the more they grew accustomed to them. And so, for them, there was nothing to life but shadows dancing on the wall. Mom relished in revealing the “punch line” to her students: Most people saw shadows their entire lives, just like those prisoners of the cave, and for them this was all there was. Just shadows. An incomplete reflection of reality, which was never the “real” thing.

  I was supposed to call Mom the moment I landed in Dubai, but I deliberately didn’t. I even ensured my phone was off so she couldn’t call or message me.

  Five years ago, after my parents split up, I lobbied for my right to stay in Melbourne with Dad, my decision intensifying the uneasy space that already existed between Mom and me. My parents’ divorce wasn’t even one of those extreme scenarios when lying or cheating has led to the collapse of a marriage, but I guess I alway
s irrationally blamed Mom for it, even if I couldn’t articulate why. Most girls I know are close to their mothers—take Lori, for instance, or Minh, whose mom was her best friend and confidante growing up—and they tend to take their side in a divorce. It wasn’t like that for me. Mom never being one for deep and meaningful talks didn’t help. Her aptitude for lecturing about philosophical concepts or archaeological field methods for hours at a time didn’t extend to talking about the things that should’ve mattered the most. Whenever I’d make an effort to understand Mom’s side of things during and following the divorce, the metaphorical door got shut in my face, and Mom and I drifted even further apart.

  Shortly following the divorce, Mom headed back to Birmingham, her girlhood hometown, where a job was waiting for her. I had a standing invitation to visit her in England whenever I felt like it. And I did go once in a while, but every time I’d visit, it’d take us a few days just to get reacquainted with each other, and even then we kept each other at arm’s length. I think, back then, I was still harboring hopes that my parents’ separation was just a phase they were going through. But then somewhere along the way I gave up on the idea. Besides, my life was in Melbourne, so the distance between Mom and me widened every year until, eventually, she became a semi-stranger in my life.

  I missed the exact moment when I tired myself out. Tearing up after staring at the light and moving shadows for too long, I surrendered to the fatigue and closed my eyes, heavy sleep pulling me under.

  A TROWEL, A PLUMB BOB, AND NOT A SINGLE SUN HAT IN SIGHT

  Lori must’ve snuck back into the tent sometime after I fell asleep. But in the morning, she wouldn’t admit she was out late, despite my teasing. Jet-lagged and parched, Lori, Minh, and I eventually dragged ourselves out of the tent and made a beeline for the bathrooms. We were hauling along our travel toiletries bags stuffed with toothbrushes, shampoo bottles, and sunblock tubes. Between the three of us it was quite an endeavor to get ready for the day ahead.

  In the clear early-morning light I got to see more of the camp. It spread out farther into the desert than I’d imagined. The tight groups of tents surrounded the dig’s three main subsites, which formed the camp’s dug-up heart. A lone excavator stood idly to the side. The area must have been too artifact-stuffed to use heavy machinery. Khaki-clad volunteers were already gathering by their stations, instruments at the ready, hands eager to get dirty.

  As I kept looking around me, I recalled Mom’s words that had burned themselves into my earliest childhood memories: Archaeology is all about the past. Archaeologists look backward. Whenever I remembered her saying that, child-me would imagine this middle-aged bearded white dude wearing knee-length shorts and a safari hat with eyes inexplicably at the back of his head (so he could look backward!). As I grew older, this picture changed into one of a woman—thanks to watching Mom work in the field in her beloved multipocket khaki pants, gray singlet, and baseball cap. Not even once in her entire life had she ever worn a sun hat, and her dreamy but eagle-sharp eyes were trained on the horizon ahead or at the ground at her feet, not backward.

  Just like my parents, everyone on this dig lived and breathed archaeology. I envied their unilateral focus in life. I had yet to find mine, but I hoped I was getting closer each day. As a child of not one but two archaeologists, it was always assumed I’d follow in my parents’ footsteps, but deep down I wasn’t so sure. I loved many aspects of the discipline, like the fascinating discoveries and all the theory testing preceding those, but I was also realistic. It was a tough field to break into. Maybe being out here, on an active dig, would help me gain the focus I needed in life.

  * * *

  Back in our tent, I unfolded my dig-issued khakis and white long-sleeved shirt, both wrinkled and half a size too big. With a sigh, I put the khakis on, hoping the folds would stretch out on their own. I personalized my attire by donning a London Grammar tee instead of the generic dig shirt. I might end up with sunburns on my arms, but at least I’d look stylish. There were no mirrors in the tent though, so no matter how much I stared down at my body in hopes of getting some idea of how the ensemble really looked, I was left hanging.

  Another mandatory item of clothing I couldn’t bring myself to wear was the baseball cap. The mere thought of it sitting tight on my head all day and the sweaty-itchy mess it’d create made me shudder. I knew I was being childish, but still, defiantly, I stuffed the cap into my pants’ back pocket. It didn’t come to me as a surprise that Lori was equally rebellious in her clothing choices: She had just enough conformity in her bones to wear the khakis, but that didn’t extend as far as the headgear. Only Minh wore the whole outfit, cap and all. Before leaving the tent, the three of us, Australian to the core, slathered our faces and necks with SPF 50 sunblock. We were all scarred for life by those brutal skin-cancer-awareness ads the government used to run, so sunblock was our daily staple no matter what.

  As we were getting ready, I kept watching Minh’s interactions with Lori, expecting to see some hostility or at least weirdness between them, but all seemed civil and friendly. Maybe my observation of Minh giving Rowen and Lori the stink eye yesterday was just my being tired and misreading the situation. Or maybe it was just Rowen who Minh was upset with? I guess, after my own strange adventures with Luke yesterday, followed by the awkward moment with Tommy, I wasn’t the best judge of human intentions. As a side note, in the unforgiving light of a new day I was ready to die of embarrassment just thinking about what had happened between me and Luke and Tommy.

  We swung by the boys’ tent to find Luke and Rowen practically asleep on their feet. It reeked of alcohol inside their tent. The drinks must’ve been supplied by their older roommates. We spared the boys the ridicule, and soon the five of us were headed for the volunteer information booth to meet Tommy.

  I eyed Tommy from afar and put on a bored expression as we approached him. My pride was going to be my undoing. Tommy didn’t look too excited about his assigned role of babysitting us either. Still, with enviable patience, he answered all our questions and even had the decency not to mention anything about my misfortunes last night, despite Luke staring daggers at him. Tommy told us that ever since he and my father made their way to the site ten days ago, groups of volunteers had been arriving to the camp every day. Most of these volunteers were students, here to partake in the dig for a university credit or to gather data for their graduate research projects. Aside from Rufus, son of Dr. Archer Palombo, my father’s second-in-command, I was the only other camp brat. And tourists like my friends were even a bigger rarity out here. But tourist or not, everyone had to pull their share.

  After watching a safety instruction video, we followed Tommy to the cafeteria for breakfast. Our group was a late arrival, with most people already leaving. Stomachs rumbling, we took our seats, and I realized, much to my surprise, that Tommy was going to eat breakfast with us. At our table. That was totally cool. I was cool with that. Totally.

  Nearby, there was another late-arriving group of student volunteers, big and loud and, based on the volume and velocity of their chatter, superhyped on the dig’s atmosphere of discovery. Looking at them made me happy, even hopeful, for the future of humanity. They were so different, with accents from all over the place and complexions ranging from lighter to darker tones. But they were all here, united by a common goal, ready to spend their days covered in dust from head to toe and diligently brushing dirt from rocks. Education was not a given, and I knew how privileged we all were to even be here, but still it warmed my heart that this was possible for so many people.

  My unexpected state of balance with the world made my raisin-laden porridge taste better than it was. I washed it down with tar-like black tea. But my brief moment of contentment was already fading. My jet lag was back and getting worse, and, judging from their frowning mouths, my friends weren’t any better off. Our group, even Tommy, was growing more and more quiet, subdued. Despite the caffeine in my tea, my eyelids were being pulled down with the weight of my eye
lashes. I rubbed at my eyes, hoping to invigorate them. I wore no makeup today—it was all going to melt away in this heat anyway—but being in close proximity to Tommy I kept thinking about how stubby my lashes must’ve looked, especially compared to his ridiculously long and curly ones. He met my eyes but quickly looked away.

  Lori and Rowen were holding hands under the table, and I kept catching Luke’s attention as his inquiring eyes roamed all over my face. I did my best to ignore his looks while also treating him the way I always have—as a friend who is also a guy. Minh was acting slightly cold with me, probably still pissed at me for blowing her off last night, but, as I’d noticed earlier, she was nice and perfectly sweet with Lori. And, as usual, aside from one fleeting look, Tommy was indifferent toward me. Everything was rather normal.

  I still hadn’t seen Dad, and he hadn’t called me either. When I swallowed my vanity and asked Tommy about my father’s whereabouts, he said in a reverent tone that Dad had been in and out of the camp negotiating with the local bedouin community leaders in hopes of hiring a local workforce for the dig. Apparently a big chunk of volunteers from local universities pulled out from the excavation due to “safety concerns,” leaving it understaffed. Dad was expected to return sometime midday today. That was all I could get out of Tommy. He avoided my questions around the “safety concerns.” It was as if he’d exhausted his ration of words for the morning. Yet he still stuck around our table to eat his porridge, ignoring the calls of his fellow Dunstan students for him to join them as they headed out of the cafeteria.

  “What’s the plan for today?” Rowen’s question snapped Tommy out of his quiet.

  “You’ve gotten the full overview of the camp, so now you can decide what you want to do for the rest of your stay.” Tommy’s sharp eyes were on me when he said that. Unsettling. Why was he always so serious, so intense? I tried to recall the last time I’d seen Tommy smile and couldn’t.