No Turning Back (The Traveler) Page 8

  Taylor recognized the old glow in his friend’s eyes and realized that he had made up his mind already. Nevertheless, he questioned his friend’s logic and timing. They still needed to be responsible adults.

  Taylor said, “Yeah, but this is all a bit of a … knee-jerk reaction, don’t you think? I mean, snap out of it, man. This is not a board game. This is real life we’re talking about.”

  Gary looked at his friend, wearing a suit and tie in the dead heat of summer, and he decided to yank his tie outside of his suit jacket to make a point.

  “Is this all you want to be now, Taylor, a conforming executive in a suit? I could make you a real executive right now and let you run my record store full time, with no suit needed. Then we could start franchising them like Sam Goody’s.”

  Taylor ignored him. Instead he asked his friend, “So, what are you going to do? You’re going to turn your father down and not go back to school?”

  “I haven’t made up my mind yet. I’ll decide after we get back from Colombia,” Gary insisted.

  Taylor shook his head defiantly. “Dude, I’m not going to Colombia.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s fucking dangerous down there!”

  “So is driving your car,” Gary argued. “And on any given Saturday, you could be carjacked and lose your life in an accident while trying to escape a couple of runaway thugs right here in America.”

  Taylor paused and searched his friend’s face. “Gary, please don’t use your mother’s tragedy as an excuse to act recklessly. You still have a long life to live, and I don’t think she would appreciate you becoming pessimistic. And it’s not fair of you to use her in that way,” he commented.

  Gary countered, “That’s where you’re wrong, Taylor. My mother would tell me to live my life the way I want to, like I’m telling you now. That’s what she did. It’s not time for me to curl up into a shell and be afraid to live. It’s time to do something that makes her tragedy meaningful.”

  “What, by leapfrogging around the world?” Taylor asked. “I think you’re doing the opposite of what your mother would tell you. She would probably view this as a sign for you to start taking more responsibility for yourself. But it sounds to me like you just want to run away again.”

  Gary continued to shake it off. He said, “What are you talking about? I’m not running away from anything. If anything, I’m facing my own fears head on. This isn’t just about Colombia. It’s about looking your fears straight in the eye and telling yourself, ‘I’m not afraid of you. And I’m not letting you control how I choose to live my life.’ That’s what I went down to that prison today to do. I had to face the man who took my mother’s life and then face the fears of my own life.”

  Yeah, he’s made up his mind all right, Taylor assumed. I’ve heard this kind of selfish rationalization from him before. It’s always about him. But do I let him go down there to South America alone … ?

  Taylor asked him, “So, you want to look death in the eye now, is that it?”

  Gary said, “That’s what we’re doing every day of our lives anyway, if you’re really living. The key is whether you’re going to decide to live your life with courage. Because if you’re scared, you’ll never know what real life is. And I’m not standing for that. Nor did my mother stand for it. So if I lose my life by living how I want to live, then so be it.”

  Gary walked away toward the refrigerator inside of his spacious loft, leaving his friend standing there alone in his thoughts. And after a moment of silence, Taylor took a deep breath and gave in.

  “Maybe I’ll tell my parents that we’re traveling to Costa Rica instead,” he mumbled. “But telling them it’s Colombia …. is out of the question.”

  Chapter 9

  Taylor had left the travel plans all up to Gary to stop himself from worrying too much about their trip to Colombia. But Gary had passed on the responsibility, allowing a travel agent to set their itinerary instead of doing so himself.

  “We’re flying in to Meda-yheen,” Gary announced as the pair arrived at the Louisville International Airport. “The capital is Bo-gi-tah. But we’ll spend most of our time in Meda-yheen where more of the social settings are. Then we’ll travel up to the beach areas in Car-te-heena.”

  Gary became a sponge whenever they traveled, starting in his youth. He would learn the language and pick up on the culture. Full immersion was the only way to do it.

  They scrambled through the airport terminal, pulling their wheeled bags while dressed in T-shirts, shorts and brown leather loafers.

  As they walked, Taylor asked, “And you found out everything we need to know about the good parts and the bad parts?”

  Gary grinned, pacing toward their flight gate. “Of course I did. The travel agency told me everything. And they know if we don’t make it back, it’ll be bad publicity for them,” he joked.

  Taylor searched his friend’s joyful face and blurted, “That’s not funny, man.”

  Gary scowled at him. “Calm down, Taylor. We’ll be fine. You’re always over-thinking things. It seems the more you learn in school, the more you worry. I thought an education was supposed to expand your horizons, not limit them.”

  Taylor was contemplative. He had become more cautious over the years. But he called it maturity. As a kid, he didn’t know any better.

  “Whatever,” he scoffed. He figured it wasn’t worth the prolonged argument. He was who he was, a thoughtful and cautious man.

  “So, what did Melissa say about us sneaking off without her?” he teased, changing the subject.

  “Dude, we’re not a couple or anything. And remember, she was trying to set me up with her friend, Valerie,” he reminded him. “I mean, I forgive her and all, but nothing’s really changed. I’m still going to be me, and I’m definitely not taking her around the world with me. That’s like taking sand to the beach.”

  Taylor chuckled, following right behind him. It sounded like his old buddy was back. “So, what did she say?”

  Gary turned and frowned. “What could she? She just told me to be careful.”

  Taylor shook his head. “You’re a hard man for a woman to love.”

  Gary smiled at him. “Not new women.”

  Taylor laughed as they reached the gates, right as their plane began to board.

  “Here’s another one right in front of us,” Gary whispered of a lone traveling woman. She stood tall and poised with designer bags and shoulder-length, light-brown hair.

  “Hey, how are you doing? Where are you traveling to?” Gary asked her spontaneously. There was no hesitation in his flirts with women.

  She smiled and answered, “Miami.”

  “Oh, I thought you were headed down to Colombia with us,” he joked. “We’re transferring in Miami.”

  “Oh, okay,” she responded and nodded.

  As they moved forward in the line, Gary asked her, “What seat do you have? I’d rather sit next to you than with this guy. He’s getting under my skin already. And he doesn’t smell too good this morning either. You know how people smell when they run late and forget to take a shower. Then he didn’t use deodorant or brush his teeth.”

  Taylor dismissed it with a grin. He didn’t mind. It was good to have his friend back to his old self. Like old times, Gary had another young woman breaking up in laughter.

  When they connected flights in Miami for the second leg to Colombia, Gary made note of all the Americans who were traveling to Medellín along with the native Colombians.

  “You see this?” he asked Taylor. “There’s plenty of us traveling to Colombia. The travel agency said it’s becoming a new tourism hot spot, especially the coastal regions. But I want to do more than see a bunch of fat tourists sitting out on the beaches. We want to see the real people of Colombia. So we don’t hit the beach until last.”

  Taylor didn’t have much to say about it. He quietly watched the passengers as they boarded the international flight.

  It does seem to be a lot of us heading t
here, he told himself to soothe his nerves.

  Gary spotted a couple of dark-haired Colombian women, with deep suntans, boarding the plane ahead of them.

  He grinned and whispered, “They are muy, muy bonita down here, my friend. Make sure you brush up on your Spanish on the plane.”

  Gary pulled out his miniature book of Spanish phrases to remind his friend to use his.

  “I know, I know, I’ll study it,” Taylor snapped.

  “Okay, well, don’t complain when I have a better time than you, as usual. You gotta learn to open yourself up more and just let it fly.”

  “Buenos días,” Gary spoke to the native Colombians on the plane.

  “Buenos días,” a few passengers responded.

  Taylor smiled and followed his friend’s lead. “Buenos días.” There was no sense in continuing his apprehension about the trip. They were all on their way to Colombia now.

  After taking their seats next to the window on the left side of the plane, two gorgeous flight attendants welcomed everyone on the flight in English and Spanish before going over the safety instructions.

  Taylor watched his friend smiling out of the window in complete satisfaction. He asked him, “So, how will you respond to your father once we get back?”

  Gary turned to face him and stopped smiling. “Let me ask you a question,” he started. “If a father hasn’t spoken to his son or been involved in his life for twenty-six years, do you think another month of waiting would kill him? Because I seriously doubt it. And I’ll think about it once I’m able to clear my head. Now leave me alone so I can enjoy my vacation.”

  Taylor grinned and left him alone.

  Hours later, as their flight descended over the South American mountains and into the valley of Medellín toward the international airport, Gary was quick to point out the terrain of tall industrialized buildings.

  “Now, does that look like a place with no organized government? They have more office and hotel buildings right there than we have in all of Kentucky. And I read the Colombian President, Alvaro Uribe, has beefed up police presence all over the country just to protect gringos like us. He wants more of us to feel safe enough to fly down here with our families and add to their tourism. And get this: You get about two thousand pesos per dollar down here.”

  Taylor grinned while glancing out the window at the impressive Colombian city.

  “How many people live there? You know?”

  “About two and a half million. And that’s way more than Louisville.”

  Obviously, Gary had done more research than Taylor imagined. So he began to feel more comfortable about the trip. He had envisioned Colombia as wide-open land and greenery. But the city of Medellín was as industrialized as any large city in the United States. In fact, it was even more so. Outside of New York and Chicago, most of the tall city buildings in the U.S. were positioned downtown. Medellín, however, had groups of tall buildings placed throughout the popular Colombian city.

  “Yeah, this is ah … unexpected,” Taylor admitted.

  “So you owe the Colombian people an apology,” Gary joked.

  Taylor chuckled. “All right, I apologize. But that still doesn’t mean that we can’t get into trouble here.”

  Gary grinned mischievously. “Oh, you can count on it. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Yeah, I just hope he doesn’t overdo it, Taylor thought.

  When the plane landed at the Jose Maria Cordova International Airport and rounded up the passengers for the foreign immigration process, Taylor eyed the Colombian guards in green militia uniforms, carrying some serious assault weapons. It looked as if they had landed in the middle of the army.

  “I guess this is how they protect tourists like us, huh, Gary?” he cracked nervously.

  Gary laughed it off. “Hey, man, whatever it takes. At least we can see their efforts.”

  “Yeah, their efforts to guard us from what?” Taylor quipped.

  “From carjackings,” Gary shot back. He remained unnerved by it all.

  Taylor gave him another look and disregarded it as they slowly inched up in line toward the immigration windows. The long lines moved meticulously.

  “And you thought people wouldn’t be interested in coming here,” Gary teased.

  They watched the returning Colombian citizens bringing back much more than just their luggage. Many of them had bought various goods and appliances from the United States— large box loads of them.

  When they finally cleared immigration to enter the country, the two young Kentuckians walked out into the beautiful, springlike weather and took a deep breath of fresh Colombian air.

  Gary stretched his arms out wide and moaned, “Ahh, this is invigorating. This is what being alive is all about.” He held up two fingers of his right hand and said, “We’re like, two dots on the world right now, all the way down here in Colombia.”

  Taylor spotted the yellow taxis zipping around them and moved to grab one. “Come on, let’s make it to the hotel.”

  As soon as they began to walk toward the taxi booth with their luggage, a middle-aged Colombian man approached them ahead of the long lines of traveling families. He was short with salt-and-pepper hair at his shoulders, wearing a plain green t-shirt, beige khakis and soft brown leather shoes.

  “You need taxi? Where you go?”

  “Yeah, we’re at the Intercontinental Hotel,” Taylor told him.

  “Ah, en Poblado. Come, come, we go.”

  Dwarfed by the two six-foot-plus Americans, he grabbed a hold of their luggage and quickly led them toward his taxi.

  With fast and choppy English, the driver asked them, “Where you from?”

  “The States,” Gary told him. “Kentucky.”

  “Ahh, Kentucky basketball. Yah, yah,” he responded, nodding vigorously.

  His impulsive movements were all the telltale signs of an experienced hustler. Gary slowed down behind him and watched him cautiously.

  “It’s about forty thousand pesos to the hotel and nothing more,” he whispered to Taylor. “I read that from our information package.”

  He was alert for everything.

  Taylor nodded. “Okay, I’ll let you handle that.” It was Gary’s trip anyway, and he was much more social.

  Gary had already withdrawn two hundred thousand pesos from the airport’s currency exchange. He had been advised to keep no more than four hundred thousand pesos on him at a time, roughly two hundred U.S. dollars. It was comparable to a month’s pay for thousands of poor Colombians. So as they reached the man’s cab and climbed inside, with their luggage placed in the trunk, Gary took the initiative and told their driver, “Forty thousand pesos.” He held the money ready in his right hand.

  Their driver observed the money from his rearview mirror and grimaced. He shook his head passionately. “No, no, sixty thousand pesos to hotel.”

  “Hey man, you take this forty thousand or you let us back out,” Gary barked at him. “We’re college students. Universidad,” he spoke in Spanish.

  Their driver froze at the wheel, contemplating it.

  “Just let us back out then,” Gary pressed him. “We’ll just take another taxi.”

  The driver turned to look Gary in his eyes and to read his tenacity. Seeing that the American would not back down, the man shrugged and grabbed the money.

  “Okay,” he grumbled and took off driving.

  Taylor grinned as they began their journey toward the city of Medellín, Colombia.

  We’re actually down here in South America by ourselves, he mused while watching the countryside from the open taxi window. The experience was peaceful and just what their minds needed.

  Yeah, this feels good, Taylor admitted to himself as he leaned back and enjoyed the ride.

  “How are you feeling over there?” Gary asked him, squeezing his friend’s left arm.

  “I’m just trying to take things in, if you let me.”

  Their driver eyed them both in his rearview mirror. He grinned and a
sked them, “You want girls? Meda-yheen has all kinds.”

  Before the two friends could answer, their driver held up a brochure with pictures of comely women of all colors.

  Gary acknowledged his pitch and laughed it off. “I don’t think I need any help at getting girls, amigo. You just show me where the clubs are,” he bragged.

  The driver nodded, taking in the young man’s good looks and swagger. He said in a mixture of Spanish and English, “En Poblado, Parque Lleras has much parties.”

  “Yeah, is that right near our hotel?” Taylor asked, overhearing the Poblado name again.

  Their driver nodded. “Sí, sí. Yes.”

  “Okay, we can walk there then,” Taylor suggested.

  “Yes, or take hotel bus,” the driver advised him.

  They arrived in the ritzy area of Poblado on Medellín’s southeast side and pulled up to the striking Intercontinental Hotel.

  “Oh, this is definitely nice,” Taylor commented on the tall and wide hotel building. It had a dramatic front view, like a giant, curved wall of a dam in off-white marble.

  Instead of climbing out of his taxi to help them with their luggage, their driver slipped Gary a business card through the window. “You call for taxi anytime.” He then popped his trunk and allowed the hotel staff to collect their luggage.

  “Buenas noches. Good evening,” the hotel staff members addressed them in Spanish translation. They wore sharp white uniforms.

  “Buenas noches,” the Kentucky friends responded. It was approaching six o’clock in the evening.

  Gary thought of carrying their luggage inside of the hotel and up to their room to save some cash, but their eager hotel staff was already on the case.

  I’m going to have to get more money before we leave the hotel, at this rate, Gary imagined. He handed ten thousand pesos to the hotel staff just for handling their luggage and taking it up to their room.