‘Legend has it that when the gods were still mortals there existed a love so deep, so true, that it created the sun and the moon. It also created all the stars that shine from above.’
A big pile of sacred rubble is a great place to lurk. I pretend I’m taking pictures of the Ixchel ruins, on the island of Cozumel, but instead I snap picture after picture of the gorgeous blonde listening intently to the tour guide explain how Ixchel’s beauty charmed dozens of Mayan men. I’m sure Ixchel was charming, but I couldn’t care less about that folklore. What I care about is wearing a saucy pink sundress that flutters in the breeze, teasing me.
“Women would journey twice a year to make offerings to the goddess of fertility,” the tour guide drones on, leading us to the temple ruins. “She was also the goddess of the moon and rainbow.”
I follow along with the tour group, keeping my distance from the goddess near the front of the pack and chuckle when I hear her say to the tour guide, ‘Wow, she was very busy.’
Consumed, I hang back in the shadows, taking picture after picture of her beauty. She looks forlorn staring at what’s left of the shrine to Ixchel. When she moves away, she loses her footing, stumbling over a deteriorating step, and a scarlet trail of blood seeps from her knee.
Immediately, I move in to help. My intentions are not noble; I came to this island for one reason, and one reason only—her.