Where the Desert Meets the Ocean

A Land With Culture

Two Days Ago

I flopped dramatically unto the wet grass, a hand over my blue eyes to block out the scorching South American sun.

"Ale, querida, tú Es una Ruccuzzo ! Vamos, uno más, por favor?" James called over to me, jogging over while maneuvering his jersey over his head. 

"I can't. I don't know how you guys do this- or why I signed up for this, anyways," I huffed, pulling back my midnight locks into a messy bun. James put a hand on his hip, surveying me with a weary look plastered on to his perpetual baby- like face. 

"Carlos! Car! Ale es-" I lunged for him, bringing him down with me into the grass once again. "Jamo, tú es mi amigo y todo, pero if you call Carlos over here I will injure you so badly you won't be able to play in your next match," I threaten sincerely. 

People repeatedly praised James Rodriguez for his talent in the world of football, but no one knew exactly how incredibly annoying the Colombian could be. "I don't know por que you came, though," he sat up next to me, brushing off a blade of grass on his cleat. "Tú, such a busy person, so much traveling you could be doing," James pointed out. 

"Sí, pero soy siempre traveling . I have friends I want to spend time with also," I explained, cracking open my bottle of water and chugging it. Of course I could have travelled with my friends,who were preparing for their first trip somewhere East, but I made up my mind to spend time with my other friends, some of which played football. 

"Vamos, if Carlos sees us slacking off, he'll have our culos," James laughed, standing up and helping me along.

 "What are we doing now?" I groaned, watching the boys prance around the field. 

"Cool down. Two laps, and we'll go down to the shore and maybe play a little fútbol, splash around en la playa," He grabbed my hand, pulling me with him until I started jogging at a steady pace. 

"Caralho!" I growled when he jumped in front of me, trying to screw with my footwork. 

"You know I don't understand you right? Anywho, what's going on with you these days?" He asked, taking his eyes off the pitch to glance over at me.

 "Not much. Training- I have a match soon," I briefly recalled my upcoming Kickboxing, the only sport I undertook, match right here in Colombia. 

"I'll come to that, then. See you kick some ass in person. What about that boy you were dating? Marco?" He pressed. I rolled my eyes, quickening my pace. The football player had been amazingly fun, and was such a gentleman, but we didn't actually share a real connection. Thinking back, it was probably my thing for gorgeous eyes that even gave us a chance. 

"Mmm, didn't work out," I stated absently. 

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Señorita Alex you broke the poor niño's corazón!" James swatted my arm.

"Why do you always call me by my middle name? It's Maria, tú culo, not Alexis," I poked his side, but he ignored me. "

Are you interested in having another novio?"

 "James!" The boy could be so nosy when he wanted to be. "Que pesado eres, Jamo," He feigned offense with a gasp, stopping at our final lap.

 "Because if you weren't taken, I have someone..." He shut up with the look I gave him, and busied himself with opening his Gatorade. We walked in silence into the locker room, him holding my hands over my eyes guiding me forward until the coast was clear. 

"Can I open my eyes now? Because if I see Carlos in only his underwear again, someone's going to have to sign me up for therapy," I reminisced the day I accidentally barged into the locker room, looking for said player, and had to take twenty minutes to find the exit with my eyes closed. 

"Relax, Ale, I'm not going to let that happen," the young Colombian assured me, a hand on the small of my back as he guided me out the other side. When I was punched out the door and heard it click shut behind me, I opened my eyes and stuck my hands into my pockets to retrieve my ringing phone. 

"Óla?" I slipped back into Portuguese. It wasn't my native tongue, but I had spent so much time studying in Brazil I learnt the language like I was born here. My friend Leo, a Spanish speaker, didn't take too kindly to the fact that I preferred it, but I brushed him off by threatening to tell Antonella that he was being pesky. 

"Alé, princesa, ¿tudo bem?" Oscar called back in his thick accent.

 "Oscar! Tudo bem! I've missed you, niño," I spoke into my phone, leaning against the wall. Oscar was my first and oldest friend since moving to Brazil. He was like the same-aged brother I'd always wanted. Many assumed we were romantically involved, but that was pure speculation; Oscar and I were the best of friends. 

"When are you coming to our training? And Neymar says hi," his voice was strained, like he'd been running right before and didn't have time to catch his breath. 

"I might not be able to go to any more. Zee and the guys want me to go somewhere with them. If only I weren't so popular," I joked, earning a chuckle from the Brazilian.

 "Well, Alé, I have to go. Training. See you soon,"

 "You too, Cariño," I shut the phone off, glad for a moment of peace. 

Present Day.

I stuff my hand into my third bag of Doritos, staring intently at the screen, where Jefferson is finally beginning to agree with Regina's sinister plan. This is how I planned to spend my summer- eating junk and catching up on every episode of every series I'd missed during my sentence in that wretched place adults so casually referred to as my job. Just as I was about to stuff the little crumb of heaven into my mouth, there was a babble of unintelligible words from outside, and my door was opened by my darling Arab neighbors that felt the need to check up on me every so often.

"Maria," Ziad flopped unto the sofa, snatching the bag from my hand. "We have great news."

Amer, the youngest of the three Emratis, took a seat on the chair opposite me, looking on politely, a twinge of confusion gracing his light features. Ziad began again, causing his cousin's eyebrows to furrow over his emerald eyes.

"We're taking a trip- Amer, Abu and I- to visit our friend in Saudi Arabia, and you are coming with us," Zee leaned forward in anxiety.

My blue eyes flickered over to his hazel ones, and then to Amer, who shot me a look of sympathy.

"So I don't have a choice?" I arched a plucked brow, and Ziad shook his head empathetically, while Amer stifled a laugh.

"It's not optional," Amer shrugged, his Arabic accent coming through, more so than his older cousin's, as he only came to the country last year, and his english was limited.

"It's not like you can force me to join you guys," I leaned further into the plush cushions, satisfied with my simple but very effective argument.

Ziad placed a rectangle of paper into my hand, tiny words littering the surface.

"¿Qué diablos es esto?" I huffed in exasperation, while the boys exchanged looks.

"It's a plane ticket," Ziad rolled his eyes, brushing off the glare I sent his way. "Look, you need to get out of the house. You can't just spend the whole summer in here- no, shut up, I'm not done yet," he snapped when I tried to interrupt.

"You're coming, that's final,"

and he picked himself up, walking out the door without so much as a,"See you later."

Amer patted my shoulder as he, too, exited, pulling the door shut with a click.

I stared at the little rectangle in my hands, deliberating wether or not to give up the safety and comfort of my Lazy Boy and Netflix account, for the dusty atmosphere and extravagance of one of the richest countries in the Middle East.