Perspective Shift

Columbia. A land of risk and opportunity, where the resourceful and strong-willed may presume much. The streets are lined with churches but on the hot summer nights the air is heady with password. It is less tame, more visceral, a place for the unexpected…

** The Preparation **

A plain white van drag through the Columbian countryside. Inside it was set up more for the transportation of cargo than passengers, with austere padded benches along each side. A woman with long dark hair sat alone in the back, swinging with the movement of the vehicle. Her name was Anna, age 28, American. She was beautiful, but not in a severe angular way. In fact she resembled a graduate student more than anything else. The expression on her face was a mixture of curiosity, nervousness, and determination. There was a barrier between her and the driver, and the bare metal walls had no windows, still, she heard the small motorbikes zipping past, and in her minds eye she imagined the fields of tall sugarcane passing by.

She felt swept up in the events unfolding around her, but could not determine with any certainty the moment when her halting steps towards this ended, and the current took over. Perhaps stepping off the plane in a strange country, the signs illegal to her, feeling extra conspicuous with her complete lack of luggage, as she handed her passport to a man with her name on a sign. Or perhaps when she clicked purchase on the airline website, her rational mind screaming that this was insanity, some deeper part of her calmly ignoring it. No, she decided, it was the tattoo. A black dot, a centermeter in diameter, high up on her left shoulder blade, exactly as directed. It’s significance was not explained to her but it’s very existence was a powerful statement of commitment. That could be, she reasoned, the only significance it hold.

The smooth road ended, and the van began to ascend steally, bouncing on the rutted surface. This went on for longer than she would have imagined possible, but just as her mind began to race with doubts, each scenario more unlikely than the last, the van stopped. She exited in a cool underground garage, and was shown through a doorway into a unexpectedly ordinary bathroom. The only difference was the lack of a mirror, self-consciousness not being encouraged in this place she guessed, or just a tacit reminder that her appearance was no longer her Responsibility. As she disrobed and stepped into the shower another difference became apparent. A camera was pointed down into the stall. It was black against the white tiles, protruding, designed to draw attention. As she watched a red light switched on, staring unblinking back at her. She felt her face flush slightly and was extremely conscious of her nipples beginning to harden. So much for that mirror theory. She had a sudden urge to splash water at the camera but held herself back, afraid of what the consequences might be. No use fighting the current now she mused.She let the cool water wash over her, running down breasts, stomach, and legs accompanied by a slight shiver.

When she got out, feeling cleansed of the grime of travel, she discovered that her clothes were gone, though she had not heard anyone enter. So, after drying off, she exited into the hallway with the single towel wrapped around her hair. There was no indication of where to go, but the door at one end was locked, so she pragmatically went the other way. In the next room an elderly Columbian woman was waiting. Her eyes took in the placement of the towel and she gave a slight smile. For the first time Anna felt she might not be totally in over her head. That feeling was short-lived as she was led to an Ob-Gyn chair with a terrifying contraction of hooks and wires behind the headrest. She felt exposed as she lifted her feet up into the Stirrups, hoping the straps would not be closed around her ankles. She started to relax as the woman tended to Anna’s nails, and spread a creamy lotion over her skin with broad, firm strokes. Anna’s inevitable embarrassment at having another person trim her public hair was mostly lost in her observation with determining the purpose of the unfamiliar object behind her. The woman moved out of sight and unwrapped Anna’s hair, then points of metal touched her scalp, causing tingles to run over her head and down her back, and she started to raise a hand, but stopped and lowered it again when the woman hissed something in Spanish. As her hair was pulled this way and that, it dawned of her that the contraction was in fact a sort of loom. It clicked and clicked as it wove her hair into an impossible complex pattern. Anna submitted to the treatment, tilting her head when directed by the wrinkled but strong hands of the old woman. When she rose, her head felt slightly heavier, though she could Not determine why. She left the room as naked as she came in.

In the adjoining room a large man awaited. He was muscle, his shirt tightlyfitted, arms crossed. He did not speak a word, in any language, but strode forward and placed a hand firmly on the nape of her neck, leading her forward. Again she was aware of her nakedness, and how his rough work boots make him tower over her barefoot form. In the center of the room he turned her this way and that, always keeping a hand on her, like she was an animal that might bolt at any minute. Anna felt like doing exactly that, but stayed frozen, as much by his proximity and maleness as his called hands. But he seemed unaffected by her fear. He did not leer, but acted as though he was harnessing a skittish mare. She was not being clothed, exactly, it was more along the lines of accenting. A piece of silk here, a ribbon there. The walls were hung with leather straps and brass connectors of bewildering complexity, and the air was heady with the smell of tanning oil, but he took only soft fabric from the low table next to him and a pair of delicate white shoes. When it was completete, a small silver key on a chain was placed over her head, nestling between her uncovered breasts.

She now entered the aboveground portion of the establishment, which was near deserted at the time, giving her no indication of what the other occupations might be like. The rooms were light and airy, with tropical breasts blowing through, and the decor was fancy, though not overly ornate. She passed a large mirror and Nearly stopped in her tracks at the sight of the person looking back at her. She almost didn’t recognize herself without glasses, and with her hair up, not to mention the fairytale-like criminal costume. She tilted to the side, and saw a bright silver lock on the back of her head, woven into her hair. She stepped out of the building, walked past the pool, and climbed the white tile steps up to a terrace projecting out over the hillside. She paused in the shade of a palm tree, and looked to the edge of the terrace where, gazing out over the valley floor, sat the man shehad crossed continents to meet. She recalled suddenly how this all began, browsing the corners of the dark web, seeking the answer to an itch she felt within herself, stumbling on a strange but compelling message, becoming enranced by it. Then the note of acceptance, arrive unbidden and unexpected through her personal email. The closing words were: “We seek not to break you, but to strip away masks and reveal your truest self. Come only if you are prepared to face that knowledge, and sacrifice in the pursuit of it.”

Taking one last breath, Anna stepped into the light.