Nausea in Acoma

When we got to Acoma Pueblo, we waited down at the valley floor with many other visitors for a shuttle that would take us up to the mesa for the annual Harvest Powwow.  It would have been a long arduous hike otherwise, up the
400 year old steps, 400 feet above sea level to the pueblo, and I was so severely out of shape.  Stuffed in the bus, though, I struggled with my nausea and tried to avoid the Indian boy’s head that was directly nudging upward into my chin.  We reached the pueblo, luckily without incident, and as we got out, the first thing that I noticed were the amazing sights, sounds, and smells.  It was really hard for me to enjoy, because of how nauseous I felt.  I peered through glazed eyes at the jewelry stands, dizzied at the sounds of the drums and noise, and wretched at the smell of fried foods.  Gabe walked behind me through the crowd, and lightning fast, I couldn’t stand it any longer.  In a blink, I looked around for something to puke into, but couldn’t find a good receptacle.  Then, I saw out of the corner of my eye, a roll of paper towels at a stand.  I struggled to garble out to Gabe to grab me a few sheets, while I quickly looked for a place with as few people as possible.  Somehow, he and I simultaneously took note of the perfect location.  He hurriedly led me to it, as I heaved into the towels.  What happened afterwards smacked distinctly of fate, and was nothing short of  magical.