Safari

On safari you observe from the jeep -- at any moment you can jump down and become the lion maybe, or the giraffe. You pass another jeep, going the other way. Both vehicles stop. In between them is a gazelle, with nowhere to run (but you suspect that is a joke, because the gazelle is fast, faster than any of you even in your jeeps -- jeeps contend with people and rocks and potholes -- and the gazelle knows where she is, knows how to run and get away and she is just tricking you, acting dumb) you hope, you know, you want to think that, and you do. Then someone from the other jeep pulls out a rifle and you realize that the other jeep was on a very different kind of safari from yours and suddenly the Nikon falls on your neck cold and heavy, a dead weight, the reels of egrets and hippos inside are useless. And you see that gazelle, though you are yards off you think you can see the hairs raising on the back of that gazelle's neck -- but she's looking at you. Her hairs are raising at the camera, the wrong jeep, the friends and she just doesn't see! No little gazelle, this isn't Facebook, this isn't a moment for privacy concerns and I'm sorry, so sorry, I took all those pictures of you, invaded your home, but please, please just RUN.

The shot cuts the savannah like a thunderbolt; you are thrown backwards to the far wall of the jeep. As you groggily lift your head and look around through the chaos, the panic, the people-panic, the animals are gone. The gazelle must have made it and you look down onto the floor of the jeep where your Nikon lays in pieces, scattered. One of them seems to be embedded in your chest. But you're alive, it's ok, "we can get you back to the hospital in time, just hang on," the passengers who aren't crying, screaming, are comforting you.

The driver has left the jeep, in some kind of yelling fight with the people from the other jeep. You can't move in the vehicle, think you could maybe see the glint of more metal, guns, but you cannot really focus, don't really know for sure, and it probably doesn't matter just get back in the goddamn jeep and go, please. I'm sorry! (the broken Nikon, you know it's only plastic and lenses but you imagine it's the scattered remains, a giraffe tail to the left, zebra hoof right, and you broken in the center. The shouting, shoves, and you wonder was that really a safari after all (but what's the difference?) and the African sky is darkening (was it a real thunderbolt, was there really no shot at all)) and you know at once, that somewhere around the little squabbling group between the car, the lions are watching. They might be in a ring, they might be in disdain and leaving -- but they might be in a ring waiting. And your throat catches realizing just where you have sent the little gazelle off too.

And now members of the other jeep are pushing, ordering, boarding your van. They spot you, against the wall in your safari wreckage, lift you like a tied hog from arms and legs. Carry you out into the deep blue, wind-starting-to-whisp world. A first raindrop hits your face and you are very afraid, but scared paralyzed. Your eyes roll back, showing whites. They tie you to the top of their jeep and now the rain is picking up and all you can feel is the wetness and the metal body beneath you and then they are speeding off, over rough terrain and you bounce and bounce, to a destination unknown.