Mists of the Serengeti(25)

“Goodnight, Rodel.”

“’Night, Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack.”

I heard the soft thud of his shoes and the creaking of his bed. The buzzing of night beetles and the drunken warmth of the bonfire had almost lulled me to sleep when there was a loud roar.

“Is that a lion?” I mumbled. It sounded like it was just outside our tent, but I was too gone and too tired to care.

“Yes. But it’s not as close as it sounds. A lion’s roar travels a long way.”

“Are they doing it?”

“Doing what?”

“Mufasa.” I yawned. “That’s why he’s the motherfucking king of the jungle.”

“Mufasa?”

I turned around to face him, but I was sliding into a deep fog. “Nevemrind.”

I heard Jack chuckle in the dark.

“You make me laugh, Rodel,” he said softly. “I haven’t laughed in a long, long time.”





MY EYES WERE heavy as they fluttered open. It took a moment to focus on the beams running across the ceiling. There was a bitter taste in my mouth, and my tongue felt like it was coated in thick wool. Something wasn’t right.

Then I remembered. The tent. The pipe. Dancing with Jack. The fire. The drums. His heartbeat. Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack. Something roaring between us.

I flipped to my side and moaned. I was hungover from whatever I had smoked.

“You all right?” Jack’s morning voice was raspy and rough.

We were lying in our beds, facing each other.

“I’m fine.” Mine came out like I had sucked on helium. It wasn’t every day that I woke up in the same room as a big, lumbering man. Or a mid-sized one. Or anything that can grow stubble overnight.

The pale light played up his hair, giving it a soft, bluish cast. One hand was under his pillow, while the other dangled off his bed, his fingers close enough to touch. Even through all the layers, it was easy to make out the solid sinew of Jack’s body.

When I get home, I am going to get a life, I promised myself. Meet some hot men. Date. Have lots and lots of sex, so I’m not so miserably ill-equipped around a male body.

Now you’re talking! Mo popped into my head.

Really? This is when you choose to show up? When I’m having R-rated thoughts?

You owe me. Big time. You never had any juicy stories to share when I was around.

Well, nothing juicy is happening here right now.

Not yet.

Mo! He just lost his daughter, and I’m still getting over you.

So? There’s nothing more life-affirming than sex.

You know I’m not about a quick romp in the hay.

No. You want more. You’ve always wanted more. But you don’t always get what you want. Sometimes you get exactly what you need. And good God, look at him! Don’t tell me you don’t want a slice of that.

I sighed and closed my eyes. Tell me something, Mo. Are we really having these conversations or am I making you up in my head?

Whatever floats your boat.

You’re absolutely no help.

Anytime, dude.

A bittersweet knot lodged in my throat. I miss you, Mo.

No answer.

“Rodel? You sure you’re all right?”

My eyes flew open.

Jack was watching me across the small space that separated our beds.

I nodded and wiped the stray tear that had escaped. “Just having a moment.”

He didn’t take his eyes off my face, and I was strangely comfortable with that, with him seeing the part of me that no one else got to see. He was so achingly familiar with loss that sharing it with him didn’t feel foreign. There was an acceptance, an understanding, that lifted me and held me steady in his gaze. Perhaps he found the same in me because his face turned soft—the shape of his lips relaxed, the bottom one falling slightly open.

The clang of something outside the tent shook us out of the moment.

“I think they just brought the hot water,” he said. “You want to take that shower now?”

“That would be nice.”

But neither of us moved. We lay there for a few beats, while the water turned cold outside, wisps of steam rising in the chilly morning. We had found a pocket of quiet, where all the ghosts in our minds had gone to sleep, and we were the only two people awake.

Then Jack blinked, and the moment drifted away. I watched as he brought the buckets in and carried them to the bathroom. I went first, making sure I left enough hot water for him. Then again, maybe not. There was a hell of a lot more of him to cover.

I stepped out of the tent while he showered. A hazy sun was just peeking over the horizon. Wisps of pink clouds were saying goodbye to a pearlescent moon. The watchmen were gone so I figured it was safe to walk around in the daytime. The camp was perched on the rim of the crater, with sweeping views of the landscape below. Keeping a respectful distance from the edge, I peered over and saw patchwork colors in the grassy plains. As I watched, they changed and moved. Then I realized they were herds of wildebeests and zebras, grazing on the floor of the caldera. They were barely discernible from this height, like blocks of little marching ants.

It was a beautiful, surreal sight. I crept closer, but thick clouds that were sweeping down from the rim and covering the crater obscured my view. The air was noticeably colder, and there was a fine drizzle on my face. I zipped up Jack’s hoodie and headed back to the tent.