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Writers Review and Short Stories Group
September 2009 Short Story Contest Winner
Cathy with 'Africa'
Genre: Fiction
Word Count: 663
(February's Genre was *Author's Choice*, the topic was *Love(due to Valentine's Day) or Africa(due to African-American History Month)*. The word count minimum was 300 words and the maximum was 3000 words.)
Here is a link: http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/287871-february-2010
*You can view the other participants here as well.*
Here is the story:
When Jason made the announcement that he was going to Africa, I did not take him seriously.
“Where in Africa?” I asked.
“I dunno. Doesn’t matter really. Which part has the rainforests and tribes with the loin cloths and spears and stuff?”
High school geography class came to mind and I envisioned the glossy map of Africa in the back of the textbook. Squiggling black lines dividing out the pink, green, and blue oddly-shaped puzzle pieces. Names like Togo, Nigeria, Camaroon. “I think somewhere in the middle,” I guessed. “Near the equator where it’s hot as shit.”
I was laying on his dorm room floor with one leg in the air balancing a paper plate on my pink-socked foot. The yellow light from the bare bulb on the ceiling was shining through the grease spots.
“You think they have study abroad programs in Africa?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said. “Like in Cairo... or Johannesburg maybe.” The plate dropped from my foot and I sat up. “I’ve always wanted to see the pyramids.”
“The pyramids?” Jason was leaning against one corner of the bunk bed and picking at a piece of clear tape on the wall. “Nah, I’m talking about somewhere wild and undiscovered. Where they don’t have cable or electricity or golf clubs, you know? The real shit.” He was staring out the darkened window now and I could tell he was picturing himself in some khaki-colored outfit handing out water bottles and cans of bug spray to little naked children, and so I shrugged and stood to leave.
“Hey, come with me.”
“I gotta go study,” I said. “Where the hell are my shoes?”
“No, not now. I mean when classes are out. Come with me to Africa.”
“Ha ha. Right.”
He pushed himself off the bed post and grabbed me by the shoulders. “We could do it,” he said. “We could go to Africa.”
“You’re high, Jason. Stop it. I need to find my shoes.” I was making a big deal of looking around at the floor for them, trying to hide my blushing face. Every God damned time he touched me, my face had turn two shades from hot rod red.
“We could do it. We could just buy the tickets and go, just have like a real fucking adventure, or we could join one of those groups.”
“Groups?”
“Yeah, you know. Those groups that go to Africa.”
“You mean missionaries?”
“Yeah! Or well... no, but those people that go help Africans. Like with the peace corps and shit.”
I had my sneakers now and was sitting on the bottom bunk pulling them on. I rolled my eyes as a response.
“I’m totally serious!” He knelt down and rested his chin on my right knee. “Come to fucking Africa with me.”
“Okay, say we do go to Africa,” I said. “What the hell would we do when we got there? Pitch a tent and just hang out for a few weeks? Learn a native language? What.”
“We would just see,” he answered as he lifted himself up to sit next to me on the bed. “... just experience it. I’ve never been out the country. It would be a life experience. A life-changing experience. We would meet native people. See lions. Catch malaria.”
I let this sink in for a minute. “Pet elephants?”
“Watch a gazelle get eaten!”
“Shop at a crowded, dirty market where they sell grasshopper shishkabobs?”
“Drink cow’s blood for breakfast.”
“Watch the sun set on the Serengeti?” I was smiling now.
“Watch the sun set on the fucking Sarengeti,” he said.
We sat there on his bed for a long moment laughing before I said goodbye and left for my own dorm a few blocks away. The night air was chilly and the wind was stinging my warm cheeks, so I pulled my sweater in close as I walked, staring up at the half-moon and dreaming of Africa.
END STORY
Thank you Cathy for your wonderful contribution to the monthly short story contest.
