It was like watching a hellish, Jurassic nightmare flash before my eyes. And there was nothing I could do to get away from it. The violent sound of crushing metal ripped through the air as she rammed into us. All the air expelled from my chest. The sheer, brute force of the attack sent us skidding across the sandy dirt, uprooting scrub and foliage. The car teetered on its edge, and for a heart-stopping moment, it felt like we were going to tip right over.
“Jack!” My arms and legs flailed wildly as the world tilted around me.
“It’s okay. We’re okay,” he said, as the car righted itself.
The rhino stood back in a display of dominance, but she looked like she was getting ready to charge again. Jack changed gears and the car leaped forward, wheels spinning as she crashed after us. We hurtled ahead, tearing through grass and shrubs until we lost her.
“Are you hurt?” Jack glanced my way.
“No.” My stomach was still clenched, and I knew I’d be bruised all over, but it sure beat the alternative. “You?”
“I’ve been through worse,” he replied. “Next time, grab the oh-shit handle.”
“The what?”
“The oh-shit handle.” He pointed to the handle over my window.
“Is that what it’s called?” I laughed, in spite of the close call. My heart was hammering loud and fast, as if trying to flee my chest. “I always thought it’s to hang up the dry cleaning.”
“City dwellers.” He shook his head.
“Safari maniacs,” I shot back.
We found our way to the main road, along the western edge of the Serengeti National Park. It was like we had the whole place to ourselves. I couldn’t spot a single car, probably because the road was horrifically corrugated, and the animals were few and far between. Against a hazy mountain range, ribbons of tall trees lined the banks of a flowing river.
“That’s the Grumeti,” said Jack. “It empties into Lake Victoria, Africa’s largest freshwater lake. Wanza is located right on the shores of Lake Victoria.”
“One more stop before we get there.”
“That’s right. First Magesa, then Wanza,” replied Jack, as we exited the park.
After a few potholed miles, we approached a bustling center, nestled at the foot of green, craggy hills.
“I’m assuming we’re coming up to the town of Bunda now?” I looked up from the map.
“That’s right.” Jack stopped to check the car and refuel. There was a sizable dent on the passenger door in the back, where the rhino had attacked. The door wouldn’t open or close, but apart from that, the Land Rover seemed to have weathered it well.
After a quick lunch of pilau and stewed fish, we drove on through the gravel road that led out of town. The clusters of homes and shops soon gave way to cassava fields and banana plantations. Mango trees edged the street, bows heavy with fruit. There were few travelers on the road to Magesa, and the trees closed around us as we followed the dirt track leading to the village. The path was wet from rainfall, and the car fell into a constant rhythm of gas, brake, gas, brake, as Jack navigated around ravines and boulders. We ran into trouble after hitting a particularly deep pothole. The Land Rover gave a hellish clang and lurched to a halt.
“Damn it.” Squatting on his heels, Jack peered under the car’s carriage. Two of the wheels were mired in thick, black mud, but he seemed more concerned about something else. “We broke an axle. It probably came undone with the rhino attack, but this just sealed the deal.”
“What do we do now?” I asked.
“Well, we’re not going anywhere until we get it replaced.”
“How far to Magesa?”
“Too far to walk. We won’t make it before nightfall, and there’s no way we’re going through that forest in the dark.” He pointed to the thicket of trees ahead. “I’ll call for a mechanic. See if they can come help us out.” He turned on his phone and shook his head. “There’s no signal out here.”
“Shit. We’re screwed.”
“Not yet. But we will be when the sun sets and the lions come out. Don’t worry,” he said, when the color drained from my face. “We’ll take turns keeping a look out. I’ll keep watch on the roof while you sleep, and then you can do the same for me. Here.” He tore off a branch from the tree, stripped the leaves, and handed it to me. “Start whittling. A long, sharp point is best.”
I held the stick, speechless, as he ducked into the car to get a knife. It took a moment before I caught on.
There are no lions prowling about here.
Sure enough, when I marched over and swung the door open, there he was, doubled over. Laughing. The sound of it was like ripples in a still pond, after a stone has been thrown into it. It radiated outward, enveloping me, until I couldn’t help but join in.
It was in that state of intoxication, that release from self-consciousness, between peals of laughter, that I realized I was totally, completely in love with Jack Warden. It hit me like a ton of bricks, that you could feel so alive, even though your heart was nowhere in your possession, and you knew that you were going to walk around without it for the rest of your life. I stepped away from him, the laughter dying on my lips like he had speared my chest with the stick I was holding. I dropped it and turned on my heel, but my shoe was entrenched in the mud and I lurched, face forward, into the ground.
My downfall was complete. Quite literally. Absolute embarrassment. Absolute humiliation. Because Jack could read me like an open book—my whys, ifs, and buts; my starts, stops, twists, and turns. It was exhilarating because it was effortless—no explanations needed. It was terrifying because it left me transparent, with no blanket of pretense. There was no way to hide my feelings for him.