dustin driver:
“Are you OK?” asks Olhado.
“Sure.”
His silhouette dances like a reflection in a funhouse mirror against the glare of the sun. The throbbing in my head is getting worse. I doubt I could stand if asked.
“You don’t look so good,” he replies.
“I’m fine, I’m just hot.”
The air is thick with heat. Something screeches in the canopy. I flinch, shaking the canoe. Olhado keeps rowing and we glide into the jungle. The trees stand on spindly roots that reach into the water like hands. I catch one of them moving in my peripheral vision, repositioning its hold on the muddy water. I peer into the jungle and rub my eyes. That's when I notice the film on my hands. It’s on my forehead, beading up where sweat should be—thick, translucent. “How much further?” I ask Olhado. Nothing seems familiar.
“Not far,” he replies.
A tree moves again , this time in plain view. I look to Olhado for conformation, but he just rows. I look back into the jungle and one of the trees reaches for me. I gasp and shut my eyes. When I open them it’s not reaching anymore.
Just breathe.
I lean back into the bow of the canoe.
“Sir!” says Olhado.
“What, what?” I sit up, dizziness overwhelms me. Olhado points into the jungle. He seems excited. Or maybe frightened? His figure lurches in and out of darkness. The throbbing in my head gets louder; I can’t hear what he’s saying. Something about the trees? I fall forward, paralyzed. My face hits the bench in front of me and my tongue flops out onto the moldy wood. I taste something before I black out. Chocolate Sundae?© 2008 Dustin Driver