I am that famous explorer
who found the long-lost tribe
of pygmies and who could not get them
to stop staring.

Squatting in front of me, they study
my every move.

“Are you OK?” I hear one of them say.
Everything’s hazy. My back is propped
against a tree and it seems
they’ve thrown the canteen water on me.
My blue jeans feel wet—yuck.
My shirt feels sticky.

“Did I really faint?” I inquire. (I have never
come close to doing that before.)

“Yeah, you dropped like a brick, Lyza,”
Malcolm says. “You all right now?”

I pinch my wrist. It hurts.
I wiggle my toes and shake out my arms.
“Guess so…. Hey, where’s Harry?”