My Inner Donkey

Dazed and disoriented in the darkness, I reached out to steady myself and latched onto a rim of greasy, cold metal that tipped and nearly sent me sprawling. The full trash can and I slammed into the one next to it with a resounding crash that should have awakened all of Gilead.

Instead, one lone, gravelly voice protested, “Hey! watcha’ tryin’ to do, murder a guy?” A formless mass lumbered up from the ground and coalesced into a lumpy, hulk of blacks and grays. In the dark night, full of shadows thrown by the buildings surrounding us, the man appeared to be boneless, held together with coal dust and grime.

“Sorry, I lost my balance. Hope I didn’t hurt you.” I wasn’t about to admit that I’d tumbled into him because of a malfunctioning walnut shell. Transport behind the tavern in Gilead at midnight the Enchanteur had said, but since I almost always get lost, I wasn’t sure where I was. I didn’t see any other tourists and there was no sign of a donkey.

“Nothin’ worse than a drunken female,” I heard him mutter.

“I am NOT drunk,” I informed him, “I’m supposed to be part of a touring group, but I’ve missed them some how. I don’t suppose you’ve seen a group of women riding donkeys?”

“Donkeys, ya’ say? Well, now,” he said, scratching his head, ” thought that was the drink playin’ tricks with me. Left already, they did. Long about midnight.”

“What time is it now?” I asked, wondering if this was a time zone fluke, since I’d left at precisely twelve.

“Well, I dunno, let me check me watch,” he answered sarcastically, squinting at his bare wrist.

There was a peculiar shuffling sound in the alleyway behind me and the vagrant pointed a grimy finger toward it. “Your noble steed awaits, m’lady.” He stifled a chuckle, then lowered himself to the ground and curled against a filthy cardboard box eager to continue his interrupted sleep.

I was not so eager, but dutifully climbed aboard the donkey, who gave a huge yawn and then carried me of slowly into the night.