We’re lost, aren’t we, Bob?” Steve raised his bow and aimed at a gazelle. “I’m gettin’ hungry. Pretty sure everybody else is too.”
Bob stared at the map in his hands and wondered where they were and how they got there. He should’ve admitted he was dyslexic, but he figured he could manage to read a map. It’s not like reading War and Peace, but still, he couldn’t do it.
“Aw, poop!” Steve missed the gazelle and shrugged. “Guess we’re not gonna make it to the Centaur Convention in Athens.” Steve looked up at the sky, “According to the sun we should’ve been there by now.”
Bob knew he had to say something to Steve, but was loathe to admit he couldn’t read the map.
“Bob?!” Steve raised his voice. “Are you listening?”
Bob sighed. “Yes, Steve. I hear you.” He folded up the map. “C’mere for a minute.”
Steve trotted over. “What’s up?”
“Well, uh.” Bob began. “It’s like this. I uh, I can’t — “
“You can’t read the freakin’ map, can you?” Steve interrupted. “I knew it! Malákas!”*
“Well, you don’t have to announce it!”
“What? Steve replied. “You think they haven’t figured it out? Anton is over there explaining to the guys how he should’ve been the one to lead us.”
“Anton is right.” Bob admitted. “He should be the leader.”
“You agree?” Steve was perplexed.
“Listen Steve, in addition to being the new guy in Thessaloniki, I’m dyslexic. I can’t read the map or anything else for that matter. I thought I could do it because it’s just a map, not a book, but I was wrong.”
There. I said it.
“No skatá?”** Steve furrowed his brow. “Wow.”
“No skatá and yeah, wow.” Bob repeated sarcastically. “Any suggestions?”
“Actually, yes.” Steve grinned. “Let me talk to Anton. I’ve known him since we were colts. He’s not a bad guy, really.”
“Wait, Steve.” Bob said nervously. “What are you gonna say? Don’t tell him I’m dys—”
“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna tell him jack.” Steve reassured him. “Trust me. I’ll fix it.”
Steve went over to Anton and the two men started talking. Anton turned around to look at Bob a few times, which Bob found unnerving. So, he decided to clean out his hooves which he hated to do because he was ticklish.
The guys will think I’m nuts if they see me laughing at nothing by myself. That’s all I need — to be known as Bob: the ticklish, dyslexic Centaur from Cyprus.
Bob took out his hoof pick and set to work on his hooves. He did his best to stifle his giggles.
After fifteen minutes or so, Steve trotted back over to Bob. “We’re all set.”
“What? How?”
“Gimme the map so I can give it to Anton.”
“Wait, what did you tell him?”
“Oh, I explained that you felt like he should be the leader since you’re the new guy. Plus, he knows his way around; knows the terrain better. And I added that you admitted not being all that great at reading a map. Lottsa people can’t read maps, no big deal. Oh, yeah. I also told him that when we drew lots, you were going to say something then, but the words wouldn’t come.”
“Great, Steve!” Bob replied. “Make me sound like a wiener!”
“Naaah! I simply appealed to his ego at the expense of yours.” Steve said. “Look, you’re off the hook and no one’s the wiser. Anton gets what he wants, and we still make it to the Centaur Convention.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Bob handed Steve the map. “Hey, thanks for helping me out. You have no idea …”
“No charge, buddy!” Steve trotted off to Anton.
Everything looked like it was going to turn out okay but looks can be deceiving. Anton glanced at the map and figured he knew the way. He then folded it up and stuck it in his pocket with the M&Ms and baklava. It was the middle of the day, and the sun was brutal. After a couple of hours, Anton thought he’d best take another look at the map just to be sure. When he did, he discovered the snacks had melted all over the map, rendering it a sticky, gooey mess and 100% illegible.
They never made it to the convention, nor did they ever show up back in Thessaloniki.
Who knows? The tribe of centaurs might still be lost and roaming around to this day.
*Malákas: Jerk or Asshole
**Skatá: Shit
Ergo, the Ogre 