Jeremy and Jarame were on the same team, but Jeremy hated Jarame very much. There was the pretentious name, obviously, and the way he always wore his perfect shirts with the collar up as if he was too busy to be bothered — come on! — and the fact that when the team achieved its monthly sub-goals Jarame would always use an odd number of decliviites, which although that’s fine, couldn’t help but make Jeremy feel that some point was being made, although with full deniability, about his declivities which numbered even. Jeremy used to look online at a website that told you the lives of Masai warriors and he would feel great love for them, which taught him he was capable of love, and his hate for Jarame was more of an abberation. Then once on a long-earned vacation Jeremy booked a flight to Africa and stayed in a tent with the Masai. He loved them all: their simple ways, their dances, the way they could joke just like modern people. He particularly befriended two of them Antawinta and Antalaba and they invited him on a lion hunt. After the hunt when they were eating the lion Jeremy chatted with Antalaba. “I love the Masai ways.” “Thanks” “I love your dances.” “That’s cool.” “I love your hospitality.” “We are famous for that, buddy.” “I love both of you guys for taking me on the lion hunt.”
There was a long pause.
“You love Antawinta too?”
“It has always struck me that he is a bit of a show-boat on the lion hunt, hanging back until the last moment, and then when others have tired the lion out he is right there with his spear.”
“Like an asshole.”
“I can see that.”
Jeremy went back to his job with the declivities and felt good about himself. He had learned something about the nature of love. He didn’t love Jarame and he didn’t love just any old Masai. He love Antalaba, because he too had to deal with assholes.