I'm Sorry, But I am Not--Part 2

Alright, here is the end of my story. I really feel like it was very poorly written because I started hurrying to be done with it. Sigh, hope you enjoy it anyway!

Ian jumped up with a little surprised gurgle, frightening the large bird away. As he steadied himself and looked around he found his wonder increasing. Was this all one long terrible dream? He felt like he had just stepped into one of those paintings of the jungle only, this was even more real because he could hear jungle animals announcing their vicinity to him.

He looked back out to an empty sea, then his eye ran down the washed beach. There was noting to it, he would have to start bushwhacking his way through the jungle.

Three days later….

Ian stared open mouthed at the small natives as they jabbered excitedly to him in English.

“We’ve been waiting for you for so long, Ian! We’re so happy you’re finally here! Come, come quickly and see the church we’ve built. Now you can preach in it to us!” They grabbed his cut and bleeding arms and been dragging him through the village of squatting mud huts.

“You know my name?” He managed to gasp a tall young man near him.

“Of course we do! The other missionaries who just left told us a man named Ian would be coming to teach us more about Jesus.” His face shone eagerly, “Look, there it is!”

A hut, slightly larger than the others stood out from the rest because of the large stick cross fixed on the roof.

“See! Now you can teach us more about God!”

“Uh,” Ian was the most surprised he had ever been in his life. “But, I-I-I’m not a missionary!”

They smiled politely at him.

“Okay look guys, I have to tell you all this before this confusion goes any farther.” He stepped up to the front of the church and raised his voice. The room immediately fell silent and all eyes were fixed expectantly on him.

Ian faltered. He had always gotten terrible embarrassed when large crowds were watching him, that is, unless he was on his horse. He sighed, thinking about how that would probably never happen again. All the tricks and capers he had been practicing so diligently to perform—

An old man cleared his throat recalling Ian to the present.

“Alright, look, I’m not the missionary you think I am.”

There was silence for a moment and then a dark woman from the back called out.

“Isn’t your name Ian?”

“Yes.”

“Then you are the man we were expecting.”

“No, I’m not.”

The natives exchanged puzzled glances.

“My name is Ian, but I am not a missionary. I am a cowhand from Montana—er—you probably don’t know what that is…here, just let me tell you my story.—“ And Ian narrated all of the above story though undoubtedly he told it much better.

When he ended there was a long pause and then a little girl from the front row spoke up sadly, “So you’re not the nice man Mama’s told me is coming?”

Ian’s heart was softened. “No, I’m sorry, but I am not.”

Two weeks later.

The loud speaker crackled  for a moment and then a man’s voice came through, “Testing, testing, 1,2,3! Ah, Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for joining us for the 5^th annual Juniper Springs Rodeo! I hope you have all enjoyed the amazing feats we all have witnessed today!”

The crowd cheered enthusiastically.

“I will now, announce what you have all been waiting for—the winners! Eham! First off we have calf roping first place was lassoed by—Bladdian Gilbert!”

The thousands of hands clapped.

“Next,” The loud speaker boomed imperially, “My personal favorite part of the whole rodeo—trick riding! And the winner is—Jamie Willis!”

Ian settled back into his saddle and clapped politely as his rival rode triumphantly out into the arena. Then he involuntarily sighed, it had taken so much to get here on time, and then he didn’t win. He let his thoughts wander back to the past month of his life. It had been a crazy month—first, he had been knocked unconscious while preparing for this rodeo, then, he had been kidnapped and placed on a ship which had wrecked him an the edge of the jungle. As if that wasn’t excitement enough, he had next, come across a band of natives who thought he was their much expected missionary. Thankfully, the real one had arrived a few days later and Ian had been able to catch a ride in his little taxi plane out to civilization and a big air port. From there he had been flying and flying and had finally arrived back in Montana the day before the rodeo. And all, just in time to lose.

He picked up the reigns of his horse and trotted away from the grounds. Oh well, it didn’t really matter, he was mainly just glad to be home.