BEES

It wasn’t John, it wasn’t her frustration with her life, it was the bees. She hadn’t found the hidden nest and now, everywhere she turned, was a bee. They seemed to meander aimlessly around the kitchen, not logically sticking to food. She would open the cabinet under the sink for Comet and there was a bee. She’d open a box of cereal and out would fly a bee like a small toy surprise. Once she even opened the fridge and there was a bee, drunkenly crisscrossing the lid on the butter.

She insisted noone kill them. John never gave them much interest anyway but when she was faced with squashing one or life, she chose life. To her they were just creatures trying to survive, do their job, get through their bee life. They were just doing what they could to get through their bee days. She felt them hover near the ceiling light, watching her and critiquing her dinner plans. She’d spread butter on her toast and and grasp the knife harder in righteous frustration. Who were they to judge her cooking? What did they ever do to help?

Once she found three of them huddling together on the window screen, their front legs twisting like the hands of villains. She looked out the window expecting thousands of bees flying towards her. Word’s out. Big bee party in the house kitchen! After she was dead, all they would remember was she was the woman with the bees. Were she to slide a knife in the toaster and die of electric shock, her last thoughts would be if she’d ever find the nest.

John came in for something to eat before school. A bee was on the fridge handle but he merely brushed it off and pulled the door, taking out a can of Diet Coke and a bagel. The bees hovered above asking it she was allowing soda at this hour. Doesn’t Diet Coke have that bad sweetener? Didn’t you buy orange juice?

She watched him flip thought the morning paper looking for comics while eating. No butter. No cream cheese. She studied him like a bug she’d found crawling on the lawn, with black shiny armor and menacing horns. She could find nothing that led back to her.

“Mom, I need some money.”

The bees dove and circled the scene like TV news with a car chase. She wished the bees could take her brain like nectar from a flower and climb inside of John to make honey. She would be doing her job correctly and the entire nest would praise her work.

“I just gave you a twenty.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

“I spent that. I need ten more for pizza after school. I get hungry.”

One bee had landed near her hand on the counter. It walked closer then away like a dog testing water. Perhaps it was a friend of John’s creeping up to remind her again how late she worked. She lifted her finger and the bee jumped back before slowly inching foward. It felt vibrations from her skin, the low humming leaking from the nest inside her head. Millions of bees circling around and buzzing like a neighbor’s chainsaw.

“You shouldn’t be eating pizza.”

She shook her head and the bees inside began swirling in a frenzy. Their weaving bodies formed a figure who was there but not there, pure Bee Energy. One who was home all the time, who shopped once for the whole week, who laid it’s Bee hand on John’s arm while listening to him talk about school. Outside she would pretend she was normal but inside her Bee Self constantly reminded her of who she couldn’t be.

She reached for her purse and it fell, loose change shooting out to spin in circles on the floor. The bees all arose and circled as well, surrounding her with things spinning out of control. She picked up her wallet and riffled through the green bills before setting a ten on the table.

John ignored the change on the floor and pushed back his chair and walked out. A bee landed on her thigh and she angrily slapped her leg, killing it but not before it stung her. She lifted her hand and it’s dead body fell to the linoleum. Where she’d been stung began to turn red and swell. The pain gave her an excuse to cry and tears began to well and drip down her face like honey from a comb.

She hid her face in her hands, not wanting the bees to see her this way. She’d failed the hive, she’d killed one of them. She took the morning paper and pushed the dead bee onto it before opening the back door and flinging it into the yard. The other bees accusingly ignored the open air and kept their distance.

She finally went to get ready for work, some of the bees lazily following behind her like pets. She heard the front door slam and John leaving for school. She sat on her bed and wondered what to do now that she’d been stung. What do people use to rid themselves of the tenderness, the pain? How do you hold still when you always feel them swarming around you like things you never get done?

Surrender, she thought, there’s no place to hide. The bees will always win.

3:01:17 PM    sro home /