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the bee and the butterfly
"It's not what you think," he uttered.
And the pacing began again; two tiny appendages held behind his back like a nervous father.
"It appears to be exactly what it appears to be," replied the butterfly.
"You, my wingless friend, are wingless."
She always spoke in these non-riddling riddles and those who knew her best sometimes found it lyrical but occasionally found it as frustrating as the bee did at this moment.
"I am without wings. But I am not wingless! They will grow back. You'll see. And then I'll fly away from this meadow and be out of your pollen-laden antennae once and for all!"
He "hmmph"ed to himself in punctuation.
"You're not bothering me," she amended. "No one bothers me. And furthermore, I am the botherer of no one."
Her matte stain glass twitched in the sun. He rolled a few of his simple eyes and resumed his pacing.
"I went to sleep last night with all my parts," he began.
"And when I awoke this morning and stumbled groggily from the hive, down I fell, landing on my tuccas, which still smarts by the way, and the raucous gleeful laughter of my hive mates filled the whole dang tree."
Bette (for that was her name) did her best to sympathize. She blinked rapidly as if holding back tears, and crossed her dusty feet compassionately across her thorax.
"I see.." said she.
"It was humiliating! It was mortifying! It was .. it was.. no day at the beach, I can tell you!"
"No, no.. no beaches here have we. Why I dare say there is not a beach within a hundred yards of us!"
He stopped pacing and cocked a basal stalk at her.
"You have no idea what a beach is, do you?"
"My life experience has included no beaches, either in the plural or the singular. I was trying to be conciliatory."
"Well.. nevermind. I was merely trying to emphasize how upsetting this whole ordeal has been."
"I once lost my footing on a hibiscus petal," she offered.
"It was quite embarrassing I dare say. The talk of the meadow for the whole of that day!"
Her eyes grew wistful, lost in the memory.
"If I could sting..!" he thought to himself.
There was a trench forming beneath him from all the pacing. He sunk his elbows into the soft earth and placed his head heavily upon his front legs. He was growing hungry and duty was calling but he had no solution for either one and his despair deepened. He sighed several times in a row, quite loudly and morosely, and Bette wondered how long she was required to attend to the poor wingless creature.
The hive above them droned and hummed, everyone at his or her station and performing his or her assigned tasks. They all seemed so happy.. so content, he mused.
"Just look at them up there," he ordered the butterfly.
"I'm sure her highness knows by now that I'm down here, that I am without wings, that I am helpless and will probably die before the day ends. But has she summoned anyone to help me? Has she sent food? Has she given me a thought at all? ? She has not!"
"Oh, for the love of Mike, will you stop whining for one moment and let me think?"
It was the clearest and most concise statement she'd made all morning and he looked up at her, surprised.
She was quiet for long moments, during which she never ceased her flitting from flower to flower.
Buppy (for that was his name) watched without animosity, opening and closing his mandibles for they were beginning to stiffen.
At last she came to light beside his trench.
"Hop on," Bette ordered.
"Hop? On? Hop on what?" he asked, his brow creasing.
"Hop on my back," she restated, firmly.
"Hop on your back. Are you serious, sister?"
"I can assure you I am," she said.
"Is this the face of one who is not serious? It is not. It is the most serious face I own. So stop
badgering me about my intentions and HOP ON!"
"Oh, brother..." he sighed, glancing up at the hive.
"They'll never let me live this down. My fate is sealed. My humiliation is complete." These sentiments were spoken under his breath, not wanting to hurt Bette's feelings. But hop on he did, gripping her body securely with all six legs and squeezing his eyes shut as they ascended.
Suddenly there was a soft familiar breeze in his face, one he could actually HEAR without all the buzzing he usually made. Their flight was smooth although a bit erratic, and he realized he was up much higher than he'd ever gone. He peeked cautiously between her wings, watching the ground and the meadow and even his tree grow smaller and more distant. A tummy-tingling swoop down every few minutes to do what butterflies do best, gather pollen, and.. and.. whatever else it was that they did best; he really had no conclusive answer on that.
"Any time you'd like to refuel, just let me know," she told him, interrupting his train of thought.
"Oh.. oh. Yes! Refuel! Of course. That's what I need to do!"
So in a field of black-eyed Susans, he slid down from her back, and lapped up as much nectar as he could hold from each flower, for as long as the kindness of his benefactor held out.
Presently, half-asleep and half-intoxicated, he resumed his place upon her back, blinking happily into the breeze, and rubbing his abdomen contentedly, forgetting for awhile that he was without wings and had a troop of silly workers and drones to face upon returning home.
Bette was panting when they reached the meadow.
She dumped him unceremoniously onto the branch beside his hive and he thanked her drunkenly, attempting a bow, almost tumbling once again to the hard ground beneath.
"Watch it!" she barked.
He grinned sheepishly, groping his way along the branch and disappearing into the chaotic swarm.
She watched for a moment, trying to pick him out of the melee but gave up and headed back to her own tree for the night.
The moon was up in full force and her eyes were gritty, her back aching, her wings a bit battered.
Banana, a roommate (she had four thousand), saw her as she crept in, and hurried to her side as Bette settled in for some serious R.E.M. time.
"I saw that, you know," said Banana slyly.
"You saw wha-- Oh. That."
"Yes, that," repeated the yellow wing.
"It was nothing. It was less than the nothing that it was; it was nothing infinitum."
Bette turned her body away, wrapping herself in her wings, which were rapidly losing scales and fraying at the edges.
"I'm not the only one," Banana nearly sang to her.
"If you must know.." sighed Bette.
She lay on her back, taking in the starry galaxy above her.
"I remember," she said softly.
Nana leaned in to hear.
"I remember. What it was like before I had wings. Of course I didn't know what I was missing then, but I remember now."
It was all she could really offer. Banana was very young, only 16 hours old. Did she really have the maturity to understand what Bette was saying? She knew she didn't. But she thought she might, someday.
Banana tiptoed away from the now slumbering Bette who was beginning to snore soft as azalea petals, and scurried to the others, who had been waiting for the dirt on Bette's crazy behavior with the clumsy striped thing that lived in the hive across the meadow.
"Well..??" they asked breathlessly, in unison.
She preened a wing slowly, and then shrugged.
"Sorry, kids. She was already asleep when I got there. Maybe you can ask her in the morning."
Collective groans filled the alcove.
Someone clicked her tongue.
"Now, now," she remanded, not unkindly.
As sixteen thousand butterfly wings (minus four) stilled in the high branches of a hundred year old oak tree, Banana tried hard to remember, too, as Bette had, what it was like in the days before wings.
She couldn't.
But she thought she might, someday.
the end.
10:36
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