The Bee

7 am. Silence in the house. Little birds are singing outside the window. The sounds bring you back into the careless days of childhood, when the sun shone brightly in the skies, when the lazy summer days were filled with joy, when her dad had a bee adventure.

He hadn’t always been an alcoholic. He liked to drink. Oh yes...if you are a Russian you are bound to, that’s what they say. But that summer he had a hobby and it kept him way too busy to drink. 

The bee hives. Three of them. 

     “What are those Daddy?”

     “Those are the houses where bees live.They have a bee Queen they protect, and they make lots of honey.”

Honey...

     “How do they make it?”

     “They fly around from flower to flower and gather pollen. See that bee,” he pointed to a fluffy black and yellow dot sitting on top of the camomile flower. “She is gathering honey. Once she is done she would fly back into her house, store it in there and come back for more.” The bee took off and indeed flew back into the hive. “This way we would have honey in the winter, and Mommy will make you tea with milk and honey.”

She played around in the sun, and saw a little ant slowly crossing the concrete block in front of the house. She was so carried away looking at the little creature that she didn’t notice the sound. 

     “Oh, what is that sound? It’s approaching.”

     “Bzzzz.”

The bee! She didn’t have time to do anything as in a matter of seconds, the bee landed on her right thigh and stung her.

A face changed its expression and turned into an unhappy grimace. A few seconds later a sound broke the silence.

     “Aaaaaa!”

     “What happened?!” Mom rushed at her side

     “The bee-eee!”

Dad came running from behind the fence.

Everybody quit their tasks.

The world froze in place.

The child had been stung by the bee.

     “Did you wave your hands in the air?” asked grandma.”They don’t like it.”

     “No,” she wailed through the sobs while tears kept falling off her cheeks.”It just flew in here, and bit me. Why did it bite me? I didn’t do anything.”

     “Where does it hurt?”  Mom whispered in pain, looking at the child crying.

     “Right here,” she pointed at the thigh.

     “It’s all you, with your bees!” Mom angrily barked at Dad. “Now the child has to suffer.”

     “She is wearing red tights, the bee thought it was a flower!” Dad remarked as-a-matter-of-factly in an attempt to calm her down.

     “Yes, it must be red tights. The bee thought I was a flower. I like to be a flower.Flowers are pretty,” the girl reflected.

     “Does it hurt?” 

     “Yes, a little bit.”

     “Can you walk?”

     “Yes.”

     “Let’s go to the house. You’ll take off your tights and we’ll clean up the wound.”

     “Here is the bee, it won’t bite you anymore.” Dad held the dead bee on the palm of his hand.

     “Did you kill it?”

     “No, it died on its own. When it stings somebody the sting falls off and the bee dies. It won’t sting you anymore.” Dad said reassuringly.

“Poor bee,” the girl thought.”What a silly life! It bites you and then it dies.It does not make any sense!”

The tears dried out.They would go to the house now, and Mom will make some tea with milk and honey.

Has the life ever bitten you down? Have you been stung? How did it feel? Did you cry? Did the help come? Did it hurt? Did you lie down and die? Or did you get up, lick you wound and kept going? 

Keep going, it is worth it. If you pay too much attention to the wound, it will never heal.

Remember the child you once were. Careless and free. You’d cry one minute, and laugh it out the next one. Wake up the child inside! 

2011