Goodbye, Fellow Friend


The Studio
72 Udall Drive
United States
40° 46' 57.7632" N, 73° 42' 34.0452" W

I heard you buzz near.  The quick flutter of your wings, an indicator- that you were small and most likely, ugly.  I peered up from my chair and saw you laying atop a shutterblind , your posture, earthy, as if you were claiming hold on your existence.  At that very moment- it, was all too real.  I know because I was there, with you, experiencing the same reality, for a moment, I was lost, in the present with you.  I stood atop my chair and watched you, rubbing, your forelegs together, as if you were seeking warmth, from a fire, at a campsite you know will be your last as you set off on a journey God knows where it will take you.  But I saw you, bold and magnificent, you shook your wings and you gravitated straight to that window, all six legs sunk in that transparent obstruction, your feelers, poking about, as if they had a mind of their own, saying, maybe if I hit the right spot, maybe if I poke long enough, I'll get through.  But no, the world would not let you have it that way.  They say every dog has its day and even bugs can be dogs somedays and that's when I pulled the window down and saw, for the first time, the reason for your antsiness, as it laid there worn and deflated.  It's hind legs laid stretched out, flat, like they were crushed under the weight of a fallen elevator from fifty stories above.  It could have been: a best friend, a past lover, a new lover, an old friend, a young talent brimming with possibilities, all of these and so much more!  Either way, you knew, like I knew what you were going to do: what you had to do next was not the easiest thing but it was all for the sake of survival.  What I saw next happened quickly, you made your way to the edge of the plastic glass and you climbed, climbed like someone who's been up Everest, eight times at least, maybe more.  You reached the corner, antennae tasting their first air of autumn's warmth.  You paused, though, and held your position.  Maybe it was a silent prayer or who knows?  Maybe stink bugs have their own silent way of communicating that we don't know about because our modern methods of science and technology aren't yet sophisticated enough to tell us what goes on that we can't see and this was just your way of reaching out to your friend and saying: "Is it okay?  Can I really go?  Will it be all right?"  All I know is that for seven seconds of my human life, I saw you pause there, without making a movement, without making a sound.  Then you tread across the sill, knowing full well, the consecration of your action.  You hung around, upside down and parallel to another fellow other.  Each next step was nervous apprehension; to the point where you stepped out finally to the free world and came back, on the edge of two worlds, in and out and all that came to mind was my heartbeat, thumping out of my chest, racing in tandem with the thought: "Am I really?  So I'm doing this?  So I'm really?  This is it?"  And then I thought "Wow, I'm crazy for thinking this."  Then I saw that seemingly lifeless soul muster up the energy to curl its own feelers upward and you, cast your own reflection, in kind.  You stepped out and I raised the sill, preventing you from coming back inside, while the sill bug's feelers were, slowly, lowering themselves, but not without their own poking and prodding at the air, like a boxer, who's used to throwing punches right before his big match.    I brought down my blinds.


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