The boy grabbed his tin bucket and casually walked to the end of the yard. After looking first up the road, then down the road, he convinced himself there was no traffic coming and gingerly tip-toed across the street. The other side of the road was foreign soil to him, a feeling not unlike slipping across the border to
Once on the other side of the road, he turned back and gave his house an unsure glance. Worried that his father may see him, a result that would ensure a “lickin’” and an unfavorable evening banished to his bedroom. Convinced that the house windows were empty of either of his parents (or sisters) faces, he began his short journey down the road to the new house that was being built.
His house was completely invisible now, shrouded by the forest that was on the other side of the road from the new house that was being constructed. He and his friends would sometimes hide in this forest and shout bad words at the people building the house. It was exciting because it was taboo; they would shout words at the men that no seven year olds had any business knowing. One time one of the men had even shouted back and this made the boys' eyes grow to the size of saucers before they erupted into an uncontrolled fit of giggles.
The men were gone now, it was after five o’clock and the men rarely stayed after five. The boy snuck down the dirt lane to the construction site with as much stealth as his tiny frame could muster. He was determined to complete his mission, this covert operation that only he knew about. He had no other goal than to collect the rocks.
Reaching the base of the structure that was being erected; he set his bucket on the ground and began to gather rocks that were just the right size. The right size for what, he didn’t really know. He supposed he needed rocks that would fit into his hand and be perfect for throwing, though he had no intention of throwing them any further than the pond that was practically in his back yard. For some reason he really enjoyed throwing rocks into water. It didn’t make much sense, all they did was sink to the bottom, but the boy felt pride well up inside of him knowing that he would be the last person to ever touch those rocks. Eternity for a seven year old is the perceived knowledge that something will be there longer than he is, and he was certain that the pond would always be there.
He carefully selected the rocks and once he thought he had enough, he began his secret retreat back down the dirt road. He reached the road again and stared into the deep, dense forest that was on the other side of the street. So this is what the construction workers saw? Just a big group of trees that had a bad case of Tourette Syndrome, shouting obscenities such as “Fuck you!” “Bunch of assholes!” and “Donkey Fuckers!” The boy covered his mouth to stifle a giggle, he knew too well what would happen if Mom or Dad heard him say those words, but they sounded so funny!
Convinced there was no traffic, he scooted back across the road and snuck back onto his own territory. He took a different route back, so this time he walked under the giant fir tree that worked as a sort of border to his “kingdom” and noticed that the house windows were once again vacant of any faces.
After passing out of the shade of the fir tree (he thought it to be a fir tree, but it might have been any sort of evergreen) he stopped abruptly and cocked his head. Buzzing, he heard buzzing, and where was it coming from? Above? He turned slowly and scrutinized the branches of the tree, looking for the source of the incessant sound. It didn’t take him very long to locate the giant white nest hanging on the branch of the tree. Bees, lots and lots of bees. The hive was a virtual condominium! One bee would fly into the hole on the bottom of the nest and pretty soon another would fly out. These creatures seemed to be very intelligent, always having at least one or two “guard” bees on patrol in case of an enemy strike. The boy gave a knowing glance to his bucket of rocks; he found the reason why he had them now.
He sat himself on a flattish boulder and steadied the bucket on the most level spot he could find. He was about twenty feet from the nest, a safe enough distance, he presumed. He grabbed the first rock and lobbed it at the nest. It sailed over the nest and landed in the street beyond. That was a valuable lesson; he made a mental note to watch for traffic before tossing one of his stones at the nest.
After checking for oncoming traffic, he threw another rock at the nest. This one was off target as well, missing just below the nest and bouncing off the trunk of the giant tree. Another glance for cars assured him that another toss would be safe, and this time he stood up to throw.
The third throw was like a laser beam, striking the nest right in the middle. Bulls eye! He readied himself to run in case the bees honed in on him and after about two seconds, the nest was surrounded by an angry mob of hornets. He thought them to be hornets, anyway. He watched the chaotic scrambles of the inhabitants of the hive in utter fascination, but after ninety seconds they all disappeared.
Why did they just give up? The boy noticed that his legs were shaking beneath his slight frame; no doubt they were over loaded with adrenaline and ready to make a dash for it if even one wayward bee decided that the kid was more than just scenery. Carefully, he reached into his bucket and drew another round and scaled the street again for any traffic. Nothing was coming so he threw again and hit again. Two in a row!
The bees once again shot out of the hole in the bottom of the nest and furiously zipped around, frantically searching for the culprit that invaded their private little world. The boy once again readied himself to run, and once again realized it wouldn’t be necessary.
The simple minded creatures weren’t so intelligent after all. It seemed that they forgot why they were protecting their nest after only a minute or two. They were idiots! Couldn’t they see each other flying around? The boy thought he could stand here all day and throw rocks, all with the same results. Each rock that struck the nest would do a little damage, so the boy knew that eventually the nest would fall. All because the bees were stupid and gave up after not finding anything out of the ordinary after their home was rocked by something that surely wasn’t another bee.
He gripped another rock and launched it at the nest. This one didn’t bounce off the target, but stuck right in the very hole that it created. Again, the pissed off bees came out in a rage and circled the nest, desperately seeking the culprit of the heinous attacks. The boy watched these unfolding events incredulously. He realized one thing right then and there; he was going to need bigger rocks. No doubt about it, the solution was bigger rocks and more attacks on the nest. He made a solemn vow to himself that day; he would never be as stupid as a bee.
Years later, he found himself sitting in the living room of the house he bought for him, his wife and two young boys. He was absolutely enthralled with the National Geographic Channel and he made sure that educational television was the only television he would watch.
One night there was a program on about the temperament of animals. A detailed profile of the Asian Elephant was airing and the man was extremely interested in how this creature handled its problems.
One elephant in particular caught his eye; a large female elephant who was very fond of her handler. The handler would feed her and bathe her and play games with her and the elephant was the picture of happiness. She always seemed so thrilled when her handler would come to see her.
Then one day the handler lost it and became abusive to the poor elephant. He beat her and shackled her to the floor of her cell, even though the elephant was never anything other than happy when her handler came around. The handler was the one who changed, and he hurt the elephant deeply.
One zoologist saw the abuse and had the handler fired. The handler disappeared and apparently went to work with some African Elephants because he was no longer welcomed in any zoos in the world. This all happened in the 1960’s.
The boy who became the man that was watching this program felt bad for the elephant as the program went to commercial. He knew how people could change and he was doing everything in his power to remain the same himself. He went to the refrigerator to get a beer, not knowing he was about to learn something very deep about himself.
The program came back on and another story unfolded with the same elephant and the same handler. Twenty years later, the man somehow managed to regain his job at the prestigious zoo. The elephant was still there and the handler was excited to see her. See, after all this time, he forgot how badly he treated her in the final month that he knew her and only remembered the good times. In other words, he had the memory of a bee. The elephant, on the other hand, forgot all about the good times they had and only remembered the final month in which he beat her and neglected her.
The zoo had grown and it no longer needed the floor shackles that it once had. The handler went to greet his former friend when the elephant inexplicably attacked him. There was seemingly no reason for this attack, she simply knocked him over and lay on top of him, crushing him. The boy who was now the man watching this program knew instantly why this had happened; the elephant could not overlook that traumatic time that this handler had dealt her, she couldn’t see beyond the time when he beat her neglected her, so she didn’t remember that she had once been so happy with this man as her handler.
Trauma has a tendency to do that. It is so emotionally over riding, especially where betrayal is involved, that the good times are forgotten and the dread about that bad times returns. Records were recovered and thankfully the elephant wasn’t destroyed.
The boy who was the man who watched that program is the guy who is writing this now. Two completely separate instances in my life have taught me valuable lessons and allowed me to gain insights within my own life. I vowed when I was seven years old that I would never be as stupid as a bee. A rhyming pun had shaped my life so fully, that I gained a memory that was quite similar to an elephant’s memory.
I have been betrayed by friends, and much like that elephant, those betrayals become the focus of the memories that I have with those individuals. But I can assure you this, when my hive comes under attack, I don’t forget about it after two minutes and go back to my daily routine, I remember it and I begin to scout those who may try to attack my hive again. After all, a nest is only as strong as those who built it.
