the girl i once was.
a dream of light and ease and buzzing bees.
My mind was stuck in an endless loop of racing worries against heavy sadness,
when you made it stop spinning by gently pulling me back.
Your delicate tiny legs shimmer with yellow pollen and the veins of your wings look like the mosaic windows in church. But prettier. Livelier. Not as cold and deceiving. The sun actually enjoys shining through your wings.
I hear your silent buzz, it’s wrapping this beautiful summer day in a soft weighted blanket. I feel myself relax - my breath slows down - my sticky fingers unclench. A transforming calmness washes over me.
And just when I fully grasp what’s happening, you take off and fly into the vast forest that surrounds our garden.
I want to tell mom and dad about it - a bee landed on me!
How she sparkled like a star!
How her buzz felt like cotton candy clouds in my brain and in my heart!
I hear a camera click behind me and quickly turn around.
Dad!
“Dadda, bzzzzz!”, I yell and giggle and dance. He takes a few more shots, then gently lowers himself down to me and carefully listens to my gurgling gibberish.
I almost forgot what made me come outside and cry, when I notice mom watching us from the living room window with dead eyes, smudgy makeup and wild brown locks.
They had a fight.
They yelled at each other.
Mom cried.
Her fists landed on dad’s chest.
Dad took off his leather belt.
The unrelenting sound still rings in my ears.
I stop smiling and feel my mind starting to spin out of control again, the buzzing calmness turns into throbbing beats. I raise my eyes, anxiously glance at mom, still staring out of the window in my direction…but not at me, not really. Her eyes look like they’re drowning in a grimy glass of milk. The way my favorite cup looks like when I greedily drink out of it, right after I played in the sandbox I got from grandma last week. The sunflowers printed all over the glassy goblet all smudgy from my dirty fingers.
Dad frowns at me. Asks me what’s wrong with his warm, sad eyes. Crystal blue. Like a bottomless ocean of tears. No, he doesn’t really want to know that, I decide. He already knows the answer. He asks…. “how bad?”
In response, I run. Into the forest. I blink away the tears, swallow down the big fat lump of black goo clogging up my throat. I follow the bee. I want to join her hive. I want to help make the forest thrive. I want to make kids giggle and dance. I want to make their tummies feel better when they have a warm glass of milk and honey. I want to land on clouds. I want to become the soundtrack of a beautiful, peaceful summer day.
This will always be my favorite picture of myself. I think it was yours, too.
I can’t remember a single day in your life it wasn’t placed on your desk.
As if you missed my shining eyes as much as I did. As if you knew, you caught a final glimpse of the girl I was before everything happened.
I promise to get it back. And once I do, promise me, you’ll send a bee my way.
Always with the hope wrapped in dark tones. You capture that true light in all the stories of old, in my opinion. But that dark, bitter flavour that I am addicted to in poetic art remains always. Thanks for sharing, Julie.
This is so tender, so achingly beautiful. Thank you for sharing something so full of truth and feeling. You are still that shimmering soul, still full of light, still worthy of peace and safety. The bee will find you again, when you need her most—drawn to the sweetness you carry even in sorrow. You are not alone. You are loved, always.