The Hive Situation: A Memoir

Part Two: So The War Begins

       My first stop was back to my attic for my public clothes. As we have multiple sides of ourselves, these sides indubitably all have their own styles and personas. Public Johnny was vastly different from private Johnny, as well as the family side of Johnny (me of course). Heading to the corner store required a public Johnny, so I changed appropriately and headed downstairs. Going towards the front door, I got barked at by the house poodle, from his haughty perch on the couch, and such an obnoxiously loud doggie he was. The noise took me by surprise since I was focused exclusively on my radically insane battle strategy coming up right soon.

One ear ringing, I headed out into the public arena. Even the bright sunny day couldn't make me smile, since I had a damned good idea of what lay ahead of me. So I just walked towards Grant St, where the nearest store was.

Purchasing what I needed there, the three particular items, I headed home with a warrior's mindset churning in my head. I'd defeat these pesky yellow invaders, whatever it took; and hopefully, I'd still live to tell the tale. Fingers crossed, I opened the front door. Pat sat on a lazy boy chair across from the TV, and my mother was on the couch. Not once did I ever see them sitting next to each other in all my time living there. They despised each other, and Pat herself seemed to hate everyone, including her brother John. Some people are perpetually miserable, and they do their best to spread it. Pat was one such creature. Sadly, it was my lot to have to deal with her presence daily. "Hey Johnny, that didn't take long, you got everything?" Pat commented. "Yes, I have what I need, hopefully," replying to her.

I knew the drill, I'd have to stand there until properly dismissed by someone, or kicked out by either of them. Sitting there on her couch, only halfway entranced by her soap operas, my mother spoke up "Well whatever you're gonna do Johnny, go do it, I can't sleep in my bed until those things are gone, so get to it, NOW!"

Such were the ways of conversation in my strangely unpleasant household, I was quite used to it. Duly dismissed, I retreated to do my assigned hazardous duty, as horrible as I could imagine, yet mine alone by draft, not choice.

Heading back up to the attic, I redressed for my coming battle. Heavy sweatpants, a long-sleeved thick sweater, and mediumly thick gloves that still left my fingers fairly nimble; Enough at least for what I had in mind. I was already wearing thick high-top sneakers, so I was good to go. It was a warm sunny day, so this would be a sweaty war, since I couldn't risk exposed skin, or at least reduced exposure. I indeed planned to win through attrition, with as few casualties on my side as humanly possible. Meaning as little pain as possible for me. I grabbed a folding knife off my bedside table, a book for swatting, as a last resort, and my large radio so I could jam during the coming battle.

My task would be a miserably dangerous one, but everything seems better when we have our music to accompany us on our personal tribulations no? I grabbed the paper bag with my purchased supplies in my other hand, and headed down to the infested room, ready to start an epic War. No diplomacy here, no compromise would ever work, it was me, or them, one of us would have to go, mercilessly. I prayed I'd be the last one standing when it was over.

Arriving in the room, I threw the paper bag down on the bed, set my radio on the nightstand, and happily plugged it in. Tunes always come first, music is my highest joy. At least for me, they keep me going strong. I popped in a favorite tape I'd copied from the radio. 80s music filled the room around me, seemingly to lighten my load. I turned towards the window, the bright sun shining in, as if to signify a day without problems, all was clear, feel free to come out and play! This was a lie of nature, but a pretty one.

My music playing as loud as I liked, I approached the window and saw two bees in the room flying around randomly. Using the book, I bluntly murdered them both, pretty much automatically. They were only the start of the rampage I had in mind. My intentions were far greater and more destructive. That's life no? Living for oneself often requires the destruction of others for us to continue, in every respect.

Our living existence often continues to the detriment of others. We must ultimately destroy others, or recruit them to our cause in order to live and often indeed profit finally, though the very thought is abhorrent to me. This is the lot of all living beings, no? To be alive requires the sacrifice of others, one way or another. It was the bees or myself, there could only be one side left when the war was over, and I'd rather it "bee" me standing.

I grabbed the window sill and tried to open it wide, fruitlessly. I examined it, the top was slightly sealed by white paint over some of the cracks. A very amateur paint job from long ago was hindering me now, and the essence of frustration. I grabbed my folding knife and attempted to chip away the dry paint in key places, all the while watching for more pesky critters to emerge and attack in force.

Getting nowhere fast, I had another idea. Running back to my attic, I grabbed a small hammer and screwdriver and came straight back. Using them both I cracked the paint at the corners, and wherever else needed. Putting my well-padded back into it, the stubborn window finally raised with a nasty screech. Fresh cool air breezed in, a welcome relief.

Looking out through the open window into the greenery of the yard, I noticed a large tree higher than the house not far from the second-floor window I stood at. There was a stream of bees flying back and forth, from the tree to the outside crack in my mother's bedroom wall. Coming straight into the wall from the much larger crack on the outside. These bees were busy little buggers, going about in their inscrutable insectile machinations.