genesisFall2016.pdf 40 genesis fall 2016 The Bee Whisperer Victoria Johnson When I close my eyes, what I remember most about the farm is the mornings and how the sunlight came through the sheer curtains and the breeze blew through the screens. The earthy smell of the farm: hay, horses, chickens, manure, would blow in too, but it was a good smell. A rooster downstairs. I always woke up sticky and my hair greasy. My older sister Meg complained and con stantly examined her face in the mirror for new latest edition of Cosmo, taking quizzes, and avoid ing explaining to me what some of the words on the cover meant. I didn’t really want to know any way, after I thought about it, but sometimes my curiosity won out and I’d ask her questions about boys and she’d pretend to be uninterested. Meg was sixteen that summer, and I was twelve. In early June, we loaded up the car and drove for two hours to Grannie and Grandpa’s farm, except Grandpa passed away a couple years before, and Grannie slept in the recliner most of the time with a patchwork quilt over her legs. She couldn’t gather the eggs from the chickens any more. It was my job, and she gave me a quarter for it every day. Dad worked forty hours a week back home at some plant. I think they made engines for Ford. On the weekends, he drove down to the farm and tried to keep it under control: he mowed the from taking over the fence lines. It wasn’t much of a farm anymore, really. But we called it that out of necessity—even though it wasn’t a farm anymore, it had to be to us. Some mornings, mom cooked a big break home. By the end, the kitchen would be covered in One such morning, I sat at the table, draw ing a picture of the tree out back, the one with the tire swing. The tree was picturesque. Mom bustled into the room, her hairline sweaty. Meg pulled her blonde hair up in a ponytail and took some eggs from Mom and cracked them into the skillet. I sat my sketchpad down and walked over to the stove. “How do you make pancakes, Mom?” I asked. “Can you crack an egg?” she said. I nod ded. Mom placed the mixing bowl in front of me. “Don’t stir too hard,” she said. “Pancake er that meant. The month before, cappuccino was vogue. That was before it had too many calories. bles in it?” She took the spatula and lifted up the ing a mess, but I placed the plate, toppling with pancakes, on the table proudly. “I guess you are growing up, aren’t you, Kiley?” Dad said. I looked up from spreading but Best of Fiction genesis fall 2016 41 The Bee Whisperer ter on my pancakes and didn’t know what to say. I’d never thought about growing up, really. It was inevitable and I had dreams and things I wanted bother with it much. What about making pancakes the smell of old wood and paper. I wanted my own bed and bathroom. I wanted central air. It rained sporadically and steadily for nearly two weeks. Grannie slept or watched her soaps with know immediately whether she was asleep or not. and cleaned until they smelled like bleach and lemon, I collected the eggs from the twelve hens, trying not to think that I was taking away their children. Every morning, I wore my red rain boots and rain jacket to collect the eggs, I washed them and wrote the date on them in pencil, and placed them in cartons. After my chores were done, I stared out the window and drew whatever I saw. Then my aunt called, and said her and her son Danny were coming to help out. I’d never met Danny, and I hadn’t seen my aunt since she was pregnant. I was in the chicken coop, trying to coax an irritable black hen away from her precious eggs when I heard the car rumbling over the gravel ing screen door slam behind me, and into the barn lot, where dad stood, brushing the Appaloosa, my aunt, her sister. “Come on, Danny,” Aunt Janet said. “Come meet your Aunt Molly.” He was small, smaller than I’d imagined, but I didn’t know many bent down in front of him and said something I didn’t hear. Instead of giving her a hug, he shook he wrapped his arms around my mom. They both laughed. “Oh, Kiley,” Mom said. She waved me over. “Come say hello to your Aunt Janet and Dan ny.” I walked over, my boots sloshing in the yard and the pail of eggs creaking with very movement. I felt strange, as if I’d taken on some persona. “Hi, Aunt Janet,” I said. “Look at you,” she said. “You look so grown up. Danny, this is your cousin Kiley.” “Danny,” I said. “Would you like to see the chickens?” “Can I, Mom?” he asked. His bright blue eyes opened wide, excited at the prospect “Of course.” I held out my hand for Dan ny to take, it seemed like the right thing to do, and led him over to the coop. A couple chickens clucked outside, eating the rest of the corn I’d thrown out earlier. Inside the coop, the air was dusty. Bits of exciting, but Danny let go of my hand and walked slowly up to the ornery black hen. “Be careful,” I said. “She doesn’t know you yet.” “Hello chicken,” he said. “I’m Danny. Does she know me now?” leaving two brown eggs. Danny’s eyes were wide. He asked if he could carry one, and I said yes. He I’d never met Danny, and I hadn’t seen my aunt since she was pregnant. 42 genesis fall 2016 held it with two hands, as if it were the most pre cious thing he’d ever seen. I wondered if I ever looked at anything that way before. I’d come to understand that everything was precious and exciting to Danny. Everything he’d never seen before and everything he had. While the adults took care of the farm and Gran nie, I watched Danny. I didn’t mind. *** that I didn’t want to move. We sat in the shade under the oak tree, drinking lemonade. I heard Grannie still had a quilt over her legs and longed for the days when she too sat out in the yard drink ing lemonade. I decided I would never get old if I could help it. Danny sat next to me, coloring a picture of some superhero, and I sketched him with charcoal. I couldn’t get his hair right. It fell in waves across his ears and forehead, especially in the heat. When I looked back over at him, he was gone. Crayons sprawled in his place. “Danny?” I said. toed quietly and slowly toward a light pink peony. I joined him, careful not to make any noise, and curious whether he was simply playing a game, or whether he was after something. He pointed cused. “Don’t Danny,” I said. “You can’t touch bees. They sting.” What would Aunt Janet say if he got stung and I was supposed to be watching him? What if he were allergic and I didn’t know? “Not me,” he said. Just before I grabbed it stayed there. I stared, mesmerized, puzzled. How did he pet bees? How did he not get stung? and clapped his hands. The bee buzzed away. I couldn’t believe it. “How did you do that?” I asked. The hum ming echoed in my ears. “Gently.” “But Danny,” I said, chasing after him. He tried to pull himself into the tire swing. I lifted him opening. “Why didn’t it sting you?” “Bees never sting me,” he said, as if it were obvious. “I like bees and they like me.” “Sure. I guess so. But isn’t it scary to try and touch bees?” Danny turned around and glared at me. “I don’t try. I touch them every time and it isn’t scary at all. Wasps are. Bees are just tiny and fuzzy. You swing and ran inside. It didn’t make any sense. I Why was Danny special? *** “Aunt Janet?” I said. We sat on the front porch, savoring the cool breeze and watching cars pass by. Danny sat in the yard, waving his arms back and forth, trying to get the cows across the street to look at him. Aunt Janet looked over at me and smiled. Her and my mom looked a lot alike: long wavy, brown hair and green eyes, freckles speckled across their noses. I liked to think that down to earth sort of way. Aunt Janet was suppos edly wilder than my mom, though. She dropped dad, and no one heard from her for quite a while. She didn’t seem so wild anymore; I guessed hav ing a kid made you grow up. “Did you know that Danny can pet bees?” Victoria Johnson genesis fall 2016 43 The Bee Whisperer time he was only two, and I turned my back for one second and when I looked back around, there up immediately, but he was okay, happy even. He looks for them now, whenever we’re outside.” “But why do you think he can pet them?” Aunt Janet thought for a moment and watched Danny, who was trying his hardest to sound like a cow. His moos got deeper by the sec ond. “I’ve wondered that, but I don’t have an answer,” she said. “He always says he isn’t afraid and that he touches them gently. It’s almost like time. Maybe bees are just misunderstood. Some times the most brilliant things in the world are the ones we can’t explain.” *** I may not have understood ev erything about Cosmo, or why my sister needed to take tons of quizzes to know her personality or know how to get the “perfect guy,” who according to her was some guy named Jeremy who played guitar and wore Converse tennis shoes. But I did understand that at some point, my body would change and I dreaded the thought. It was supposed to be a good day. Dad said and I held on tightly to the reins. Joker was old gate, watching. I put my left foot in the stirrup and my left arm up on the saddle. Dad hoisted my oth on the saddle. “Ouch,” I said. I rubbed it, despite every one looking. Mom and Aunt Janet looked at one another. Dad was oblivious. He led me around the barn lot at a slow trot. The wind blew through my hair and Joker seemed happy. Dad ran and Joker picked up his speed. I laughed and held on tight er was majestic and beautiful, even mysterious. When Dad helped me down, he gave me a couple gers straight, and laughed when he took them in one bite. His big, brown eyes looked at me and he dered what he thought about and what he saw. Was the world only apples and straw to him? think much of it. I thought I’d eaten too much at breakfast or maybe I hadn’t eaten enough. I was too focused on riding Joker to think about any thing else too deeply. But when I went to the re stroom, there was blood. I stared at it, confused and ing? Was I hurt? Did I need to go to the hospital? Through the started my period. But I cried anyway. I cried harder than the time Meg accidentally hit me in the face with a softball. Ever since I heard about periods, I dread much too soon—I was only twelve. I wasn’t ready to be a woman, yet. “Mom,” I said, through the crack in the bathroom door. She rushed over, concerned. When she came, I closed the door behind her and told her I’d started my period. She didn’t say a word, she just wrapped her arms around me and let me cry. “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry. I know. It’ll be okay.” I washed my face, changed, and pretend ed nothing was wrong. I couldn’t make eye con tact with Dad. We girls loaded up the car, drove to a Super Target, and got everything I needed, and a It was supposed to be a good day. 44 genesis fall 2016 training bra while we were at it. “Do you like this one or this one?” Mom “Mom, people will see,” I said. I pushed them down and out of the way. “It doesn’t mat ter.” “I’ll get both.” When Mom and Aunt Janet were out of ear shot, Meg took me aside in the cereal aisle. No one was around. “I know it sucks,” Meg said. “It actually, really sucks. But you get used to it. Everyone un derstands, so you don’t have to be embarrassed.” “You weren’t embarrassed?” I shifted from one foot to the other and pulled at my shirt. “Of course I was,” Meg said. “Remember that pool party Cam had a few summers ago? You thought I was sick, but I’d actually started my pe But I know now that you don’t have to be em barrassed or anything. Every girl goes through it some time.” “But doesn’t it mean…” I choked on the words. “Doesn’t it mean I’m not a kid anymore?” “I guess so, but that depends on you, I think.” *** On Grannie’s good days, we played gin as a teenager. I didn’t mind though. I guessed it gave her something to feel accomplished about. “Oh Kiley,” she said, after she’d just squashed me in a game. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Danny ran past the win behind him and swung him around in the air. It was a rare day in late July when the heat wasn’t sweltering. “Will you promise me something?” “I guess,” I said. Grannie and I didn’t talk her after the stroke, I didn’t know who she was. I wondered if that was what happened when you got old: you forgot who you were and not just your name, but what made you, you. Like when you’re a baby, you don’t know who you are yet and you discover yourself and make yourself over after that, but the real Grannie sparked in them that afternoon. “Don’t ever let yourself forget how beauti ful the world can be. That’s what happens to a lot to appreciate.” “Okay, Grannie. I won’t.” She fell asleep after that, leaving me confused. I wanted to ask her what she meant. What had she not appreciat ed? Before I could ask, she clutched her chest and gasped for breath. The adults crowded around her and gave her oxygen, while I backed away, picked up the cards, and joined Danny and Meg outside. Danny kept saying, “Push me, Kiley! Push me!” He rocked the swing back and forth impatiently. My stomach tightened and my ears grew hot. Meg and I exchanged a look of wide eyes and fear. I held my breath and watched everyone through easy. I pushed Danny, slowly. He kicked his small legs, trying to do it himself. Inside the house, it calmed down. Grannie was okay. I exhaled, re lieved. Mom handed Grannie a glass of water and helped her drink it through a straw. Grannie’s hands shook, and Aunt Janet rubbed her shoulder. I heard a bee buzz by my ear and backed away. Even though we called Danny the bee whis perer, I was afraid they’d sting me. He heard the red rose on the side of the house. I didn’t think any thing of it. I’d seen Danny pet bees a dozen times Victoria Johnson genesis fall 2016 45 The Bee Whisperer by then, but this time, when he ran toward the bee, he must’ve frightened it. When he screamed, I jolt ed out of my day dream and ran after him. Did he thing? He was always running around barefoot. by the second. The bee stung him. He wailed, more out of his feelings being hurt than anything, I thought. Aunt Janet ran out side and took him from Meg who couldn’t get him to calm down. We followed aunt Janet inside. Gran nie sat in the recliner, her hand still on her chest, but okay. Still here. I watched as Mom mixed bak ing soda and water together and to make a paste to relieve the sting. I felt as if I were witnessing some alternate reality. How could Danny get stung by his small, fuzzy friend? I didn’t understand how everything could change so quickly. Or maybe I didn’t want to accept that it could, even though the evidence was in front of my face. *** Danny didn’t pet bees the rest of the sum mer. I tried and failed to coax him to. I searched and longed to hear the familiar buzzing. But he his head. He preferred to run around and play tag or swing. I realized he was afraid. He’d been hurt him to be afraid; I didn’t want to be afraid. On our last day at the farm, I collected two dozen eggs. A farmer down the road bought the chickens and Joker. We couldn’t stay and take care of the farm. We had our own home and lives to get back to. I said goodbye to each chicken, fed Joker an apple, and packed the cards Grannie and I played gin rummi with in my bag. They were was what made them special. We took Grannie to we visited. I sat near the garden, watching Dad and the farmer load up the animals, and I sketched a bee. It looked harmless on paper, lovely even. I one of Danny coloring. I ran my hand over the pic ture and watched Danny draw with a stick in the dirt. That’s when I heard the loud hum of a bee, and I knew what I had to do. “Danny,” I said. The bee landed on the pink peonies. Danny walked over, hesitant, sure I was trying to get him to touch a bee again. But I wasn’t. ers and I winced, but smiled at Danny. I had to go through with it. I felt the fuzzy bee underneath my