Swarm of wasps, winged creatures that so inspire fear zig-zagging every which way. Students scream to see them.
I had my windows closed. Mary walked in (door open, as usual) and touched my shoulder. Walked to my window and threw open my curtains, pointed and told me to look. I saw insects darting everywhere. She asked me, "Do you think those are wasps?" and I remembered the inch-long, thick wasp I saved Becky from yesterday, and nodded. She said, "Yes, I think they're wasps."
I stared and wondered when the birds would come to swipe them from the air. I heard Konstantine playing in the background, whispering memories of my best friend and the times we spent side by side into my head.
She said, "I'm going to go tell everyone to shut their windows," and I agreed. I closed my curtains and sat back down.
Every moment someone comes in to ask if I've seen the swarm. I say yes, I watched it. They don't seem to believe me and begin to walk to my window. I think 'I have already looked' but soon enough my curtains are open again by someone else's hands and pools of light lap at my sides. I squint my eyes and see fast forms, almost spectral, speeding past my window and into a storm of winged stings. Winged stings is all my friends see. Friends, content that I have properly seen, hurry out of my room without closing my curtains.
I walk to my window and stare at the insects. Smile sadly, although I don't know where the melancholy comes from. I say hello and goodbye, close the curtains and take my seat again.
The others pull open curtains to stare outside and scream. They say, "They're angry! So angry!" The curtains stay open, the screaming continues, people to windows all over the building.
Sometimes I wonder if humans aren't more like our idea of wasps than wasps are. Most of the time I think it doesn't matter very much.
I sit back in my curtain-closed, orange-coated room of colour and calm and peace. I listen to calls of "is the bathroom window open?!" and wonder why I don't have more of a response. I wonder where this inherent sense of peace stems from, why I cannot be stirred. I know that his will become one of the moments spoken about with a chuckle and the introduction of, "Do you remember when...?"
These moments add a surreal feel to my life. I don't wonder about existence, particularly, but I sit and smile with a seat of peace and contentedness that surprises me. Through missing and stress and swarms and opened windows, I feel peace.
Surreal. These are the moments I live for. The moments that feel as though somehow, despite everything, they're perfect and exactly where I need to be. When everything in my life feels connected and stuck in place, my unique star-shaped plug in the perfect star-shaped hole.
And suddenly, a song I looked to more on my friend's skin than on my iPod joins the rank of the most meaningful.
("Are you really taking a picture?" "Look, it's security!")