Leavener noticed things. At five, on the hottest day of a hot summer, he noticed the bees. Normally buzzing the flowerbeds, they covered the sidewalk. Not stuck and melting, like worms on a hot day, these were perfect, whole, and motionless against the bleached concrete. He counted twenty.
Inside his grandmother’s house, where he and his mother lived, the closed curtains rippled at a regular pattern. He counted the pattern out in his head. Last summer his mother would have tapped the glass, “Come away from there, Leavener. Come out of the sun.” This year the heat made her sick. She called it a summer cold and stayed on the couch under the oscillating fan.
He traced a finger across the back of a bee and tapped. Before he could get a response, he noticed a man in a black suit and shiny shoes walking toward him down the middle of the street. He thought it was one of his mother’s friends until the man made a quick turn into the house next door, taking the steps two at a time. Leavener noticed the man didn’t ring the bell or use a key and knew he ought to tell his mother. He collected the bees in a plastic bucket and went inside, spreading them in a half circle between her and the fan. Then he lay down too and blocked his ears from her ragged breath.
He woke up when she screamed. She was batting the air with her fists. He opened the front door, and the bees flew out, except the one the fan had blown across the room. He hid it in his hand and watched her smoke a cigarette on the edge of the couch. She rubbed her temples like she was alone in the world, like he wasn’t there, and his eyes teared from the smoke. He waited for her to mash out the cigarette and go back to sleep.
On the front stoop, he talked to the motionless bee, reminding it of the flowers, urging it to fly. He blew hard like he was the fan, and it flew. For a moment. He hurried to pick it up. “I’m sorry,” he said, over and over, his nose bubbling. He held the hand with the bee to his ear and heard an ocean of bees inside. Then nothing.
The man in black came out of the house next door with Old Man Sherman. They left the door open, and the old man wasn’t wearing his thick-lensed glasses. The man in black stopped at the stoop, and Leavener, deciding this must be one of his mother’s friends and a piece of gum or dollar for ice cream was forthcoming, ran a sleeve across his nose. Sure enough the man reached a hand into his pocket. But it stayed there. He winked. “How your mama doin?”
Leavener started to speak truthful, but Old Man Sherman poked out a lip and shook his head. “Summer cold,” he replied instead. The man raised an eyebrow. “Tell her I asked for her.” He pulled a white handkerchief from the pocket and lowering it just out of reach, revealed a candy wrapped in silver foil. He pointed his chin at Leavener’s hand.
The man continued along with Old Man Sherman and the bee. Leavner noticed his neighbor wasn’t wearing shoes. Didn’t have feet anymore to put them on. Inside his mouth, the candy melted to a pleasant memory. His mother was calling. He ran to her. Forgot everything he was meant to say.
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