The Hornet God

The Hornet God

“There is simply no fucking way this is real.” I grab my left arm with my right hand and squeeze as hard as I can. It hurts. I pinch my right arm with my left hand. It hurts- I am awake. This is real.

I fell asleep on the back patio soaking up the last rays of sun as the autumnal equinox slid into place. I dreamed of a mass shooting at my school. How I ushered my students to the far corner in the room away from the only door. Loud buzzing noises filled my ears- my student’s cell phones alerting to the active shooter. I was trying to decide, as I promised my students, if I would stand by the door to try and stop the shooter or if I would leave the classroom and try and hunt him down. I was old but still spry. Friends my age could not keep up with me. I did not want to sacrifice myself needlessly, but this class already felt like family to me and I had to protect them. My students were from four different continents, endlessly interesting and eager to learn. Teaching was joyful, learning to correctly pronounce their names kept me sharp. Even though recognizing that the late afternoon time slot was nap inducing, especially with the sun streaming in the big windows of the corner classroom, hardly anyone ever took advantage of my no consequence napping policy. When I first started teaching a quarter century ago, I was personally insulted if anyone put their head down. I would immediately call on the sleepy student and embarrass them. For the last decade, I reversed course – if my students were too tired to stay awake, no matter the reason, I allowed them to indulge.

The buzzing got so loud it hurt my ears and I was blinded by a light so powerful I thought it was a laser – maybe the police using sophisticated weapons to search for the shooter? I put my hand over my eyes to shield them. I did not see my students, police, or a shooter. I saw what looked like a giant size bald hornet nest – about the size of the Geode at the Parc de la Villete in Paris, shimmering 10 feet in front of me. Two days before, my spouse and I had argued about destroying a hornet nest hanging from a redbud tree. “It’s dangerous. The grandkids could die!’” my spouse prophesied. So far, counter arguments that hornets are excellent predators of insect pests like spotted lantern flies and the brown marmorated stink bug had prevailed. Claiming that the poison spray exterminators use to kill hornets is far more dangerous that the chance of getting stung, especially since the redbud was in a far corner of the yard, gained a respite, however temporary. Young bears had recently been spotted in the nearby watershed. “Did you know hornet larvae are full of protein and make a delicious meal for bears?” I queried. “We are much more likely to have a bear destroy the nest then a grandkid getting stung,” I hopefully exclaimed.  His reaction was skeptical silence, but so far, no call to the dead bug guy.

 Was this the hornet god coming to thank me? Suddenly the light shifted and lifted me from the cushioned rocking chair. I pinched my self again and again- I was awake, this was real.

As the light enveloped me, it gently brought me inside the nest like sphere. Contrary to its appearance, it is diaphanous, not solid. I am afraid to breath and my heart pounds against my sternum. I can no longer hold my breath and I inhale just a little. My cells carry the atmosphere through my body and I feel myself relax – like the first bit of anesthesia before surgery. The buzzing sounds turn into words that I can understand. “We thank you for your, since sentience, efforts on behalf of our ancestors. We invite you to join our collective.” “Holy shit,” I thought, “what am I going to do now? What happens if I say yes and what happens if I say no?” I am pretty happy with my life as it is but I have always dreamed of a moment like this. Dare I risk acceptance? I can breathe this atmosphere but what food could I eat if I am transported away? What if I never see my family again?

What appears to be a hinged thin door slides down and towards me. At the end is what looks like a bracelet made of digested cellulose and wasp spit. It looks just like the copper bracelet I wear on my right wrist to ease my arthritic elbow and shoulder. It shines like it has been imbued with tung oil and polished to radiance. It has interlocking folding pieces of wood pulp bent over and into each other. Gingerly, I stretch out my left arm and touch it. It resonates like a tuning fork that was brushed by a flying insect- barely perceptible yet soothing. I am helpless to resist and I put in on my left wrist. It slides on easily and then, without warning starts to shape itself exactly to the contours of my bones. My heartrate skyrockets- is my hand about to be chopped off? It settles on my wrist, not too tight or too loose and I sense it adhering to my skin. I grab it with my right hand and try to yank it off. It does not budge. Remembering how I learned to swim through submerged aquatic vegetation (slowly while letting the fronds slip away) I try again, gently, and it slips off. There is no visible mark on my arm. “What the hell,” I think as I slip it back on my wrist and watch and feel it adhere again.

The next sensation I have is floating back to my cushioned rocking chair. The sphere dissipates. I feel more relaxed than I can ever remember. I wear the gifted bracelet everywhere, only taking it off at night. After a couple of weeks, I realize I do not need my glasses anymore. I hear more distinctly- even my spouse. My aches and pains are gone. I dare not go to any scientist or doctor- they will think I am crazy. Maybe I am.