THE SONG OF THE CICADAS

It was the dog days of summer, the night was hot and humid, moist and sultry. The cicada bugs were droning in the trees, their endless rhythm as constant as the heat. Both relentless in their purpose.

The sweat trickled down Clair’s spine, saturating her tank top, a constant stream of dampness pooling at the waistband of her shorts. She breathed in short gasping breaths. She lifted her water bottle to her face and reveled in the slight physical relief as the ice-cold bottle offered only a fragment of reprieve from the oppressiveness of the night. This of all nights just had to be the night when her air conditioner crashed; of course, it had been working overtime this week as the heat wave stretched on day after day, night after night, culminating in yet another day of weather alerts for extreme heat.

The city had become a desert or like the city of Chernobyl, a ghost town.  All those that were able, had left the city to find the cooling waters of cottage country or encroach on distant relatives who lived outside the city.  Those people who had no place to go this weekend were spending quiet days in front of their air conditioners or fans. This park served as a quiet oasis within the city limits. Clair’s lonely apartment was directly opposite the park and her eleventh-floor apartment was as hot as the proverbial oven. The park bench where she now reclined was close to the small pond situated centrally in the park. She was hoping for a cooling breeze from the pond.

 It was well after midnight and a full moon shone brightly on the water.   It looked picture-perfect, a landscaper’s or photographer's dream, calm and peaceful, serenity personified. Clair had even given thought to taking a cool refreshing dip in the pond despite the numerous no swimming signs posted around the edge,

But after closer scrutiny and a quick survey of the pond and the surrounding areas, she was convinced otherwise.  Not only was there trash floating on top of the water but there was a carcass of a dead duck close to shore. Clair uncontrollably shivered and retreated to the park bench. She didn’t like dead things.

She sighed and took a long pull of her water bottle. It felt so good going down. She looked around the park, not even the night creatures that usually inhabited the park were stirring tonight. No raccoon patrolling for  goodies  in the trash cans, no city rats looking for crumbs from long-gone picnickers; even the owl that she heard hooting every night seemed to be silent tonight

A flash of lightning zig-zagged across the sky in the distance. It looked like the long-expected reprieve might be in sight. The city was long overdue for some rain to cool the sweltering inferno.

She heard a small sound on her left. Clair sat forward and stared in the direction of the sound, her senses suddenly as charged as the electricity in the air. She felt goosebumps on her arm and her heart started to palpitate, she had thought she was alone.

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He leaned silently against a tree, hidden by the shadows, watching…waiting.  Driven from his lonely lair, he too sought respite from the heat. Ever since this stranger had entered the park and caught his attention, he had watched her closely; ever since she had wandered towards the pond and discovered the duck he had silenced earlier. He didn't like ducks.

 He thought that she was pretty, maybe not classically pretty,  but she had that certain something, that “je ne sais quoi, as the French called it.

Tonight could be the night. The night he had been waiting for. Something had driven him to this park, it must be destiny. She raised her bottle to her face and moved it sensually over her skin. She was beautiful, he could see that now. Her mouth parted in what might be ecstasy,  like a woman's response to a lover's touch. A rush like he had rarely experienced filled him, it was a dizzying feeling, one of exhilaration and his breathing became laboured.  She would be his. She was the one. 

Lightening flashed, sending tingles along his spine. There was electricity in the air, it had nothing to do with the lightning, the static electrical charges in the cloud. This was all about her, electrons and protons, and all that science stuff was nothing compared to her. She was the source of that magnetic pull, that

curious chemistry he felt for her. That strange magic.

Clouds rolled in, covering the moon for long seconds and the park went dark except for the few lampposts scattered about. Most of the lampposts in this part of the park had either burned out long ago or had fallen victim to the skills of pernicious children bent on becoming more proficient at their pitching skills.  After an endless cycle of children breaking the lights and the city parks service workers repairing them, the city officials had finally determined that the taxpayer's money should be better spent elsewhere. Silly people, what could be more important than the safety of the city's denizens? Thus, this corner of the park would have been dark had not it been for the moon which now slipped in and out of the clouds casting a mysterious atmosphere over the night. But was it a night of romance or did the mood have more of an ominous feel to it?

The cloud cover broke and the full moon was again revealed in all its splendor. He watched as she raised her water bottle to her mouth, tipping back her head and revealing her long white throat to the moonlight. His body temperature, already high from the scorching heat, rose another few degrees, and as he took a step forward, a small tree branch crackled under his foot and he saw her glance in his direction, then look away.

Slowly, cautiously, he undid the buckle to his pants and pulled the belt free of its loops.

Slowly, carefully, he wound each end of the belt around each hand.

Slowly, patiently he waited for the clouds to cover the moon again and bathe the park in darkness while the Cicada sang their song.