underneath

“momma, can we go outside? i want to hug the bees. i know they will want to play today. i just know it.”
She shot me the, oh for god’s sake not again, look – how many times can a kid get stung before she stops this madness?
“now sweetie, the bees are very busy and can’t understand that you want to play with them. please stay away from the rhododendron and find something else to do.”
Like any willful four year old, I sure as hell was going straight for that giant bee-filled bush. I entered into the lush igloo, looking to make sure my momma wasn’t watching me. In I sat, beneath the magenta blossoms that swirled in fragrant layers above me. I could hear my momma’s voice and smell cigarette smoke, which meant she was on the phone.
I’m underneath, in my own world of right and wrong and no one knows I’m here. Except the bees. And today they will stop to play.
“hi, it’s me. will you play with me today?”
With a grin of assuredness, I reached my small hand upward into the canopy of flowers filled with bees of all sizes and kinds. My prowling fingers approached a fat bumblebee dusted in furry pollen. Like a prospector to gold, I carefully plucked the bee from the blossom. Bang, I was shot in the palm and throbbing pain ensued.
Deep within, a fury rose from my stomach to chest, chest to mouth. No, no don’t scream Julia or momma will know you are here again and she told you not to. She told you not to play with bees.
Underneath, I listened to the cacophony of their wings as my hand throbbed in unison. My momma laughed in the background and I realized she still hadn’t seen me in the forbidden bush. I looked at my hand covered in holes and bumps from previous stings and then at the fresh stinger lodged in it. It hurt so badly. Why wouldn’t they play with me?
I closed my eyes, laid down and smelled the grey smoke wafting between branches.
Underneath, I wanted to love and I wanted to play. But it sure did hurt. Tomorrow, I would try again.