The Bug

The air itself felt like little creatures were alighting and setting all around you, like being grazed and landed upon by a little unknown, and being so rudely reminded of the unwanted return of life. The trees were regaining their leaves and in their crowns had lights that shone down on the gathering below. The warmth of the season was less like a hearth and more like a disquieting lingering.

I felt we were all put off by it: the humid, dark evening and the restless sound of insects hidden around the grove. There was the charm of socialization about but I hadn't partaken in much of it. After I left, I, if anyone had noticed my arrival and applications of the required pleasantries, might've been accused of attending only for a meal. If so, I wouldn't mind it, as it was all I had somewhat enjoyed thus far.

The whole event, being hosted in the grassy backlands of a well-built home, had left an impression upon me that I was at an event beyond the range of my social caliber. This was not from the hasty tables pitched in the dry grass, but due to the apparent high-class of the attendees, and the fact I had only chanced myself here by appearing in lieu of another attendee. Therefore, at my arrival, I quickly conducted reconnaissance of the field and found myself an empty table, and positioned myself as far from its only other inhabitant, who seemed just as disinterested as I.

However, to my misfortune, it quickly filled with other attendees. They, with, say, half a sheet to the wind between them, quickly adopted talk of far off markets, wars, histories, and values, shaded by the tall trees. That was when I, dually discomforted by the dull atmosphere and din, and freshly through with my second plate, saw the bug.

It was an arm's length away from the edge of the cloth-covered table, invading the polite society's dinner. I saw the wormlike being raise its thin, small front, wave around as if it was conducting a similar reconnaissance to mine, and place itself back down, stretching forward. Then, it quickly brought its rear feet forward as well, creating a hump in its middle, and then straightened itself out again. It followed the same pattern, moving its way by the littlest of steps to the edge of the table-cover. It reared up its head and frailly looked about, but saw nothing but the arduous drop to the grass below. It followed the round edge of the table and reared up again, only to go back down and continue on.

By now, the older gentleman to my right had noticed also, and was as enchanted as I. He sat back in his chair and his sight fell over the persevering bug, as it, no larger than a centimeter, inched on around the edge of the table.

I had wanted to reward the bug. I upturned a near empty plastic bottle and let the drops drain into the cap. I then placed the basin before the bug. It, however, scorned my pristine oasis, and continued on. The man's sight now seemed to judge me too. As the rest of the table continued on with some unlearned discussions of nationalizations and instigations, we both focused on the vain attempts of the bug to find a suitable exit from the table. It moved forward its head, brought its rear to meet, and repeated like a little loop, as if it was pulling itself forward by its head. It moved fast, perhaps frantically even, but that seemed its natural gait. Now, I tried again to offer it a reward. Perhaps its thirst was long quenched, but what did this delicate creature even eat? I saw that landed in the midst of the table was a small twig, smothered in tiny leaves. I placed this before the creature, and to this too it paid no heed. Now, perhaps, the gentleman felt it had come his time to offer help to the minuscule being.

He took up a broad, colored napkin and offered the magical carpet ride to the small thing. It approached with its signature stretching pulling motion, and apprehensively viewed its offering. After a second of deliberation, it boarded.

The gentleman quickly pivoted and lowered the napkin off the edge of the table, holding it a foot off the ground. He shook it, but the creature did not drop. He did so again, then resorted to direct means. He took his hand and flicked at the creature.

"Why don't you just lower the napkin to the ground?", I offered, startled.

The bug held onto its ride. The gentleman tried again, and this time, his finger connected with the bug. It tumbled into the short, yellow-green grass.

He looked up at me and smiled, placed the napkin back on the table, and rejoined the conversation.