Kamikaze Cicada

One of these benign, but no less annoying, pests is fluttering crazily outside my window. You get the impression he knows he’s got a shelf life of about a week, and is desperate to mate, because if it doesn’t happen now, then he’s screwed, in a manner of speaking.

This is reminding me of something Gordon said last Friday night. “If you see two of them mating, you can pull them apart.” I’m remembering how easily he picked one up, by its paper thin wings, and then gently set him back down again. Taking note of this simple indication of manual dexterity, I realized he would be a very good kisser. I imagine that his mouth would feel, at first, like papery wings and then become firmer and fuller, but still a little tentative. The beginning of a new kind of dialogue would be born between us.

I regret that I didn’t have the guts to pick up one of these uncoordinated insects last Friday night. It reminded me of being on the playground in sixth grade when the boy I like asked me to pick up a worm, and I was too squeamish. I had failed his little test of “how fun are you?” And I felt similarly that I’d passed up a chance to show Gordon the little daredevil I still have inside. Somehow, though, I don’t think it’s too late to feel a cicada’s wing.