J9

I got stung by a bee yesterday.

There isn’t much to do around here during winter break. I suppose I could call old friends so that we could catch up and enjoy each others company like we once did before. I suppose I could spend time with my family like we are told we are supposed to do during the holidays. I suppose there are a lot of things I could be doing. But, more than anything else, I wanted to go for a bike ride yesterday. I hoped on my dad’s bike and took off with no particular destination. I made turns on to streets I never had before, trying to experience new places and new things as best I could on this two wheeled vehicle. I rode through a neighborhood I usually tried to stay away from. I had never seen as many “beware of dog” signs and rednecks with bbq’s in one block before. Confederate flags lined the streets of this neighborhood, a sight I hope not to see again any time soon. Although the people were friendly, I had enough of a taste of the “south” in my mouth to last me a lifetime. I left the neighborhood to head towards the beach.

I made a turn and found myself next to a cemetery. When you only live ten feet above sea level, it is rare to find a cemetery in your town. There was a sign inside that declared it a historical site so, with nothing better to do, I went in. The sign said that this was the first cemetery of Venice, Florida, and it dated back to the 19th century. Feeling like I was in a cheesy music video, I walked around looking at the old tombstones. Some were big. Some were small. Some had been there since the early 1900’s. Some others were just put there this year. I made my way through all of the rows, admiring the fake brightly colored flowers.  Wherever there was a spot in which the flowers fell over, I made sure to put them upright again.  I thought that the people who put them there would be upset to see their flowers turned over.  They might have been sad to see their flowers dead looking and covered in dirt, just like their friend.  I got bit by an ant as I was doing this.  I didn’t care, but thought it might have been a sign from underground that maybe I was not supposed to be there and moved on.  I saw a big white tombstone that, because of its massive size, I was reluctant to go visit it.  I feel like I fit in better with the little and plain ones.  But, the cemetery was small and I would have felt bad if I had stopped by all the other tombstones and not the big one.  So, I walked up to the last one expecting to read a long extravagant description of the person buried below.  I expected to hear of their accomplishments as a father or mother, daughter or son, sister or brother. I expected a lot more than what I got.  1888-1930.  That’s what I read.  No name, no birthplace, no familial relations listed.  I walked around it twice to make sure I wasn’t missing out on something.

There was nothing there; just a date on the large white slate.   It wasn’t shiny, nor was it smooth.  I sat there for a while with this unknown soul, trying to connect with what little I had.  I imagined many of the different possibilities of who could be buried below.  Maybe it was someone famous who wanted to go out silently.  Maybe it was some rich pretentious asshole who never would have noticed me if I lived in their day.  Either way, they were nobody now.  They had no flowers, no adornments, or even words written on their tombstone.  I felt empty sitting there, knowing that the dead person below must feel the same way.  As I was getting ready to leave I noticed a small gray spot hanging over from the back of the tombstone.  I walked around to the back again and saw a bee hive that I had not noticed before.  Without any thought to it, I used my barefoot to kick the bee hive off the unknown souls memorial.  This person had nothing, but I would not allow their only possession to be used by insects as a home.  I would not allow this person to be only appreciated by bees.  Bees came out from nowhere swarming the area, probably feeling as if they were under attack.  I didn’t turn away.  I didn’t feel bad.  A particularly vengeful bee stung me on my foot.  I didn’t turn away.  I didn’t feel bad.  I kicked another bee and walked away to my bike.

The sting was totally worth it.