Queen Beepublished: 2010-08-31
All of them, the same faces. The ones I’d forgotten but immediately remembered. They buzzed around the foyer, like bees protecting their honey, the pot of gold. Which one of them flew closest to the Queen Bee? By her side? Which bee knew to stroke her the right way, the right time? Excite her, woo her, caress her until the sap of success oozed out of her big fat body, allowing him and only him to suck on it. He was the one they should get to first, smile at and laugh with, then preferably sting while none of the others were watching.
Queen Bee, oh dear Queen Bee. Will you ever see me? One of a million working bees? I hover quietly in a corner, tired from work. I wait patiently, stupidly, as the years pass and even the less agile bees know to fight their way into the inner circle. I have been stung as they passed me, many times. Last night I hoped their sting would not reach me in my corner. Yet they did. Eventually, I flew away. Away from their oohs, and aahs. Such a wonderful texture the honey has this year, they all exclaimed. So clear, so refined, a perfect balance. And you Queen Bee look on as the one closest to you takes the stage to thank his four most intimate workers, the ones he’s worked with for years, and years. And to thank you, of course, last but especially not least. The rest of us know what we are to do. We are to applaud. And so we cheer, we buzz as loudly as we can and none of us tell you this honey was the worst ever. It was dirty and had gone sour. As you were blinded, dear Queen Bee, by what you so desperately want to see in him, need to see. Because in fact the one closest to you is the lesser of the bees. But why should you fly a little higher Queen Bee, just a litte? When you are perfectly comfortable where you’re at. Look over their heads, just once. And see.