Voices on the Wind Obscure Voices
MY FRIEND FROM FOREVER by Dick Bakken Big gold-name-stamped journal 5/10/89 Bisbee Yelping, dodging, I ducked away from an enraged wasp bouncing off the front window into mirror. My Aunt glanced these wildest eyes, wrapped me to her lap. “O you know, Dickie, Dickie, if you dare hold your breath, they just don’t sting.” I trusted as a bloom of childhood. Out beyond the big sprinkler wrestle, I boasted spattered Donnie I’d bare-hand bees, curled my palms lifting honey buzzers off dandelions, secretly ballooning lungs, for Donnie’s huge eyes. Donnie gawked me kiss bees to this heart, my pooched lips. Begging, he pinky-promised his taps-bugling tin soldier. I laid out how animal breath must send mystery from our pores, maybe a vapor, if bees are to feel we’re alive. Clutching at blooms, Don yipped eee-Yow! That instant, I got my aunt meant only stay still and let them fly. Gaping his blistered thumb, I knew I had slipped free again. Not a tiny red nip or bumps all through this aching hair. Five years ago I lay too sickly to make our 25-year high school reunion, two more, I nearly passed. Clasping that alum send-out Donald Zolman had died, I felt those bees prickle his golden fleece, open eyes, swarmed genitals—and held my breath.