I’ve never been stung by a bee before. Ever. When I saw that movie My Girl, and Macaulay Culkin dies from the bee stings, I became afraid that I was allergic to bee stings and if I ever got stung, I would die. Today, I came face-to-face with this fear. I was attacked by a swarm of angry bees. And by swarm, I mean two. But these two got me. One on my palm, and the other by my elbow.I was out in the neighbor’s yard trying to be neighborly. I was cutting down his forest of weeds, and pruning the lilac bushes. I was enjoying being outside, the sun on my face, a cool breeze through my hair. I was feeling good about helping a neighbor, a friend. I was carrying a load of brush when I felt a pinch on my palm. I thought it was just a thorn. But I looked down and it was a bee! And then another pinch on my arm! Oh my god! I’ve been hit! I gotta get out of here!
I did what any other normal grown man would do. I screamed like a girl and ran. I ran for my life. I could feel the swarm of bees around me, and I pictured myself in a hospital bed with my body swollen, just hanging on. My family sitting in the waiting room, crying, and the doctor explaining to them that these were killer bees. The end was near. I could feel the throbbing in my hand and arm. I thought maybe I got hit in more than one place. I seemed ok though. Or was I? I was experiencing shortness of breath. Was this because I was running? Or because my throat was swelling up? So I did what any other normal grown man would do. I called my mom. I wash it, I ice it. I make a mixture of baking soda and water to spread on my wounds. But I feel like maybe I’m dizzy. Or do I just think I’m dizzy. I can’t tell. The baking soda mixture keeps drying and flaking off and now there is a trail around the house. I’m afraid to sit down, or lay down, because I might not wake up again. So I keep eating. I eat because my life depends on it.
It’s been a few hours and I’m still here. I’ve survived through the worst of it. I’ve survived through the dizziness, the shortness of breath. Through the hunger and baking soda paste. I look outside and see the scene of where the assault happened. Tools scattered around the yard. A pile of brush strewn about. The yard is quiet, desolate. I think it’s time to go back. To face it. To make a stand. They started it, but I’m going to finish it. You tell them I’m coming!… and hell’s coming with me…
I’m a survivor (what),
I’m not gonna give up (what),
I’m not gon’ stop (what),
I’m gonna work harder (what)…