Fly

I was reminded today of a story that with the wonder of Google I have discovered was in The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd.

The bee landed on the state map I kept tacked on the wall. I watched it walk along the coast of South Carolina on scenic Highway 17. I clamped the mouth of the jar against the wall, trapping it between Charleston and Georgetown. When I slid on the lid, it went into a tailspin, throwing itself against the glass over and over with pops and clicks, reminding me of the hail that landed sometimes on the windows...

Late that afternoon I caught two more bees. Lying on my stomach across the bed, I watched how they orbited the space in the jar, around and around like they'd missed the exit...

That night I looked at my jar of bees on the dresser. The poor creatures perched on the bottom barely moving, obviously pining away for flight. I remembered the way they'd slipped from the cracks in the walls and flown for the sheer joy of it...I unscrewed the lid and set it aside.

"You can go," I said.

But the bees remained there, like planes on a runway not knowing they'd been cleared for takeoff. They crawled on their stalk legs around the perimeter of the glass as if the world had shrunk to that jar. I tapped the glass, even laid the jar on its side, but those crazy bees stayed put...

The bee jar sat on the bedside table, empty now. Sometime since this morning the bees had finally gotten around to flying off...I had such a moment right then, standing in my own ordinary room. I heard a voice say, Lily Melissa Owens, your jar is open.