getting the sting out
It’s one year since that terrible, beautiful, wicked summer and I'm taking stock.
I was stung by a wasp yesterday. I stood in the backyard of my partner’s partner’s partner’s dad holding a beer, when it suddenly flew away from me, angrily. It wasn’t stuck, or anything. It hadn’t been cornered into anything. It just wanted to sting me.
In that moment, I felt giggly. The wasp wouldn’t leave me alone. It was trying to get into my hair, and the women and I ran indoors so it would stop chasing us. One wasp controlling three women. A discussion started. H told me the stinger was still in my arm and we needed to get it out. It was still moving. E pinched my skin with her nails to get the stinger out. Do we suck out the venom? No, apparently it’s not good to suck out the venom? J came in. ‘You need to suck out your girlfriend’s venom!’ H said. J looked confused.
We used a little sucking tool and I received an ice pack. Everyone in the kitchen was worried and fluttering around me. Hold the ice pack against your arm, they said. But not directly, wrap it into a towel. Can you hold it? A discussion started again. Can you actually feel the ice? Does it hurt? E accidentally gave me a huge hickey with the sucking tool.
It’s the summer of 2026 and the ache has left my body. It’s one year since that terrible, beautiful, wicked summer and I’m still roaming the streets of my lush town picking brambles, staring at the sky. But this August, I’m also at a family birthday gathering for people I hadn’t even met last summer.
Some days I feel like I’m holding a baby that’s growing too quickly. I can’t comprehend the ways in which it’s growing. I can’t comprehend the shape my life is taking.
I’m in the family backyard holding my ice pack against my arm, sitting on a picnic blanket. I’m eating bread and cheese.
I think I’m really getting there.
