by Andrew Novak
I was in fifth grade when the new principal gave a talk about his favorite hobby, beekeeping.
I was in fifth grade when the new principal gave a talk about his favorite hobby, beekeeping.
The man was much nicer than the previous principal. He brought some of his bees to school with samples of the honey he harvested. As part of his presentation in the fifth-grade atrium, he donned his beekeeping hat and sprayed smoke into the air with a bee smoker.
“This is what I do for fun,” he told us. His hat wobbled on his head.
We all clapped.
After the presentation we ate oyster crackers dipped in the different varieties of honey.
Even the bad kids were smiling and having a good time.
As the event wound down, I lingered around to see some of the principal’s bees up close.
The principal spotted me, my nose only inches from the glass of one of his bee boxes.
“You like them?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Take a look at this one.”
The principal reached into a breast pocket on his khaki vest and withdrew a clear glass vial. He lowered it to my face. There was a bee inside.
“Look,” he said.
It seemed like any other bee, and I think the principal knew that’s what I was thinking.
“Take a closer look,” he said, smiling. “Go on.”
I squinted my eyes. I saw the bee’s wings twitching, and its legs moved a bit. Then I focused on the head, which also twitched. That’s when I noticed.
One of the bee’s eyes closed and reopened.
The bee had winked at me.
My jaw fell into a sort of gaping smile. I looked up at my principal, who simply grinned back, nodding.
I turned to see if anyone else was around. Nobody was.
I looked again at my principal. Still smiling, he raised his index finger to his lips.
“Our secret,” he whispered.
I nodded yes, okay.
Then the principal began dissolving into thin air. He waved at me. I waved back as he faded into nothing.
I never saw that man again.
END
