the back of the coop, rests the paper thin exoskeleton of a cicada, shed and discarded in its final moult. Now hollow and empty. Ghostly in its frame.
He squats down next to the July fly so that it is eye level. Brown and flaky as an autumn leaf. As frail. He can see right through where its eye once was. ‘Well, I’ll be …’ His breath releases in a soft whistle as he bends closer.
‘Cool, isn’t it?’ Her eyes are glowing.
‘I reckon that’s one word for it.’
They stare in silence at the discarded husk before them. She kneels on the grass beside him. A tiny crack along the spine where the July fly shed its skin and climbed free. He imagines the creature, all slimy and new. Wonders where it went. Where it is now. At length, Jasper turns to the girl beside him. ‘Do you want it?’ he asks. But he does not wait for her answer. Rises quickly, crosses the lawn and snaps a small branch off of a shrub. Returns and kneels at Doe Eyes’ side again, twig in hand. The girl watches his every movement. He can feel her eyes on him, prying into him, but he doesn’t turn to meet her gaze. Ignores it. Bends over the July fly’s shell instead. Intent.
The shade from the chicken coop across his face feels good, cool. Studying the task before him, Jasper whispers, ‘We’ve got to be real careful now,’ and gently pries at the creature’s legs with his tiny twig. Inside the coop, a chicken clucks as feathers rustle feathers, sound muted through the weathered boards.
‘You know,’ Jasper continues softly, ‘it’s a rare thing to find a July fly’s husk like this. Takes thirteen years for ’em to shed their skins. Did you know that? Yep, thirteen years.’ Gently he shakes one leg loose from its grip on the coop. Moves on to the next. Hand steady. ‘That’s longer than you’ve been livin’, ain’t it?’
She giggles.
The second leg comes free. ‘I got to be real careful now, you see, so as I don’t crack the shell. It’s a frail thing, a July fly’s skin. Like china.’ He smiles. ‘See how you can nearly see right through it? Yep,’ he murmurs, more to himself now than to the girl. ‘It sure is just ’bout paper thin.’
He can feel the girl’s breath across his fingers, warm and sticky, as he slowly works the July fly free. He likes the feel of it. The catches in it as sometimes she holds a breath or skips one, afraid he’ll crack the shell. He wants to be careful for her. Wants his hands to be steady enough, tender enough, not to ruin it. For her. But it’s been a long time since he felt another’s breath upon him.
‘Careful!’ she gasps on her inhale, and he likes the breathless feel of it across his hands.
Yes, careful, Jasper, careful.
And he struggles to focus on the bug before him. Third leg pried free. Fourth. The husk rattles slightly in the breeze, barely holding the shed now. The hollow eye sockets stare out bleakly. Blindly. He thinks back to his first night back home, and wonders why Lizzie mentioned it then. That memory. Wonders why she brought up the July fly from all those years back that, when he was a boy, shed its skin on him. All those years back. ‘Mistook him for a tree.’ That’s what Mama’d said.
Mistook him for a tree …
‘Must feel good to hold onto someone and shed your skin like that.’ That’s what he’d told Lizzie that first night home. He repeats the words to himself now, as he struggles with the July fly’s final legs.
Doe Eyes leans closer, watching him, breath trapped inside her as she holds it, suspends it, waiting. His hand falters. The final leg snaps. A sound softer than a twig broken underfoot, more the sound a leaf makes, falling. But crisper.
Jasper does not see the leg break off. He does not see where the limb lands. Though he hears its snap amplified, ringing in his skull. The exoskeleton falls free into his palm. Dry as a corn husk. Pebble smooth. And he has to struggle to control his hand not to fist around it. He stops himself just
He squats down next to the July fly so that it is eye level. Brown and flaky as an autumn leaf. As frail. He can see right through where its eye once was. ‘Well, I’ll be …’ His breath releases in a soft whistle as he bends closer.
‘Cool, isn’t it?’ Her eyes are glowing.
‘I reckon that’s one word for it.’
They stare in silence at the discarded husk before them. She kneels on the grass beside him. A tiny crack along the spine where the July fly shed its skin and climbed free. He imagines the creature, all slimy and new. Wonders where it went. Where it is now. At length, Jasper turns to the girl beside him. ‘Do you want it?’ he asks. But he does not wait for her answer. Rises quickly, crosses the lawn and snaps a small branch off of a shrub. Returns and kneels at Doe Eyes’ side again, twig in hand. The girl watches his every movement. He can feel her eyes on him, prying into him, but he doesn’t turn to meet her gaze. Ignores it. Bends over the July fly’s shell instead. Intent.
The shade from the chicken coop across his face feels good, cool. Studying the task before him, Jasper whispers, ‘We’ve got to be real careful now,’ and gently pries at the creature’s legs with his tiny twig. Inside the coop, a chicken clucks as feathers rustle feathers, sound muted through the weathered boards.
‘You know,’ Jasper continues softly, ‘it’s a rare thing to find a July fly’s husk like this. Takes thirteen years for ’em to shed their skins. Did you know that? Yep, thirteen years.’ Gently he shakes one leg loose from its grip on the coop. Moves on to the next. Hand steady. ‘That’s longer than you’ve been livin’, ain’t it?’
She giggles.
The second leg comes free. ‘I got to be real careful now, you see, so as I don’t crack the shell. It’s a frail thing, a July fly’s skin. Like china.’ He smiles. ‘See how you can nearly see right through it? Yep,’ he murmurs, more to himself now than to the girl. ‘It sure is just ’bout paper thin.’
He can feel the girl’s breath across his fingers, warm and sticky, as he slowly works the July fly free. He likes the feel of it. The catches in it as sometimes she holds a breath or skips one, afraid he’ll crack the shell. He wants to be careful for her. Wants his hands to be steady enough, tender enough, not to ruin it. For her. But it’s been a long time since he felt another’s breath upon him.
‘Careful!’ she gasps on her inhale, and he likes the breathless feel of it across his hands.
Yes, careful, Jasper, careful.
And he struggles to focus on the bug before him. Third leg pried free. Fourth. The husk rattles slightly in the breeze, barely holding the shed now. The hollow eye sockets stare out bleakly. Blindly. He thinks back to his first night back home, and wonders why Lizzie mentioned it then. That memory. Wonders why she brought up the July fly from all those years back that, when he was a boy, shed its skin on him. All those years back. ‘Mistook him for a tree.’ That’s what Mama’d said.
Mistook him for a tree …
‘Must feel good to hold onto someone and shed your skin like that.’ That’s what he’d told Lizzie that first night home. He repeats the words to himself now, as he struggles with the July fly’s final legs.
Doe Eyes leans closer, watching him, breath trapped inside her as she holds it, suspends it, waiting. His hand falters. The final leg snaps. A sound softer than a twig broken underfoot, more the sound a leaf makes, falling. But crisper.
Jasper does not see the leg break off. He does not see where the limb lands. Though he hears its snap amplified, ringing in his skull. The exoskeleton falls free into his palm. Dry as a corn husk. Pebble smooth. And he has to struggle to control his hand not to fist around it. He stops himself just
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