Short Story: Broken Social Scene - Bee Hives

The swirling dirt and dust around her feet seemed to guide Julie forward, waving in her direction from ground level. Hoping that the air could tell her what last night could not, she followed the tiny vortex down the quiet concrete of the abandoned main street. Two birds flew quietly overhead as she crossed to the other side, still following this jinn of cigarette ash and road dirt. Clouds gathered overhead, threatening to mask the rays of a wan and silvery sunlight that pervaded the atmosphere of Stuart Nebraska.

Julie Wainsworth was not a tall woman. This particular morning she reflected that it is at times an advantage to be short, the wind passed over her while the trees looked as though they might lie down for a nap after straining so long to stand up. She had been born to a mixed family, her mother's Omaha side lost somewhere in the history of family bibles and alcohol and her father's ancestry some uniquely American mix of French-Canadian, Irish and something else. Her mother had been a quiet woman and she inherited most of her features, broad face, good hips, short height and a quiet demeanor. The other people here had always treated her with a distanced respect and she preferred it that way.

All of this past seemed to fade into dream as she continued following the tiny tornado west out of town and into the endless fields of commercial farming and cattle. It always hit her like a punch in the gut, seeing the pesticide laden soil groan under the weight of profit and the endless ambition of American business. Trying to find an audience for her feelings had always been impossible in a town of a few hundred farmers and their kin. Julie spent her nights alone as a child, staring out at the stars from a tree and wishing there was some way out of here, laughing deeply as age and wisdom taught her that "out there" was no different for a thousand miles on either side of the town.

It was mid-morning now and the crowded farm buildings gave way to the open sky and endless fields of their pursuits. Her feet stopped short as the vortex halted suddenly next to an access road, about 20 feet in front of her. It moved very slowly down the access road and she stood there, wondering just what the hell she was doing. She was certain that the bank manager had been calling her mother's house for several hours at this point, she was at least three hours late for her shift. Why did it seem so far away? So unimportant? Fuck it, she thinks and walks down the access road, chasing this tiny spirit.

An hour and a half later, the jinn stopped again near a telephone pole and suddenly dropped it's payload in a poof of dust and ash. Julie coughed and wiped her eyes , red sparks playing against her eyelids and Nebraska trying to force it's way into her throat. As the faerie light of her eyes cleared into the glare of the afternoon, a pay phone resolved into focus sitting next to the pole. It looked as though it had been there for sixty years, wind worn and faded from a life in the wild. A wild pay phone? Is it tamed?

The musings of herds of wild pay phones broke into iron tinged fear as the phone began to ring, piercing the windy solitude of her portable temple. Three shrill rings and she stood there, petrified at the way her day had gone. Silence for a moment, a released breath escapes her lips. The phone rings again and her chest seizes up. It's still ringing. Her hand reaches for the receiver, shaking and terrified. As the earpiece hits her ear and she begins to say hello, her lips freeze mid speech as the tinny speaker springs to life.

A sound like bees swimming through an ocean of digital waves gives way to a guitar in the distance telling the tales of her life. She strains against the hot black plastic to hear each note as the story unfolds in her mind's eye. The ground gives way beneath her, an earthquake lifts the red brown dust into the sky and the farm folds back in on itself. Every emotion of her life is turned into a digital pulse, converted by the aged and worn out telephone system and output through this minuscule electromagnet. Her eyes roll back in her head as the sky stares down at this strange sight, birds chirping their questions at the trees and the trees retaining their knowing silence.

Julie Wainsworth is dead now. That's what everyone in Stuart knows to be true. The county coroner confirmed that heart failure led to her demise. If he only knew how true that was. Her heart had failed years ago, this tiny town had never spoken to her and it was sheer willpower that kept her limping along. I know the truth says the tree. She has gone home across the wires around my fingers. Her body lay at my feet that spring morning, but Julie was racing across the plains, waving her goodbyes to the land that gives us life. Julie was my friend, she lived among my branches as a young-ling and stared at the stars until her tears fed my roots. I know Julie Wainsworth, I know her fears, I know her wishes and I know she smiles now.

Julie Wainsworth is not dead.