Sunday, June 5, 2011

The Cicadas

During the summer between my 8th and 9th grade year (I think), the 7-year and 17-year cicadas emerged from the ground at the same time. The noise was deafening every night. They were everywhere - blackish two-inch bodies and little red beady eyes. When one would crush a cicada with either their foot or their fingers, they would make the most satisfyingly disgusting crunch sound. I just got the eeby-jeebies.

Anyway, at about that time, I really hated my little brother. I actually loved him dearly - and still do, but he got in the way of my daily activities, because I was always made to let him play with my friends and me. So yeah, I kind of didn't like him. However, I never missed a chance to pick on him, as if it were some sort of fee or compensation for hanging around my cool self. Well, I eventually learned that my little brother was definitely not a fan of these cicadas. So here's what I did:

I found an empty Folgers coffee can - you know, the huge, metal one that holds what seems to be enough coffee to last a thousand years, but really it only lasts a few days? Yeah. That one. Anyway, I took it upon myself to spend about two hours catching every cicada I could and putting each one into that coffee can until there was absolutely no room for any more of those bugs. The coffee can vibrated from all the buzzing inside (I'm pretty sure they were pissed off - at least to some degree), and even I was somewhat grossed out by the whole thing.

I hid behind the corner of the house and called my brother's name: "Richieeeeee! Hey! Richieeeeee! Come here! I have something to show you!"

Little Brother, unknowingly and possibly a bit too trusting, emerged from the front door of the house and immediately began running to the side of the house, where I was crouched...waiting...giggling.

I pulled the lid off the coffee can as fast as I could, and in one fluid motion, I stood up and dumped the can's entire contents onto the head of my little brother. And yes, I definitely was laughing in that maniacal giggle that only truly evil children can make.

I'm not sure how loud he was screaming, but his wails seemed to blend perfectly with the screeching of the cicadas. I stood there, laughing and watching my little brother flail his arms wildly, until a very strong hand grabbed the top of my arm like a pair of channel locks.

It was my mom. And she was pissed. That woman beat my ass until I made it a resolution to never sit down again. And to top it off, I was grounded.

God, it was worth it.

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