The Letters - #3 - My Fellow Drone

Dear, dear friend,

You are so dear to me. You do know that, right? I hope so. I mean, I don't know how you couldn't. After all, I'm sure to say it before every letter I write to you.

Well, today I was passively preoccupied with my usual labor when one of the gents who works in the field stopped by for a visit. This individual can be described as homely, and deceptively intelligent (in this case I use that to mean his apparent intelligence is a deception). He asked me a question, "How are you?"

First of all, that question has always caused me great annoyance. I find it difficult to answer. I don't know how I am. Plus, isn't it grammatically incorrect? Maybe it isn't, but I'd rather he came in and said something different, something interesting. Like, "Today, I just realized that I am an ignorant, small-minded man. I am usually unconcerned with most matters outside myself. My world is exceedingly small and I need to grow and learn and explore, instead of just eating, sleeping, and working my life away." I would have found that completely compelling and my opinion of him would have instantly changed.


However, it is nice of him to ask me how I am; whatever that means, I'm sure he meant the best by it. Usually, when he asks me that, I just say "yes." Then, he looks at me with some confused facial expression which I can only imagine to be his mindless brain thinking some mindless thought that only brainless minds think. I can't even imagine. Anyways, I ask it back. "How are you?"

He says "I'm alright. Today has been a long day. We've had a lot of orders." "Sounds great," I reply, "it's good to be busy." "Yes," he says, "more honey for the hive." I laugh. He laughs. I say "more ants for the antelope." He gives me the same confused look as earlier. "Well, I've got to get back to work," I say. "Yeah, so do I." He turns to leave. "Have a good day, fellow worker bee." He says. "You too, you blubbering idiot." I think. "You too. ...Buzz buzz!" I say. We both laugh.

Before going around the corner of the office to leave, he turns, smiles, and puts his hand into a fist except for his index finger which he points outward. Then, he moves this fist down to his rear. He's a full fledged bumblebee now, stinger and all. "You better get out of here." I jokingly yell. "I'm allergic to bumble bees."

He laughs, turns the corner, and leaves.

And that was the last I ever saw of him.

I mean, that was the last I ever saw of him today. Gosh, rereading that, I can see how that looks. It looks like I'm saying he died. Goodness, no! I'll probably see him again tomorrow.

And maybe tomorrow, he'll be an ant.

And, I suppose, I'll be one too.