The Bee Hunter

By Anita Marie Moscoso

I really wanted to write one of my ” Strange Tales ” about how I found the entrance to the Alluvial Mine…but hands down the truth was far better then anything I could have made up.

So here it is…

Anita Marie

 

When I was about six years old we used to drive by this building that looked exactly like the Post Office across town.

It was square and boxy and it had a ramp leading up to a set of double glass doors with a metal railing running along side of it. There were gold letters to the left of the door and gravel stuck to the face of the building, which looked pretty awful.

It reminded me of kitty litter.

One day we were driving by the Post Office’s Doppelganger and as the fates would have it the traffic light turned red and we came to a stop.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

I’d only been quiet about it because for the past year it seemed like any question I asked just got me into trouble…so I stopped asking them.

The ” post office” and the property it was on…it was too much for me to ignore anymore.

This question had finally burned a path from my brain to my mouth and the result was an explosion. I was sitting behind my Dad and I remember laughing so hard I choked on my own saliva.

I remember him looking into his rear view mirror and his green eyes were on fire, ” Anita what is your problem? “

” Dad, ” I choked ” why is there a post office in a graveyard?”

Well, it was true…to a point.

This was a cemetery we drove by and the building out in front of if that I’m referring to looked exactly like a post office.

My poor Parents. Probably like a lot of people they just ask the heavens to give them a healthy, happy child.

Like a lot of people though I’ll bet you never think to ask for your child to be sane.

My Dad just rolled his eyes to the heavens and told me because he had no intention of continuing the conversation” It’s a Columbarium. “

Now, all I heard was something that sounded like ” Barnum ” so I ask ” is that like a Circus? “

” Jesus Wept ” my Dad said and he shook his head and tried to ignore me for the next 30 years.

But as the light turned from red to green and my Dad was about to drive away I saw a group of people dressed in black walking in this little huddle and they were sort of hobbling up the ramp and through the doors of the…well, you know circus and I thought…

” I want in.”

I’m sorry to say I got my wish.

My Great Grandmother passed away a few months later and I found myself walking up that ramp towards the door surrounded by my family who were all dressed in black.

And then the doors swung open.

I can remember the little glass cases and the little brass urns inside of them. I remember the cool air and the quiet and the shiny marble floors and the way all of the sudden every single adult in my life looked small.

Yes sir, small and intimidated and scared.

I wish I could say I didn’t enjoy seeing that. I wish I could say I was a sensitive, thoughtful little girl and hated to see pain and suffering in the world around me.

I wasn’t like that.

I was the type of kid who use to go on ‘bee hunts’ I mean that, Bee Hunts. I use to take a paper bag, drop a piece of chocolate ho-ho into it and go around and collect bees.

If you have little fingers and patience you can pick those little monsters up and not get stung.

That’s the voice of experience talking.

Anyway, I’d get my little bag of bees and walk around with them all afternoon in the hopes that someone would ask ‘what’s in the bag?’

When someone finally asked I remember feeling all warm and happy inside and then I’d open the bag.

Ha, ha, ha.

So back to the Funeral…I asked someone what was in the ‘jars’ and some well meaning adult who thought I was normal learned down and took my chin into their hand and said quiet and solemn, ” those are people who have passed away Anita.”

I remember the tears came and I remember being given a nice clean hanky so I could dry my eyes. I covered my face with that starchy cloth and I remember my chest and shoulders heaved so hard it hurt.

Someone called my Mom and she managed to pull the handkerchief away from my face.

When she did that I was able to refill my lungs with enough air so that I could send my voice bouncing off those marble walls.

My little voice was amplified to concert level proportions so that everyone in the building could hear me as I laughed  ” Mommy, how’d they get those big people into those little tiny jars?”

The only person who smiled was the Funeral Director, he sort of winked at me and I shut up and I was good for the rest of the Service.

The thought came from nowhere and buried itself in my brain. ” I want to work here,” I remember thinking to myself.

Life is a funny thing; 26 years later I actually worked in that Columbarium.

So that day in the Columbarium was the day I found the entrance way to my ‘Alluvial Mine’ and it was a six year old who found it.

And then one day she decided to start writing…but that’s another story.So far she’s made some pretty good calls…

I do believe I’ll keep listening.