An Ode to Leptoglossus occidentalis Heid
We've had some good times, you and I, West Conifer Seed Bug. I gotta hand it to you; most bugs make me screechy and on-edge. I mean, I'm the girl who put out for some guy in another dorm just so I wouldn't have to sleep in the room I once found a cockroach in. So how'd you do it, West Conifer? Make me gruffly come to accept you, to view you as one of the family? Baby, I'll never forget the first time. You were on the staircase in the dark; it was my first weekend back after school started in September. You were dead by then, and I swept you aside with disgust and curiosity. The next morning, I found three of you nesting comfortably in my bathroom. Then Mom gave me the news: You were here to stay. You were the bug of Concord, Massachusetts this season, and you weren't going anywhere.
And my love, let's face it, you're not exactly the prettiest mug on the beetle block. We've already established that bugs aren't my thing, but the truth is, you have the delicate visage of a cockroach subjected to cruel breeding experiments with a street sign. I always thought that if anything could bring me to love a bug, it would be aesthetics, but you showed me that there was so much more. I'll never forget that day when I found you crawling on the seats of Reisinger during rehearsal for Man of No Importance, and as the cast shrieked and glared at you, it was I who stepped forward, gleefully proclaimed: "It's a West Conifer seed bug!", and murdered you. The rest of them looked on with confusion and disgust, wondering what I was doing palling around with the likes of you; but there's some things that just stay between you and me, I guess.
And there's something else that's true: Of all the bugs I've known in my life, you are the gentlest. Sure, you reek when killed, but who can blame you? We all find our way to remind the universe that we existed. I find myself periodically recalling the fruity stench of your corpse with certain nostalgia. Though you have wings, you almost never fly. Even though you're always five feet away, you never try and crawl into bed with me. You usually stay in the grates above my sink, dropping down occasionally to die. You stop crawling when I move, and you give me my space. You don't bite, sting, or eat my food. I respect you, because you respect me. Though I kill at least six of you per day when I'm visiting the parents and staying in my old room, it's always with a certain resigned contentment. As the weather got warmer towards the tail end of spring break, which ends on Monday, you started turning out in battalions. It was nice to see you busting out, trying to get out to enjoy the sweet summer air (and Douglas firs), even though many of you never made it following chance encounters with my Payless Shoe Source platform shoe.
My father still screams like a little girl when he finds you lurking among his treasured plants; Gregory has trouble sleeping when he spies one of you shuffling down the hall. But it's okay, West Conifer. Don't let it get you down. Not everyone can understand you; they can't get past appearances. You're nothing but twitching antennae to them, a fistful of cash forked over to an exterminator. I once tried to show off a picture of you to some friends, and they disdainfully asked me to refrain from showing them pictures of "nasty creepy-crawly things." At one time, I knew how that felt. But nowadays, I don't let anyone get away with such intolerance. We've been through so much together this year.
When Matt and I broke up, I came home for the weekend to watch sitcoms contemplate. I didn't even feel like talking to my mom and dad; but you were there, West Conifer. You came striding in like you owned the place, and you didn't let me feel sorry for myself. With an angry buzzing frenzy around my head as I brushed my teeth that Saturday morning, you inspired me to get up and move on with my life. Later, when I grappled with my feelings for Dan, you burst into the room and with a few crinkles of the antennae, reminded me that I was about to let one of the best things that could ever happen to me pass me by. And when I finally brought him home to meet the parents, and beheld with joy how well everyone got along, you were there, in the corner by the orange plant, winking.
As I checked the boxes on the housing preference form for Melbourne tonight, I thought of you. I looked online to see if there was any hope of seeing you in Australia: There wasn't. You followed me to New York, but there are some distances that you just can't overcome. And I just wanted you to know, West Conifer seed bug: I'm gonna miss you.
Emily