by Ezra Solway
After my wife transformed into a honey bee my first words were Oh god! I thought I was in some sort of fugue or hypnagogic state. Even her sleep mask had shrunk down to her new bee-size. She was confused, of course. It was hard to calm her down. What’s happening to me? she hummed. I tried my hand at cuddling her but she was so small. She buzzed around my palm and furiously rubbed her tiny legs together. She looked up at me with those hairy compound eyes, all five of them. I tried not to panic. I didn’t know what to do. I sipped coffee by the window but she kept flying into it. She begged for me to stay, but I had work. Somebody had to bring home the honey, I joked. She didn’t find that one funny. It was too soon.
And yet no one seemed to notice. My wife’s job in fashion was remote anyway so not a lot changed. We still doted on each other, watched old Western movies, fell into the shape of routine. Sometimes I worried my wife would sting me, effectively killing herself. But she was a dyed in the wool pacifist, luckily. When I got depressed, she suggested I garden. Aster, lavender, some fruits and vegetables. She showed me how to nourish soil and trellis produce. It was new, this feeling. Weeks passed. Then one day a heap of flowers came into bloom. I watched my wife probe an aster to collect its nectar. On our wedding day, she had similar clarity in her eyes. We were going to make it, I thought. All these years later and I was still nuts about her.
Ezra Solway is an author based in New York. He received an MFA in Creative Writing from Temple University. His writing has appeared in The Philadelphia Inquirer, McSweeney's Internet Tendency, Lost Balloon, One Art, among others. He enjoys table tennis, independent bookstores, and cooking for his lovely wife. Follow on Instagram @EzraSolway.
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