Dragonfly

There’s a dragonfly in the kitchen. It must have gotten in through the window. If I don’t get rid of it mum would be mad at me. It’s just zipping around the ceiling in that strange hovery way they have. I know I should do something, but instead I just watch as it pull smooth and carefree loops around the lights, darting in and out from between the bulbs, occasionally pausing to silently hover with its wings buzzing almost too fast to see.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dragonfly up close before. They always zip away long before you can get near them. Not because they are afraid, but because to them gravity is nothing more than an illusion and to stay still is meaningless. It must be nice to be free to able to move in any direction you please whenever you please. For me, life has always been a series of straight lines. Go to school Ashlynn. Do your homework Ashlynn. Get into a good college Ashlynn. Find a good job Ashlynn. Find a good husband Ashlynn. Do as we say Ashlynn. Mother knows best Ashlynn. From day one they’ve had my whole future mapped out for me.

I watch the dragonfly zoom around the kitchen ceiling and try to imagine how it would feel to lift off and feel the wind in your face. Doing barrel rolls and sweeping curves and any number of complex manoeuvres simply because you feel like it. Like a rollercoaster all to yourself. I sometimes dream that I can fly. I’d soar above my house and just fly away. Just pick a direction and never look back. No pressures, no expectations, nothing but the clear and open air. I’d fly to Paris or L.A. or a million other places I’d never get to see if I follow the plan laid out for me.

The Plan. That’s what mum calls it. Capitals and everything. A clearly defined path for my life, from cradle to the grave. I think if she had her way she’d schedule whatever comes after that as well. Her life didn’t turn out the way she wanted, so she’s going to make sure mine does. Whether I want it or not. It’s enough to drive you mad. And it isn’t my way or the highway. It’s just MY way. If something doesn’t fit with The Plan then so long and sayonara. The only hobbies I’m allowed are things that benefit The Plan. The only friends I’m allowed are ones that will help me accomplish The Plan. Anytime I try and question The Plan, I’m told that I will thank her one day.

Dragonflies don’t follow The Plan. They don’t have to wear blinders make to see nothing but the straight path of The Plan. Their eyes let them see the whole world around them all at once. All three hundred and sixty degrees. They’re free to choose which direction they take. If a dragonfly wants to go up, it goes up. If it wants to fly backwards, it flies backwards. Dragonflies fly wherever they want, do whatever they want, see whatever they want. I bet a dragonfly would never let its mother force it to follow The Plan. A dragonfly would just eat its mother and fly along its merry way.

The more I watch the more I admire that tiny creature. It lands on the kitchen counter and starts sniffing around the apples. Mum would grab the flyswatter and kill it as soon as look at it. She always has to be have her way with things. She would see that a dragonfly can’t be bullied, can’t be controlled, can’t be made to follow The Plan, and she would try to destroy it for daring to exist at all. The freedom a dragonfly has would be an offense that she could not bear to see.

I don’t know how the dragonfly got its name, but I like to think that it was because people saw the power and majesty contained within their tiny bodies and understood that even though it may look tiny and easily squashed, underneath all that beats the soul of a real dragon. A dragon that cannot be tamed. A dragon that can never be chained. A mighty beast that will burn all those that are foolish enough to try. The dragonfly is all those things and more. The dragonfly would never let anyone get in its way.

The kitchen is an awful mess, but for now I’m happy enough to leave everything as it is. I wash my hands in the sink, leaving the knife to soak, and just watch the tiny dragon flit about the room. It comes and goes as it pleases. It will leave when it is ready. It might fly back out the window this instant or it might find a place cool enough to rest for a while, but for now, it just flies and flies. Stopping and hovering. Turning and swooping. Looping and swirling. No one telling it what to do or who to be. The dragonfly is free to do whatever the hell it wants.

It lands on mum’s head and she does nothing to remove it. She just gives me that same expression of shocked outrage that’s been locked on her face ever since I told her I was tired of following The Plan. I can almost hear the furious lecture lurking behind her pouty lips. She’d tell me that there is no room in The Plan for dragonflies. That dragonflies don’t go to a good college. That dragonflies don’t have a future. That someday I’ll thank her.

The dragonfly takes flight again and I turn away from my mother’s cold outraged eyes. I can still feel her staring at me, asking why I have to be such a bad daughter, why I had to go and ruin the nice dress she slaved away to buy me, why I had to make a mess of her lovely kitchen. She just lies there, judging me. I didn’t ask to be born. I didn’t ask to be her daughter. And I certainly didn’t ask to be part of The Plan. I’m sick of The Plan.

The dragonfly darts out the open window and I step over the pool of red and pull it closed. A dragonfly wouldn’t put up with being bossed around. No one hits or shoves a dragonfly. A dragonfly is its own master. A dragonfly wouldn’t let anyone stand in its way. A dragonfly is free.

No one tells a dragonfly what to do.