Ants

Ants

          “When I was young I used to torture insects too,” he replied, turning his head to the girl sitting in his car. Searching for somewhere to rest his eyes and his regret, his eyes trailed along her soft, unveiling cheeks and young skin, but to no avail; regret is just a way of asking forgiveness, and with her looking out the front window of his parked car, he received none. Out of habit he continued, hoping to get forgiveness from somewhere.

          “Like this one time,” he turned his head back, looking out the front window. “I had this soldier ant, ya know, the big, black ants,” he grabbed the steering wheel uneasily in the ten and two positions, “and I wanted to see how he would walk without a leg. So, I ripped off one of his legs and put him back down on the concrete.” He looked down, reliving the event.

          “He walked fine, but it looked like he knew he was missing a leg. Heh, never mind, course he knew he was missing a leg. I mean, he didn’t seem to pretend the leg was still there, like something out of habit; he knew the leg was missing and, like, compensated for it. Ya know, like he thought about it.” He looked over to the girl; she returned the favor and sat half-twisted towards him curious to hear the story.

          “So,” his torture story continued, “I wanted to see how he would react with another leg off. So, I ripped another one off. At first I ripped off the opposite leg from the other one I tore off,” he gestured the stripping of legs, “but then I realized it would just even things out; I ripped off all of his legs from one side.” His arms fell to the bottom of the steering wheel. “When I put him on the ground he couldn’t do nothing but walk in circles; he had no legs to push him straight. Just circles, heh.” He sighed and went on. “So then I had the great idea to see what he would do if he had no legs at all; I ripped ‘em all off.”

          He looked over to the girl; she hid well behind the camouflage of her squared-framed librarian glasses and tightly pulled-back hair that fell in strands entangling her neck. Her costume obscured her age well; he didn’t mind. His right hand left the steering wheel and went down to the stick shift.

          “And when I put him down again he instantly tried to move, like he had done this before.” He looked down on her lap as if the ant were there; he continued, trying to force a smile. “He was moving with his pincers. He was moving by biting down on the ground and pulling himself forward.” He lifted his eyes and fought through her glasses.

          “So I ripped off his head.”

          As if on cue she started to bust out laughing, bending over to try to relieve the pain in her stomach. She wouldn’t stop.

          He watched her in disbelief as she laughed at his story while almost flinging the glasses off of her face. He pulled back.

          “Why are you laughing?” He choked out.

          She replied by holding up her hand, motioning him to wait while she recovered from his funny story.

          “’Cause,” she giggled a little more, “the way you said it.”

          “Huh?”

          “You said when the ant was moving with his pincers,” she made a plucking motion with two of her fingers, “you just ripped off his head. I dunno, the way you said it was so funny, ya know? ‘Cause you ripped its head off ‘cause it was still movin’, ya know?”

          His eyes retreated back to the steering wheel as he sunk down in his seat. “I didn’t rip off his head because he was moving.”

          Her eyebrows dropped. “Why’d you do it then?”

          “Because,” he was looking back out the front window of his car, “I realized what I had just done.”

          She watched him for a while as he looked outside.

          “Well, “she replied, “the way you said it made it sound funny. It wasn’t funny,” her lip curled to the left, “but the way you said it was funny, ya know?”

          He pressed his foot against the brake as he turned the key and started up the car. The radio instantly caught his attention. It was playing Nirvana's Something in the Way. He laughed.

          She didn’t.