Aging Dragonflies

by Ben Fortenberry

A dragonfly lands on a leaf. The lightning quick hands of a ten-year-old girl reach down and form a cage around the insect, its fate sealed.

"Got one!"

The captor's name is Destiny. She's peering between her fingers to make sure the prey is still inside. Lean and tan, with scab on each knee, she's wearing her usual attire, cut-off jeans and an oversized Molly Hatchet t-shirt. The dragonfly panics inside the hollow of Destiny's hands.

"It's a blue one!"

"How big is it?"

This second voice belongs to Ryne, an eight-year-old boy, Destiny's next door neighbor. He comes running over the railroad tracks, hurriedly tiptoeing over the white rocks wearing swimming trunks and a layer of dirt. He's missing a big toenail and as he sees Destiny with her cupped hands outstretched, he starts to feel nervous.

"Not that big, but it'll do."

Ryne catches his breath as he peeks through Destiny's fingers.

"What are we going to do with it?"

"I told you. We're gonna see how old it is."

"How?"

Destiny gently takes the dragonfly out from between her hands by holding its wings together tightly between two fingers. The dragonfly struggles briefly, but then resigns itself to the inevitable.

"Like this."

Destiny uses her other middle finger and thumb to flick the dragonfly's head. Ryne stares curiously, learning a new skill. The head of the dragonfly jerks violently.

"One."

"What?"

"See, for each flick, that's one year. How ever many flicks the dragonfly can take without its head coming off, that's how old it is."

"Oh."

"Two."

Ryne is thinking hard. "To see how old it is, you have to kill it?"

"Three."

The two watch as the dragonfly's head arcs through the air and lands in a clump of weeds. Destiny lets the headless body fall to the dirt.

"Yeah, let's find another one, and you can try."

"Me?"

"Sure. It's easy."

Ryne and Destiny begin to hunt through the weeds, knocking them around, stirring up dust. They scan the ground, inspect every leaf, check every twig. They get bored.

"There ain't any around."

"They're here Ryne, you just have to be patient."

It's then that a majestic, orange-colored dragonfly lands on Ryne's shoulder. He's standing there slouching, watching Destiny's search, oblivious.

"Come on, let's do something else."

Destiny angrily wheels around towards Ryne. "No! You haven't had your chance yet."

Spotting the orange dragonfly, she lowers her voice to a library whisper.

"Don't move."

Ryne moves only his eyes in the direction of Destiny's. He can see the thing sitting comfortably on his shoulder, afraid to touch it, wanting to warn it. He looks back at Destiny who's stealthily approaching, eyes transfixed. Then comes the moment of truth: Destiny's hands slowly moving up, the dragonfly daydreaming, Ryne panicking inside his head. He knows Destiny will make him kill the thing, or at the very least do it herself.

"Orange ones are the rarest of all."

"Maybe we should let it go then."

Destiny raises her whisper an octave. "Are you nuts? He's got to be about seven years old!"

Her hands continue slowly moving.

Ryne tries his failsafe: "I should be going home. I think I hear my mom calling."

Destiny doesn't bother to whisper. "We're way too far from your house for you to hear her, and the streetlights ain't even on yet. Don't be a ninny, ninny."

This is when Destiny makes her grab. Ryne tries to duck and pull away, but her reflexes are way too quick. The dragonfly is caught completely off guard.

"Got it."

"C'mon, let it go."

"Shut up, wuss! Here, grab its wings like this."

"No. I don't want to do it."

"You have to see how old he is."

"I don't wanna."

"Fine. I'll do it."

Destiny grabs the dragonfly's wings and moves her fingers into position.

"No, don't! I'll do it."

"No you won't. You'll let it go and pretend it was an accident."

Ryne's last hope is shattered and he can only watch as Destiny proceeds with her strange method of torture. He turns away, but he can still hear the flicking and the counting...

~

Twenty years later, a dragonfly lands on a leaf. The lightning-quick hands of a eight-year-old boy reach down and form a cage around the insect, its fate sealed.

This boy's wearing green shorts, a faded Broncos jersey, and his name is Matty. His dad watches him play in the front yard, where he's been trying to catch a dragonfly for the past hour. This is his first one ever.

He cups it in his hands and stares at it.

Ryne, the dad sitting on the porch, lives in the same town, knows the same people as when he was eight. He works for the local refinery, coaches little league and drinks just a little too often. When he sees his son Matty catch the dragonfly, he walks over.

"Got one?"

Matty smiles up at his dad. "Yeah, it's a blue one."

"Whatcha gonna do with it?"

Matty shrugs his shoulders.

"Do you wanna see how old it is?"

"How?"

"Give 'im here." Ryne takes the dragonfly by the wings. "Whatcha do is flick its head until it comes off. How ever many flicks it takes, that's how old it is."

"But it'll die."

"Well yeah, but we'll know how old it was."

Matty is thinking hard.

The dragonfly's head jerks violently. "One."

"Daddy, doesn't that hurt it?"

"Bugs don't feel things." The dragonfly struggles in protest.

"But I don't want it to die."

"We want to see how old it is, don't we?"

Ryne gives the head another flick. It sails through the air and into the ditch.

"Huh, only two."

He lets the headless body fall to the grass at Matty's feet. Matty stares at it in horror.

"Okay Matty, find another one so you can try."

"Me?"

"Sure, it's easy. Go on."

He goes inside for a beer. Matty looks around in the grass, inspects the leaves of his mom's rosebushes, scans the surrounding air, but his heart's not in it and he gives up pretty quick. When Ryne comes out and sees him sitting in the grass peeling a stick, he flips.

"What're you doing?"

"Couldn't find any."

"You gave up too quick. Get up and find one!"

Matty mumbles something.

"What'd you say?"

"I don't wanna."

Ryne marches across the grass, snatches him up, gives him a kick in the butt.

"Find one by the count of three, or you're in a world of trouble!"

Matty's holding back tears. Ryne's sitting back down on the porch and sipping beer.

"One!"

Matty wipes his face and begins to look. He doesn't want to find a dragonfly. He knows his dad will make him kill it, or at least do it himself. He's hoping there aren't any for miles around. To his horror, he spots one right away. It's sitting on a rock and Matty can't help but stare.

"Two!"

Matty thinks about what to do. He looks back at his dad, who's gazing into his beer can between sips and counts. He doesn't want the dragonfly to die, but he's also afraid.

"Three!"

Matty snatches up the dragonfly and turns to face his dad. Ryne walks up staring at his son's cupped hands.

"Got one?"

"It's a green one."

"Do it like I showed you."

Matty carefully grabs the dragonfly by its wings and stares at its head. The dragonfly stares back with thousands of eyes filled with fear.

Ryne breaks the connection. "Go on..."

"Huh?"

"See how old he is."

"Dad, I can't."

"Yes you can. Flick its head off."

"Dad, no."

"Do it, or you're punished."

Matty's silently crying now, Ryne getting angrier by the moment, the dragonfly just wanting to fly away. Frustrated, he takes Matty's fingers and forces them into position. Matty looks at his own hand as if it's betrayed him.

"Flick."

Matty makes a crying moan in response.

"Flick it, Matty!"

He turns his head away and flicks. To his relief, he misses.

"Don't do that! Look this time and flick its head right now!"

Matty looks up and stares through the tears into his father's eyes and hates the man behind them. The dragonfly's head jerks violently. Ryne counts.

"One."

"Two."

"Three."

"Four."

The head detaches and bounces off Ryne's shirt and onto the ground. The body floats down after. Matty squeezes his eyes shut and sobs.

"Five."

The two are still standing in the yard, when Ryne turns around to watch as a purple sports car pulls into the driveway. His wife, wearing a tailored business suit and pumps, gets out, hangs up her cell phone and smiles at Ryne. Her expression changes when she sees Matty.

"What's going on?"

Ryne backs up a step and crushes the body of the dragonfly into the grass. Matty sees it and starts to bawl.

"Nothing, babe."

"Why's Matty crying like that?"

In response her son runs into the house screaming. Ryne tries not to look guilty and fails.

"Dunno."

Still thinking, she asks, "Aren't you supposed to be getting ready for work?"

Inside, Matty lays on his bed and looks out of his bedroom window. On the other side of the window, a young, half-translucent dragonfly relaxes. Matty makes an oath to himself, God and the dragonfly that he'll never be like his dad.

When Ryne leaves for work five minutes later, his wife is given the task of consoling their son. She sits on the corner of his bed and puts her hand on his back as he lies face down sobbing.

"What happened?"

Matty turns over. "Dad made me kill a dragonfly by flicking its head off."

The faintest trace of a smile curves Destiny's lips as she asks, "How old was it?