by\u00a0Tony Robles<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I first felt it as I lie in bed. It was a slight tingle on my wrist. I woke\u2014having been in a half-sleep stupor\u2014to find an ant crawling up my hand and onto my wrist. I watched the ant as it crawled the circumference of my wrist before settling in one spot. In the last couple of months there has been an influx of ants in my house in Western North Carolina. My house is not a palace by any means; it is a mobile home made for 1-2 people. Outside is a yard with trees, squirrels, light bugs and the melodious sounds of leaf blowers and lawnmowers in spring and summer.\u00a0 When darkness hits, the sounds of cicadas and crickets overtake the landscape, their sounds like outer space signals emitting from trees, bushes, and ten thousand hidden places.<\/p>\n
This new environment was a welcome change from San Francisco where I lived most of my life, where rents were insane\u2014among the highest in the country\u2014which lead to a severe eviction crisis leaving hundreds, thousands living in fear of an eviction notice which was just another version of a wanted poster where what was wanted was the floor under your feet\u2014and the rug, if you were fortunate enough to have one. I knew a guy who paid 2000.00 a month to sleep in a walk-in closet. Problem was that there was no room to walk. With real estate speculators crawling about like termites leaving a rash of homeless in their wake, I fled. I had a better chance of fighting off ants than landlords, so I looked on my mobile home with its low monthly lot fee as a refuge. Rather than get turned down trying to rent a walk-in closet, I walked away from my city\u2014a 3000 plus mile walk.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s your name?\u201d a voice squeaked.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
I looked at my wrist. It was the little ant. It stood up like a little man.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy name is Anthony,\u201d I said. \u201cThey call me \u201cAnt\u201d for short.\u201d<\/p>\n
The ant looked at me for a moment then lie on its back, as if on a beach.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re the ugliest ant I\u2019ve ever seen.\u201d The ant said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou ain\u2019t nothin\u2019 to look at either.\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow much you pay for this trailer?\u201d the ant asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cI paid 5000 dollars for this mobile home<\/em>,\u201d I replied. \u201cIt\u2019s not a trailer.<\/p>\n The ant snickered while continuing to rest on my wrist.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s a trailer park.\u201d The ant said with a wave of its little ant hand.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s a mobile home community<\/em>.\u201d I responded, bringing my wrist and the ant mere inches from my eyes.<\/p>\n I rubbed my forefinger and thumb together.<\/p>\n \u201cI know what you\u2019re thinking.\u201d The ant said, turning over on its Ant abdomen.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u201cYou\u2019re thinking I can rub this little ant out of existence.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, somethin\u2019 like that.\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n I looked at the ant. It moved its little ant arms. It was still on my wrist.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy are you on my wrist?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n \u201cI want to make sure you still have a pulse.\u201d<\/p>\n The ant was little, but it wasn\u2019t that<\/em> little as far as ants go. As a kid I had been a bit of a sadist, drowning ants in hot water in my great-grandmother\u2019s pill bottles (Rest in peace). The ant on my wrist looked to be half of the size of a small paper clip. It had fallen asleep. I could hear its faint ant snoring. I could squash it but maybe I shouldn\u2019t; maybe I should let it be\u2014to make amends for my past transgressions towards the species. But I too was a little ant.\u00a0 I was named after my Uncle Anthony. We were known as Big Ant and Little Ant. Big Ant still lives in San Francisco.\u00a0 He calls me on the phone. Sometimes I pick up, sometimes I let it ring. As I\u2019ve gotten older I seem to have acquired an aversion to phone calls. They seem to be an intrusion on my privacy. I shouldn\u2019t feel that way but working for an insurance company for 7 years answering phones will alter your perception of the sound of a ringing phone.<\/p>\n I fall asleep, wake. I look at my wrist. The ant is gone. I look around my house. I\u2019ve been here only a year. I hadn\u2019t thought much about wildlife or nature prior to my relocating. But when I arrived a few local critters approached me in kind of a welcoming committee. A fluffy squirrel with a bushy tail flew through the air as if launched from the blowhole of a whale. It landed a few feet away from my screen door.<\/p>\n \u201cAre you going to invite me in?\u201d the squirrel asked.<\/p>\n \u201cDo I know you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t you know a squirrel when you see one?\u201d<\/p>\n I looked at the squirrel. Its eyes looked like blueberries.<\/p>\n \u201cI guess<\/em> you\u2019re a squirrel.\u201d I said.<\/p>\n And with its squirrel claws it touched its mouth, blowing, making a high-pitched whistling sound that caused a thick branch to fall from the tree standing close by, landing on the roof. A few creatures appeared\u2014a bird with a sharp red crown landed on a bush followed by something resembling a ground hog.\u00a0 We stood together taking in the atmosphere for a while. Soon it was all quiet. It seemed that the cars passing on the nearby Greenville Highway had even disappeared.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat about that noise I hear at night?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat noise?\u201d the ground hog look-alike asked.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know, kinda sounds like a lot of small flying saucers.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, those are cicadas.\u201d said the squirrel. \u201cThey only come around at night. They think they\u2019re aristocrats.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI see.\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cBy the way,\u201d the bird said. \u201cWhat\u2019s your name?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMy name is Anthony. People call me ant.\u201d<\/p>\n The squirrel and others chuckled.<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s plenty of those around.\u201d said the squirrel.<\/p>\n \u201cPlenty of what?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNever mind.\u201d the squirrel said, its head twitching every which way before leaping into a bush and onto a tree. Then the ground hog and bird disappeared.<\/p>\n Damn these ants are big, I thought as I was at the kitchen sink washing dishes. A large ant was crawling across the countertop with a grain of rice on its back. Another ant crawling on the countertop stopped.<\/p>\n \u201cHey partner,\u201d the ant said. \u201cYou got any more rice. Or maybe a sugar cube?\u201d<\/p>\n As I was about to answer, the annoying ringtone of my cell phone went off. I look at the cell phone screen. It reads: Big Ant.<\/p>\n \u201cHello?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s happening baby boy?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m ok. How you doin\u2019 Uncle Ant?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, you know, getting\u2019 older. This prostate thing got me running to the toilet at every commercial break.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou go to the doctor?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, they gave me some pills. But anyway, how you doin\u2019 baby boy? You run into the KKK down there?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot yet. But I\u2019ve been running into ants. There\u2019s a lot of them down here. One of them stopped by; made itself right at home.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou kiddin\u2019?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m serious.\u201d<\/p>\n There was a pause on the phone. I looked at the countertop. More ants, a whole line of them traveling upwards and downwards as if on a mission.<\/p>\n \u201cAnt, you still there?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah Uncle Ant.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI gotta go. Another bathroom run. You take care of yourself down there. Watch out for the KKK, confederate flags and the republican army.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI will Uncle Ant.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLove you baby boy.\u201d<\/p>\n I\u2019m still holding the phone to my ear. I hear rustling sounds. My uncle hasn\u2019t shut his phone off. I hear his voice as he walks to the bathroom, the phone picking up everything. Maybe I should hang up, I think. If I listen, is it sort of an invasion of privacy? I hear my uncle\u2019s voice.<\/p>\n \u201cOh shit!\u201d Son of a bitch! Damn!\u201d<\/p>\n I hear water splashing. He\u2019s peeing, a good thing.\u00a0 But is the pee hitting the bowl, the wall\u2014the floor?\u00a0 I push the off button on my phone and slip it into my pocket. I look at the kitchen counter. A lone ant is there.<\/p>\n \u201cSounds like your uncle is pissed off.\u201d The ant says followed by a high-pitched ant laugh.<\/p>\n Stealing rice grains from me is one thing but making fun of my uncle is another. I pick up the ant and hold it between my forefinger and thumb.<\/p>\n \u201cWait, you\u2019re the ant that I talked to the other night, the one on my wrist.\u201d<\/p>\n The ant looked at me from between my fingers.<\/p>\n \u201cNo shit. Damn right it was me. I had you under awrist<\/em>\u2026heh, heh, heh.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWise ass ant, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n I squeezed my thumb and forefinger together. I\u2019ll squash this smart assed ant, I thought. I squeezed, hard. But my fingers slowly separated. The ant had pushed them apart as if bench pressing a barbell.<\/p>\n \u201cHeh, heh, heh.\u201d The ant laughed.<\/p>\n I put the ant down on the kitchen counter. It crawled over to a grain of rice, lifted it onto its back, gave me the finger and hauled it away.<\/p>\n Over the next couple of months, the ant grew in size, from several inches to a foot. It spent days inside my house while I was at work at the public library. I came home one evening to find the ant on my couch. It had grown to what looked to be 3 feet.<\/p>\n \u201cHow was your day?\u201d the ant asked.<\/p>\n \u201cThe usual.\u201d I replied, taking off my jacket.<\/p>\n I opened the refrigerator.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat happened to all the food?\u201d I asked<\/p>\n I looked at the ant who shrugged his little ant shoulders then burped. I looked at the cupboard. Little ants were crawling up the side, each carrying a crumb of something. I walked over, ready to smash my palm into their microscopic caravan. I stopped when my phone rang. I picked up.<\/p>\n \u201cHello?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCan I speak to Ant?\u201d a voice asked.<\/p>\n \u201cThis is Ant speaking.\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cNo, not you.<\/em>\u201d The voice answered. \u201cThe real <\/em>ant.\u201d<\/p>\n I looked at the ant on the couch.<\/p>\n \u201cFor you.\u201d I said, handing the phone over.<\/p>\n The ant took the phone and with an ant voice that sounded as if it were being spoken through a tin can said, \u201cNo, that\u2019s not what I ordered. I wanted an extra <\/em>large with pepperoni, sausage and mushrooms.\u201d<\/p>\n The ant then put his ant hand over the receiver and looked at me.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s your credit card number?\u201d<\/p>\n I couldn\u2019t believe it. The ant was ordering pizza and putting it on my credit card.<\/p>\n \u201cI sure am hungry.\u201d The ant said, handing the phone back to me.<\/p>\n I looked at it, speechless.<\/p>\n I sat in my porch looking out at the trees. The welcome committee squirrel scurried down a tree and scrambled over.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s wrong?\u201d the squirrel asked.<\/p>\n \u201cDo I look depressed?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t look happy\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s the ant. He\u2019s living with me now. He started off small now he\u2019s grown to over 3 feet.\u00a0 He\u2019s eating everything. He\u2019s ordering take-out food and has ant buddies leaving the house a mess.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u201cWhat\u2019cha gonna do?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat can <\/em>I do?\u201d<\/p>\n The squirrel twitched its nose and stood in a frozen position for several minutes, contemplating. His pose looked a bit like Rodin\u2019s The Thinker<\/em> while, at the same time, resembling a dog taking a crap.<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe you should get some ant baits, you know, the ones that they sell at the hardware store.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou mean poison?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, the ants eat \u2018em and they go to sleep\u2026for good.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGood idea.\u201d<\/p>\n I bought the baits. They were quite small, designed for small ants. How they\u2019d work on a large ant was another story. I bought a large bagful. I came home. The ant was out doing ant things I supposed. I ordered an extra large pizza. The pizza arrived and I sprinkled ant bait on it like parmesan cheese. I placed the pizza on the coffee table in the living room and waited for the ant to arrive.<\/p>\n An hour went by. No ant. I left the bait laced pizza and went out for a walk. I passed rows of trees and took in the sweet air. I looked at each tree; those standing alone and in clusters. I thought of the air I breathed and how the trees made it possible. And then, for the first time in my life, I said thank you\u2014to the trees and to whoever created the trees. I thought of the creatures; those insects, the bees that pollinate. I thought of the ants that\u2026<\/p>\n Ants were workers, weren\u2019t they? They had jobs. They had communities. They needed to eat just like me. I thought of the ants I had killed. I\u2019d killed them as a kid, drowning them in boiling water and, from time to time, putting them in the refrigerator freezer and watching them freeze like statues.<\/p>\n I rushed back home. I needed to get to that pizza before the ant did. I didn\u2019t want it to die. I ran fast until I reached the door panting.\u00a0 Outside was the squirrel, the bird and the groundhog.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat are you doing here?\u201d I asked<\/p>\n \u201cWe heard a noise, a high-pitched scream from your house.\u201d said the groundhog.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe thought maybe you were in trouble.\u201d said the bird.<\/p>\n I opened the door and saw the ant. It lay on the floor next to the box of pizza, half of which had been eaten.<\/p>\n \u201cYou actually did it?\u201d the squirrel asked.<\/p>\n \u201cDid what?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cUsed ant bait.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, just like you told me to.\u201d<\/p>\n The ant was on its back; its legs pointing upwards towards the ceiling.<\/p>\n \u201cMan, I was kidding about that!\u201d cried the squirrel.<\/p>\n I looked at the squirrel. We stood over the ant as if it was a crime scene. The squirrel, bird and ground hog walked out the door.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere you going?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n They didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n I looked down at the ant. The pizza sat cold in the box. I sat on the couching thinking. I looked out the window. The sky began to darken. My house was silent. I listened for the sounds of the night, the cicadas, and crickets. No sounds. I looked out the window. Maybe I\u2019d see a light bug but not a light flickered. I sat thinking of what I\u2019d done and what I\u2019d do next. I sat alone in the darkness when the phone rang. It rang several times before I picked up.<\/p>\n \u201cHello?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cAnt, hey Ant!\u201d A voice called out.<\/p>\n It was my Uncle Ant\u2014Big Ant.\u00a0 I felt a little less alone.<\/p>\n Tony Robles is the author of the poetry\/short story collections, Cool Don’t Live Here No More–A Letter to San Francisco<\/em> and Fingerprints of a Hunger Strike<\/em>. He was a short-list nominee for poet laureate of San Francisco in 2017. He is currently an MFA candidate at Vermont College of Fine Arts where he is working on his first novel, Fillmore Flip<\/em>.<\/p>\n
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