{"id":3067,"date":"2021-09-08T12:00:08","date_gmt":"2021-09-08T17:00:08","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.fanagrams.com\/blog\/?p=3067"},"modified":"2021-09-08T12:00:12","modified_gmt":"2021-09-08T17:00:12","slug":"cicada-summer","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.fanagrams.com\/blog\/2021\/09\/cicada-summer\/","title":{"rendered":"Cicada Summer"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

John was pleased that the woman sat next to him on the commuter train, even though it was the only open seat.\u00a0 She could have stood in the vestibule, he thought.\u00a0 The next day there was a vacant seat.\u00a0 She wasn\u2019t forced to sit next to him, but she did.\u00a0 John trembled, his pulse quickened, and he sat up straight.\u00a0 Nobody had ever made an explicit choice to sit next to him.\u00a0 He knew why. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     He was ugly, a brutal\ncombination of the worst features of his parents \u2013 large bulging eyes and sloping\nchin that barely accommodated a mouth. \nHis long gangly legs and arms gave him a peculiar gait.  Even as a kid, he sensed that people startled\nat his appearance.  Besides his mother told him as much.   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cYour father was not a\nhandsome man, but he made up for it with his smarts.  You look him.  You walk like him.  But you\u2019re smart\nlike him.  You\u2019ll be fine.  You know that men are the ones who\nchoose, women are chosen.  Your sister is the one who needs help.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     Over the years, any\nextra money was devoted to tinkering with his sister Gloria \u2013 a nose job, a\nchin implant for sure, and probably other adjustments done on the sly. \nJohn accepted his appearance and considered himself luckier than his classmate\nLucy, who had a horrible stutter, or that kid a couple grades below with a\nwithered arm.  Besides, he always made the honor roll.  His mother\nwas right.  He\u2019d be fine, and he could\nsee that Gloria, who was a such a poor student, needed some upgrades. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     The next day on his way\nhome from work, John waited on the platform as the commuters streamed onto the\ntrain.  He saw the woman approach and also noticed others turning their\nheads to look at her.  He supposed they were looking at her tall thin\nfigure, her glistening black hair, and long legs.  The woman looked\ndirectly at him and motioned for John to follow and sit next to her.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     John never expected\nthat any woman would seek him out.  The thought of dating and marriage\nheld no interest for him.  Every birthday, Gloria teased him by asking if\nhe was a \u201cleg man or a breast man.\u201d  He always said he was a breast man\nsince magazines and movies suggested that this was the key attribute.  In\nreality he had no idea what she was talking about.      <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     Her intense stare\nconfused him.  He was most accustomed to people quickly glancing and moving\naway.  He reflexively touched his nose and chin to make sure he was the\nsame person.  He knew his mouth had a way of sagging down into a grimace,\nso he tightened up his cheeks.       \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cI can\u2019t believe we\nkeep bumping into each other,\u201d she said.  \u201cWe get off at the same station,\ndon\u2019t we?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 John sat dumbstruck, staring into his newspaper, unable to fill the uncomfortable silence.\u00a0 As the train shuddered forward, her shoulder briefly touched his, and one foot brushed his calf.\u00a0 John swallowed hard and stared out the window.\u00a0 The crossword puzzle lay untouched on his lap. \u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Over the next week, she sat next to him every day.\u00a0 John switched his seats around, sometimes in the back, sometimes in the front, and even in the upper tier, the last place anyone wanted to sit.\u00a0 She always found him, so he knew that she was seeking him out.\u00a0 She began to sit closer to him so that their thighs touched when the train lurched.\u00a0 Perhaps he felt a flicker of a spark.\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      He summoned the courage to say the first\nwords.   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cHello, I\u2019m John\nDawes.\u201d His voice rasped from disuse. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cI\u2019m Cecilia. \nI\u2019ve noticed that you like crossword puzzles.  Shall we work on them\ntogether?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     They started to save\nthe morning crossword to work on in the evening as the train inched into the\nsuburbs.  To impress Cecilia, he bought two copies of the paper so that he\ncould practice during his lunch hour.   It worked.  She expressed amazement at\nhis grasp of word play.   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     Cecilia\u2019s interest remained mysterious, but\nnow John thrilled to her touch.  He didn\u2019t question it.  One\nnight as they pulled into their destination, Cecilia asked if he wanted to grab\na drink at the corner pub.  John could only nod.   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     The dim light in the bar\nbolstered his confidence.  They exchanged basic pleasantries.  She\nwas a biologist at the Natural History Museum, he worked in the IT department\nof a financial services company.  Her apartment was a couple blocks\naway.  When she asked where he lived, he stammered that he had a house\ntwenty minutes away. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cWow, you got your own\nhome.  Must be doing well.  That\u2019s a pricy area.  I could barely\nafford to rent a one bedroom.  Good for you.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     John changed the\nsubject to the weather.  He didn\u2019t want to confess that he lived in his\nchildhood home. He had no idea of what Cecilia thought of him, but at age 27 he\ndid know that living with your mother and sister was not an asset.  They\nsettled into a comfortable routine sitting next to each other on the train,\nthen going to the bar for a beer.    <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     John began to arrive\nhome late for the dinner.  His mother stood in the doorway, wearing her\napron, hands on hips, flummoxed by his new schedule, disrupting her precise\nschedule of dinners.   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cCall me when you work\nlate.  Your dinner\u2019s cold.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cMom, I\u2019m sorry. I met a\nfriend on the train, and we go out for a drink.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cA friend you met on\nthe train?  Why don\u2019t you bring him home for dinner?  I never meet\nyour friends.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cIt\u2019s a girl, I mean a\nwoman, a female.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cA girlfriend? \nIt\u2019s about time.  Oh, thank God.\u201d  She clasped her hands in prayer\nacross her ample breasts, leaned back and yelled for his sister.   \u201cGloria, guess what, our Johnny finally has a\ngirlfriend.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     The bathroom door\nslammed open, and Gloria came bustling into the kitchen tying up her bathrobe,\nher hair flecked with suds from her interrupted shower.  \u201cWho is she, what\ndoes she look like, where does she work, has she been married before, does she\nhave children, does she want children?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cShe\u2019s not a\ngirlfriend, she\u2019s a girl who is just a friend.  We sit around and\ntalk.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cA friend who\u2019s a\ngirl?  What the hell is that?\u201d asked his mother. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cMom, it means Johnny\u2019s\nnot having sex or anything. Right Johnny?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     He nodded, and\nwondered, not for the first time, why sex had to be so important.  He only\nwanted companionship from Cecilia, but the last time on the train, she put her\nhead on his shoulder.  Her other touches could be construed as the result\nof random lurches in the train.  When they worked together on the\ncrossword, their thighs were plastered together along their entire length, but\nyou couldn\u2019t share the crossword without sitting close together, could\nyou?  But Cecilia\u2019s head on his shoulder was so deliberate that John was\nsure she wanted more.     <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cWell at least it\u2019s a\nstart, \u2019bout time.\u201d Gloria turned and tromped back to the bathroom. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     The next day at the bar\nCecilia said, \u201cHey why don\u2019t we order dinner.  Let\u2019s split a burger.\u201d   \n  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     His mother was pacing\nin the kitchen when he got home.  \u201cWhat\u2019s going on?  I cook for you\nand now it goes untouched.  Bring your friend here for\ndinner.\u201d      <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     At the bar, he\u2019d\nnoticed other diners looking at him, probably wondering, just like him, how\nsuch an ugly man could attract such a woman.  He reveled in those\nmoments.  He imagined people were thinking, \u201che must be a really\ninteresting guy, there\u2019s no other reason she\u2019d be sitting with him.\u201d  Even\nso, he kept putting his mother off.  He couldn\u2019t bear the thought of her\npeppering Cecilia with questions about marriage and children.   \n  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cA friend who is a\ngirl,\u201d she sputtered, \u201cnever heard of such a thing.  It\u2019s time you thought\nabout starting a family.  You\u2019re smart.  You\u2019ve got a good job. \nWhat more could a girl want?  That was enough for me.\u201d  \n  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     Over the next week, John\nand Cecilia worked their way through the bar menu, often sharing an appetizer\nand an entr\u00e9e.  They talked of their ambitions.  She wanted to go\nback to school and get a PhD in biology, he wanted to start his own IT\nconsulting business but didn\u2019t know how.       <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cOh, I can help you\nwith that,\u201d she said, \u201cWe\u2019d make a good team.\u201d      <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     This must be another\nsign of a relationship, thought John, indisputably confirmed when she squeezed\nhis thigh.       <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cLet\u2019s go back to my\nplace, finish the evening with some wine?  Okay with you?\u201d  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     He flushed as Cecilia\ncradled her hand in his.  She moved in closer, her lips brushing his\ncheek.  \u201cWhat the hell,\u201d he thought.  \u201cI might as well give it a\ntry.\u201d  He had no idea what might come next but felt his slight flicker of\na flame burn brighter.  He was willing to be surprised.    <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cHear that sound?\u201d she\nasked as they walked along.  \u201cThat\u2019s Brood XIII of the 17-year\ncicadas.  Have you ever lived through a cicada\nsummer?\u201d       <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     He shook his head and\nlet her keep talking.  \u201cThe nymphs emerge from the ground after a 17-year\nhibernation.  They quickly molt into\nadults that crawl up the trees and mate.  Nobody knows why the cycle is 17\nyears exactly and how they keep track of time, but you\u2019ll see, in a couple of\nweeks, there\u2019ll be millions coating the trees.  After they mate, they die\nand fall to the ground.  They crunch when you step on them.  \nHere\u2019s my apartment.  Come on up.\u201d      <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     She led him through the\nsmall kitchen and living room and out onto her balcony.  \u201cThis is my\nsecond cicada summer here.  I was about 12 years old for the first one, so\nI couldn\u2019t take full advantage.  Now, I figure I\u2019ve got three or four\nBrood XIII\u2019s left in my lifetime, got to make each one count.  This is a\nbiologist\u2019s dream.  Do you hear that thrumming noise?  It\u2019s just\nstarting.  That\u2019s the sound of pure\nsexual energy.  It will last a month a\nmore.  This will be an exciting month.\u201d \n  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     As he strained to hear\nthe noise, she stroked his arm, clasped her leg around his, unbuttoned his\nshirt and pulled his head down for a probing kiss.  She led him into the\nbedroom, ripped off his clothes, climbed on top and took over.  He was pleased his anatomy functioned, but\nbeyond that he was unimpressed, confused as to why people made such a fuss\nabout sex.  Cecilia climbed back on top.  By the third time that night his flickering\nflame had erupted into a blazing torch.  He joyously succumbed to the\nancient forces of lust and blind passion. \n      <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     The two became\ninseparable.  Cecilia constantly called him at work and sometimes showed\nup unannounced.  Once she insisted that they take a long walk in the woods\nwhere they joined the cicadas in their sexual orgy.  When he returned to\nwork several hours later, he basked in the knowing looks from his colleagues.  One leaned over his cubicle to pluck crushed\nleaves from his sweater.  And then his hair.    <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     He abandoned his usual\nsummer wardrobe of short sleeved shirts. \nLong sleeves were required to hide the bitemarks on his arms. His work\ncolleagues commented on his odd choice of turtlenecks in the middle of summer,\nbut he needed something to cover his vivid array of ripening bruises.  The bathroom became the venue for their most\nacrobatic performances.  Some were\nfrightening.  Cecilia liked John to\nstruggle and thrash his way out of her tenacious embrace.  One time he staggered backward and smacked\nhis head on the sink.  The tender knot\nlasted for more than a week.  He didn\u2019t\ncare.  Fear transformed his pleasure to rapture.          <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     One evening they went\nto an outdoor symphony concert.  The lawn was deserted; nobody wanted to\nsit among the cicadas. Their thrumming drowned out the music.  \nCecilia was delighted by the sparse crowd and spread her blanket beneath the\ncoated branches of a maple tree.   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cDon\u2019t move\u201d she said.\n\u201cI can feel them coming up underneath us.\u201d  She was right, the blanket\nburbled and quivered as the seething mass of nymphs emerged.    <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     She peeled back the\ncorner of the blanket to look for the exit holes as they struggled to the\nsurface.  \u201cLook at this one, it\u2019s halfway through its molt.\u201d  She\nused her long fingernail to peel the covering off the emerging adult. \nOnce the cicada spread its wings, she tenderly carried it over to the tree\ntrunk and reached up as high as she could.   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cJohn, can you help me\ngive this cicada a boost?  Help him get started farther up.  He needs\nto get moving if he wants to mate.  He\u2019s\nonly got a couple of weeks left.\u201d  John held the cicada gingerly between\nhis thumb and index finger as he looked into their bulging red eyes.  He struggled to appreciate the creepy and\nprehistoric beauty that so inspired Cecilia. \n        <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     Cecilia\u2019s interest in\ncicadas intensified as the thrumming reached its peak.  She started every\nday by playing a recording of the landscape service mowing the parkway.  The cicadas mistook this sound as a mating\ncall and were attracted to Cecilia\u2019s outstretched arms.  Dozens landed on her arms as she played the\nrecording in a continuous loop.      <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     John didn\u2019t share her\nenthusiasm for cicadas, but he feigned interest to make her happy.  It wasn\u2019t hard.  All he had to do was\nsmile and nod when she talked about cicadas. \nMoments later they would be breathlessly pawing each other.  She\ndidn\u2019t talk about anything else and she talked constantly.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     John told his family\nhe\u2019d found his own apartment, though he suspected his mother knew he was living\nwith Cecilia.  She began to call him every day, insisting that she be\nintroduced to his new friend.  He knew a meeting was inevitable, but Cecilia\nkept putting him off.   \u201cYou\u2019re all I want.  I\u2019m not ready to\nshare you.\u201d        <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     Finally, he got her to\nagree to a luncheon.  Cecilia insisted on a restaurant that had a large\npatio beneath overarching elms.       \n  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cDo you really want to\nsit outside under the trees?  The cicadas are so deafening my mother won\u2019t\nbe able to hear.\u201d      <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cBut they\u2019re beautiful\nand we won\u2019t have another chance for 17 years,\u201d she said.   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

      His mother\u2019s and\nsister\u2019s eyes widened when he introduced her.  He wasn\u2019t surprised, he had\ncome to appreciate Cecilia\u2019s cropped shirts and taut skirts.  John just\nwished she hadn\u2019t kept stroking his leg while she prattled on about cicadas –\nthe significance that the 17-year cycle was a prime number, the total weight of\ndead cicadas accumulating around them, and the sounds they made. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cIt\u2019s hard to notice\nbut they make two different sounds,\u201d said Cecilia.  \u201cThe male makes that obvious droning noise\nwith special vibrating organs called tymbals. \nWith a magnifying glass, I can sometimes see them underneath their wings.  The females are harder to hear.  They don\u2019t have tymbals, they snap their\nwings back and forth.  If you listen\nclosely you can hear this.\u201d  Cecilia made\na clicking noise with her tongue.  \u201cThe\nwing clicks signal that the female is receptive.  She\u2019s pumped and prime, ready to mate.\u201d  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     John didn\u2019t like the\ndirection of this conversation.  Cecilia was\npoised to give a first-hand account of the pulsating sexual energy the two of\nthem shared with cicadas.  He was relieved when a cicada dropped into her\nmother\u2019s soup, distracting Cecilia.  Its\ndelicate legs dimpled the surface of the bisque.  Cecilia extracted it,\nthe golden liquid coating the wings.  A pendulous drop hung briefly from\none of the cicada\u2019s wings.  It stretched and then fell, splotching her\nsilk shirt.  She didn\u2019t notice.   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cIsn\u2019t this\nlovely?  Have you ever seen anything like it?\u201d Cecilia asked, thrusting\nthe cicada towards John\u2019s horrified mother.  \u201cDid John tell you? I\u2019m\ncollecting cicadas.  They\u2019re a terrific source of protein that shouldn\u2019t\nbe wasted.  I put them into my bird\nfeeder.\u201d  She pulled a Tupperware container from her purse and popped the\nsoggy cicada in.          \n  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     Another cicada landed\nnext to Gloria, who shuddered and pushed her chair back.  Cecilia picked up\nthe cicada and balanced it on her arm.  \u201cCicadas don\u2019t bite, they just\nsuck juice from tree sap.  The like to lick the salt off my arm.  There\u2019s nothing to be afraid of.  Their\nlittle feet tickle. \u201c  Cecilia\ngiggled.  \u201cGive it a try, you\u2019ll like\nit.\u201d  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     John was used to this\nbehavior, but it had always been just the two of them.  Now he realized it\ncould be off-putting to the less motivated, but he also knew that when\nCecilia launched into cicada stories, he couldn\u2019t stop her, nor did he want\nto.   He couldn\u2019t wait to get back to their apartment.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     Cecilia tried to place\nthe cicada on Gloria\u2019s arm, but she\u2019d had enough.  She pushed her chair\nback, \u201cI\u2019m sorry.  I\u2019ve gotta leave. Now.  It was lovely to meet\nyou.  C\u2019mon Mom, let\u2019s go home.\u201d  Cecilia had taken her  magnifying glass from her purse and was\nstaring at the cicada on her arm.  She didn\u2019t\nnotice them leave.       <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     John tried to talk with\nher that night. \u201cCecilia, I\u2019d really I\u2019d like you to get to know my family, it\u2019s\nimportant to me, but it\u2019s hard when you\u2019re so obsessed with these bugs.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cThey\u2019re not bugs, they\u2019re\ncicadas.  They\u2019re marvelous\ncreatures.  Here help me sort them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

     John took the magnifying\nglass and examined their genitalia the way she\u2019d taught him.  The males with the dome shaped abdomens went\ninto one bin, the females with the pointed abdomens in the other.  \u201cWhy do you want to sort them anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cIt\u2019s an\nexperiment.  I want to see if there is an\nexact 50:50 ratio of males to females.\u201d  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cWhy wouldn\u2019t there\nbe?\u201d  Cecilia didn\u2019t answer.  \u201cNever mind, but I do need your\nattention.  Please, can I have just a\nmoment of your time?\u201d  She still hadn\u2019t\nlooked up.  He pressed ahead.  \u201cHow about another luncheon with my family in\nthe fall?  It would probably be more\nrelaxing when all this racket dies down.\u201d \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cIt\u2019s not a racket,\nit\u2019s mating.  They live underground for\n17 years and only see the light of day for about a month and then they die.  Don\u2019t you think they deserve their moment in\nthe sun?\u201d  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     Cecilia grabbed a\nhandful of cicadas with one hand, with the other she stroked John\u2019s abdomen and\nclicked with her tongue.  John knew what\nthis meant, but he was ready to take a break. \nAn afternoon of uninterrupted sex had left him raw and bruised.  He broke away from Cecilia\u2019s ministrations\nand headed to his mother\u2019s house.  He\nneeded to explain Cecilia\u2019s fascination and that the fall would be a better\ntime to get to know the real Cecilia.   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

      His mother brushed her behavior\naside.     <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cIt\u2019s you I\u2019m worried\nabout.  It\u2019s not the cicada thing, like\nyou say it\u2019s every 17 years.  I\u2019ll be\ndead the next time they come back, so it\u2019s not my issue, is it?  All I want is to see you happily married.  I want you to give me some grandchildren.  But is she right girl for you?  It\u2019s\nthat she\u2019s so pretty.  Don\u2019t you think you\u2019d be better matched with\nsomeone, I don\u2019t know, someone who\u2026\u201d      \n  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cMom, what are you\nsaying, that I should try to find someone who shares my same scale of physical\nbeauty?\u201d       <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cYes, that\u2019s it\nexactly.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cI\u2019ve heard what you\u2019ve\nsaid about me, that my eyes stick out, that my scrawny legs make me walk\nfunny.  Your words exactly.  But\nguess what, Cecilia likes the way I look. \nI can\u2019t explain it, but why does it matter?  Maybe it\u2019s\npheromones.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cWhat are those?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cI don\u2019t know, it\u2019s an\nodor that floats in the air or something, it causes an attraction that can\u2019t be\nexplained.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cI don\u2019t smell\nanything.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cThat\u2019s just the point,\nthere\u2019s no explanation.  Who cares anyway?  You always tell me that\nmen are the ones that choose.  Yeah, so Cecilia chose me first, but I chose\nher right after.  And here\u2019s something\nelse.  We have sex, a lot of it.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     She flattened her hands\nover her ears.  \u201cJohn stop that talk.  Right now.  We don\u2019t talk\nabout sex in this house.\u201d   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cGuess what else, I\u2019m\nreally good at it.  Maybe that\u2019s what Cecilia finds attractive.  You\nshould be happy for me.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cStop, stop.  I\ncan\u2019t be hearing this.\u201d  She flustered out of the room before John could\ntell her his other revelation, that the combination of sex and fear are\nexhilarating, propelling pedestrian pleasure to celestial\nrapture.       <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     The thrumming subsided over\nthe next week.  So did Cecilia\u2019s sexual\nappetite.  Conversation dwindled.  Cecilia\nhad always done most of the talking, mostly about new positions and feats of\nsexual agility.  John tried to engage\nher, but their exchanges consisted of perfunctory discussions of schedules and\ngrocery lists.  Cecilia began to sleep on\nthe living room couch.   Their libidinal torches subsided to a flame,\nthen a flicker and then nothing.  It was\nover.     <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     She disappeared in the\nfall.  Packed up all her clothes and took off without any goodbyes or a note. \nHer cell phone was disconnected and when John went to find her at the Natural\nHistory Museum they\u2019d never heard of her.  He stayed in her apartment in\ncase she came back.  When the lease was up at the end of the month, he\nrenewed it.     <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     John was not unhappy to\nreturn to his old life of work and a few close friends.  He didn\u2019t miss Cecilia and he didn\u2019t miss the\nsex.  He assumed that the pheromones had simply dried up and blown away.  His friends encouraged him to use an online\ndating app, but he wasn\u2019t interested.  He didn\u2019t care if people thought\nthat, as a single man, he was probably gay.  He assumed that he was\nasexual, or that it took a special woman to torch his libido.  If it\nhappened once, it could happen again.  He could wait. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     He told his family\nthings hadn\u2019t worked out.  His mother patted his hand and said, \u201cI\u2019m so\nglad you\u2019re happy on your own, I mean with your own apartment and all. \nYou don\u2019t need a looker.  They\u2019re more trouble than they\u2019re worth. I\u2019m\nglad you got out before it was too late. \nYou need somebody steadier, someone you can have children with.\u201d\n  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     For years he still\nfound scattered cicadas in the apartment, one wedged deeply in the couch\ncushions, one behind the washing machine, another in the toaster tray.  He\nkept one cicada on his bathroom counter as a memory of his cicada summer.  Occasionally he\u2019d get a postcard from\nCecilia, always in the summer around their anniversary, always from a different\nplace in the United States, always promising to see him again \u201csometime\nsoon.\u201d  She never included a return address. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     One day John noticed a\ncicada tapping against his bathroom window. \nHis hand jerked and he cut himself shaving.  Blood dripped down his\nneck.  He picked up the cicada from the counter and held it up in front of\nthe mirror next to his face.  He shuddered at the similarities \u2013 his\nbulging eyes, red rimmed from spring allergies.  The pattern of his\ntrickling blood matched the veins in the cicada\u2019s cellophane wings.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cOh my God,\u201d he\nsaid.  \u201cI look like a cicada.  I\u2019m a human cicada.\u201d    \n  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     The phone call finally\ncame.  \u201cHello John, it\u2019s Cecilia.  I\u2019m\nback.  Are you ready for me?  It\u2019s our summer again.\u201d   Her tongue\nclicked twice.   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

     \u201cWhere are you?\u201d \nJohn shook off his long hibernation and reveled in the ancient pulse of the\nthrum.  # <\/p>\nFollow Liza Blue on: \"Facebook\"<\/a>\"twitter\"<\/a>Share: \"Facebook\"<\/a>\"twitter\"<\/a>\"reddit\"<\/a>\"pinterest\"<\/a>\"linkedin\"<\/a>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

John was pleased that the woman sat next to him on the commuter train, even though it was the only open seat.\u00a0 She could have stood in the vestibule, he thought.\u00a0 The next day there was a vacant seat.\u00a0 She … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[42,33],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3067","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-nature"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p7iVc8-Nt","post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.fanagrams.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3067","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.fanagrams.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.fanagrams.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.fanagrams.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.fanagrams.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3067"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.fanagrams.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3067\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3070,"href":"https:\/\/www.fanagrams.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3067\/revisions\/3070"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.fanagrams.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3067"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.fanagrams.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3067"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.fanagrams.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3067"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}