One moment she is watching the trees, how they sway in a warming breeze. It is that time when summer begins to blossom into something the body feels as much as the brain, when the emotions catch their thermal updrafts. The next there is a sharp sting in her hand and a bee flies away. Despite the pain she finds it odd, for bees are usually more passive. The thought gives way, she needs ice, the sting is quite something.
Matilda nurses the swelling in her hand, gazing out at the bees who visit the summer blooms. I can't help but see the mother in her, watching over this garden she nurtures, as if the love goes both ways. A wry grin spreads to challenge the lips she's working to keep straight and her eyes glow a note brighter,"Ungrateful little buggers, plant nice flowers and what do they do?"
Ryan shakes his hand, then speaks in the same tone he uses to say he's bored of TV. "So, I just got stung by a bee." Then he looks at the growing welt on his skin with the slightest hint of annoyance. It's as if he feels the pain; yet he lacks the ability to react to it. So I turn to get him some ice, because the idea of caring for himself is apparently so alien to him that he needs someone to show him how. When he takes it from me I can tell there's surprise, the same look as when a kid see's a bird for the first time, a startled happiness. I guess caring is just the same as anything else you've never experienced, it simply takes a little time to learn. Then he smiles, "Cheers, Alex; That feels better."