Sometimes We All Wish We Could Sting Ourselves To Death or Immortality

The sun made its soft decline as larvae from dead wasps propelled themselves to the hospital green pillowcase I used as a branding mat.  Almost transparent white with what appeared to be a black stinger, the larvae tried and tried to form a complete circle with itself, thus completing the circle of life and death at such an early stage; perhaps a sting to its own head, its own heart. 

             First it was the horseshoe (a true, iron brand) on the donated jewel cases from Black and Read. The literally red-hot branding iron glided on the plastic like an ice cube glides across a summer time Formica countertop.  The smell permeated the air; the smell of burning plastic or the smell of death (of both the infant wasps and jewel cases themselves).

            Soon the sun was completely gone and the night’s waning moon was hidden from my view but shining up above my shed.  Wasps continued to fall periodically and the fire continued to burn.  No more sold iron brands to use.  This “branding iron’s” purpose was to brand meat before being barbequed.  I couldn’t imagine a piece of chicken with “I love you” branded into it or a T-bone steak with “Jeff’s Meat” evenly etched on the left side of the vertical bone.  I guess someone could though.

            Branding words were no easy task. During the first removal from the fire, the letter “y,” the abbreviated title  (TSDTR) and an iron loop that held the letters in at one end slid into the burning coals.  Using key rings bent with pliers, I made sure “Sandusky” would stay.  It did.

            29 plastic jewel cases were branded. Horseshoes and Sandusky.

            Now the leather.  Red first. Mimicking the way I branded the plastic, I pressed the iron horseshoe into the leather.  The leather shriveled up immediately.  The red turned to an infected-scrape-white. Less pressure.  Lesson learned. 

            99 covers branded. 

            The dying embers of the fire and the branding irons cooled as did the night. Wasps no longer fell from their nest.  Tomorrow morning they would be dry, invisible to the world, an afterthought to the long night, but forever immortal in my mind.

            Much like the music that will be nestled inside these cases and covers.